THE  LIB! 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


Magazine. 


SNOWDROPS. 

JT  S.  fSmtdhy,  in , 

O  Snowdrops,  do  not  vise, 
B<^aus^M;o  harpy  eyes 

%t  no^rVu^ll^3*"^11  J°U  "e 

'nE1cJi  PtCMfi  a  fi'oa-n  fear,' 

t  ncvei-  drops,  aud  yet  i.s  never  di-y. 

Ssi-h  r.Bcloi-s  tc:-]-.-5  rlioy  socra, 

AshiM  heavy  dream, 
we  i)(,ru-  aboat  or.:-  ...••; of s  to  make  them  grow 

-v iii-n  uU  i-o  hgLte nj-o  pale, 

i  faU, 
A)i<l  all  tbe  llov,  ei.s  arc  un.loruoatli  the 


r 

THE 


OP 


SIE  WALTEK    SCOTT. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


nil  Ijis  Sutrohrtiniis  nnii 


FROM  THE  LAST  EDINBURGH  EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1860. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTICE. 


THIS  Volume  contains  a  more  complete  Collection  of  SIR  WALTER'S 
POETRY  than  has  ever  before  appeared.  In  addition  to  the  great  Metrical 
Komances,  and  the  Miscellaneous  Pieces  given  in  the  later  Editions,  it 
includes,  for  the  first  time,  the  Songs  and  Fragments  scattered  over  his 
NOVELS,  and  various  Specimens,  both  Serious  and  Comic,  which  were 
originally  printed  in  the  MEMOIRS  OF  HIS  LIFE. 

As  the  object  in  the  present  Collection  has  been  to  adhere  to  the 
original  productions  of  SIR  WALTER,  the  old  parts  of  the  Romance  of  Sir 
Tristrem  are  not  given,  nor  the  Contributions  to  the  Minstrelsy  by  other 
hands. 

The  Author's  longer  Notes,  so  rich  in  historical  and  biographical 
interest,  are  given  in  Appendices  to  the  several  Romances  and  other 
larger  performances ;  the  short  ones,  explanatory  chiefly  of  ancient  words 
and  phrases,  at  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

The  references  to  the  Life  of  SIR  WALTER  apply  to  the  Second 
English  Edition,  1839. 

PHILADELPHIA,  March,  1854. 


CONTENTS. 


*  *  *  THE  PIECES  MARKED  WITH  A  dagger  (f)  HAVE  NOT  BEEN  INCLUDED  IN  ANT  FORMER 
EDITION   OF   SIB   WALTER  SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL 

Advertisement  to  Edition  1633 

Introduction  to  Edition  1830 

Dedication 

Preface  to  the  First  Edition  1805 

Introduction 

Canto  I 

Canto  II 

Canto  III 


o  IV.. 


Ca 


Canto  VI 37 

Appendix 42 

MARMION 73 

Notice  to  Edition  1833 73 

Introduction  to  Edition  Ic30 73 

Advertisement  to  the  First  Edition 

Introduction  to  Canto  I.— To  William  Stewart 

Rose,  Ksq 

Canto  I.— The  Castle 

Marriott.  A.  M 

Canto  II.—  The  Convent 

Introduction  to  Canto  III.— To  William  Era- 

Canto  HI.— The  Hostel,  or  Inn _    92 

Introduction  to  Canto  IV.— To  James  Skene, 

Esa 

Canto  IV. -The  Camp 

Introduction  to  Canto  V.  —  To  Oeorge  Ellis, 

K-.| 105 

Canto  V— The  Court 

Introduction  to  Canto  VI.  —To  Richard  He- 

ber,  Esq 115 

Canto  VI.— The  Battle 117 

Appendix  — 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

Canto  V.— The  Combat. 185 

Canto  VI.— The  Guard-Room 19] 

Appendix 190 

THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK 233 

Preface 23S 

Dedication 334 

Introduction 234 

The  Vision 235 

Conclusion 242 

Appendix 243 

ROKEBY 251 

Notice  to  Edition  1833 251 

Introduction  to  Edition  1830 362 

Dedication - 264 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.... 
Introduction  to  Edition  1830. 

Dedication 

Arfument 

Canto  I.— The  Chase 

Canto  II.— The  Island 

Canto  III. -The  (lathering 

Canto  IV.— The  Prophecy.. 


Advertiser! 
Canto  I. 


€     Appendix 293* 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 821 


Canto  III 833 


AppendiJ 


.  311 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 314 

Notice  to  Edition  1S33 344 

Introduction  to  Edition  1630 344 

Advertisement  to  the  First  Edition 315 


57 


Canto  I.. 
Canto  II.. 


(V) 


vi                                         CONTENTS. 

Page 
THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO  «0 

I 

LYRIfAL  AND  MISCEI.LA.NKOfS   PIKfES. 

OM 
W 

5X1 

i-.l 

032 

633 
533 

636 
53S 
53S 

537 

5S7 

638 

638   ' 

£38 

£40 

SiO 

s;o 

Ml 
641 

ill 
649 
irt 

&n 

MS 

i;4 

644 

644 
644 

646 
646 
648 
647 
*47 
64X 

64« 
MS 

649 
649 
649 
643 
649 

4K 

Cathedral,  at  the  Burial-rlaee  of  the  family  of 

434 

4:-fi 

4« 

413 
446 

446 

Prologue  to  Mis«  Baillie'a  Play  of  the  Family  Le- 

Canto  IV  

Onto  V  

Soot;—  ••  Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified 

Conclusion  

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  THE  BORDER  MIN- 
STRELSY. 

The  Bold  Dragoon!  or  the  Plain  of  Badajo  
On  the  Mauarre  of  Glencoe  

For^a  that  an  a  that.       A  new  5ong  to  an  old 

Ensay  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad  

4.-* 
461 

Imitation!  of  the  Ancient  Ballad. 

Lines,  addreued  to  Ranald  Macdonald,  Ksu.  ,  of 

1 

A 

M 

491 
491 
495 
4J7 

M 

:K"« 

Ml 

VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY. 

t  Bridal  Song  
t  Waverley  

The  Eve  of  St.  John  

Appfudit  
The  Gray  Brother  

t  Davie  Grllallry'i  Song  „ 
t  Scene  in  Lockie  Macleary'i  Tavern  
t  Hie  away.  HieawaT  

Mi: 

t  Davie  Oellatley'a  Song  

t  Janet  Gellatley'«  alleged  Witchcraft  
Flora  Macivor'a  Song  

William  and  Helen  

M 
;>n 
IM 

The  Wild  Hunt.  man  

The  Fire.Kiuj  

The  Battle  of  Sempacb  
The  Noble  Moriuger  

Mli 

Farewell  to  Mackenzie.  High  Chief  of  Kintail.— 

I     t  t         fth           ed'      So 

.-;•.> 
;,cvi 
• 
M 

War-Sone  of  Lachlan,  High  Chief  of  Maclean.— 

the  Order  of  their  composition  or  Publication,)... 

Saint  Cloud  

The  Dance  of  Death  

Romance  of  Dnnoii  

The  Troubadour...  . 

The  Violet  

From  the  French 

To  a  Lady,  with  Flowera  from  a  Roman  Wall... 
t  Bothwell  Caatle  

Ml 

EH 

Song,  on  the  lifting  of  the  Banner  of  the  Honw  of 
Burcleuch,  at  a  great  Foot-Ball  Ma'.ch  on  Car- 
terhangh  

t  Cheviot  

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief  

*  The  Reiver'*  Wedding... 

M 

M 

an 

M 
OM 

.-•.(j 

i'2  ' 

i:nj 

FROM  CUY  MAXNF.RISO. 
Song,  of  Meg  Merrilier- 
t  Nativity  of  Harry  Bertram  
t  T»i.tye,  T.meye  
t  The  Dying  Giraey  Smuggler  
t  The  Prophecy  
t  Sonja  of  Dick  Halteraick  and  Gloatin          . 

The  Sard's  Incantation. 

Hellvellyn  
The  Dying  Bard  
The  Sorman  Horee  Shoe  , 
ITwMaidofToro  . 

[_        The  Maid  of  Seidpalh  '.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'. 

CONTENTS. 

vii 

Page 
-YRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Page 

, 

.'.S3 

Verges  composed  for  the  occasion,  and  sung  by  a 
select  baud,  after  the  Dinner  given  by  the  Lord 
Provost  of  Edinburgh  to  the  Grand  Duke  X  ii-h- 

t     "     1  H  ' 

£62 

55'.! 
5;,3 

ss:i 

..  572 

FROM  THE  ANTIQUARY. 

FROM  THE  MONASTERY. 
Songs  of  the  White  Ijdy  of  A»«iel— 

t  Epitaph  on  Jon  o'  ye  Girmll  

t  Mottoes  in  the  Antiquary,  1—10  
FROM   THE  BLACK  DWARF. 

555 

Ml 

t  To  Halbert  . 

..C73 

FROM  OLD  MORTALITY. 
t  Major  Bellenden's  Song  

t  HaHiert's  Second  Interview  

..  674 

t  The  White  Lady'»  Farewell  

..  675 

t  Epitaph  on  Balfour  of  Barley  

668 
666 

...  575 

FROM  THE  ABBOT. 

TSnlt          Soli     au       PP           '        '  ThC  aUMt  °f 

568 

5Mt 

OfiO 
Hit 
SCI 
5G'J 

,'6J 

ili'J 
663 

FROM  KENILWORTH. 

Mr.  Kemble'x  Farewell  Address  on  taking  leave  of 

t  Speech  of  the  Porter  at  Keuilworth  Castle..  . 

..  678 

The  Sun  upon  the  WeirdlawHill  

FROM  THE  PIRATE. 

FROM  ROB  ROY. 
t  To  the  Memory  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince.... 

..  680 

t  Harold  Harfaiger's  Song  

..  681 

t  Mottoes,  1—  7  

..  58' 
..  S81 

..  6f3 

•            • 

Wl 

t  Claud  Hal  r    « 

FROM  THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 

56j 

' 

FROM  THE  BRIDE  OF  I,  AMMERMOOR. 

5W 

a;o 

6117 
50? 

5G7 
607 
SCO 

..  6fe6 

Carle,  now  the  King's  tome,  being  new  words 

..  687 

t  Norman,  the  Foresters  Song  

Fart  Second  

..  afctJ 

FROM  THE  FORTDNES  OF  SIGEL. 

FROM  THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTRO8E. 

FROM  PEVF.RIL  OF  THE  PEAK, 
t  Mottoes,  1—19  

..«i|j 

t  Moitoes,  1,  8,  3  

viii                                       CONTENTS. 

LYBICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 
FROM  ftUENTIN  DUBWARD. 

p»s« 

....  5»J 

Pace 

FROM  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH. 

FROM  ST.  BON  AX  '8  WELL. 

t  The  Death  of  Keeldar  604 

FROM  ANNE  OF  OEIEKSTEIN. 
t  The  Secret  Tribunal  005 

Letter  In  Verae  to  J.  O.  Lockhart,  Esq..  on 
composition  of  Malda'n  Epitaph  

th<! 
....599 

....  SM 

""*'                                           Mt 

Epilogue  to  the  Drama  founded  on  •*  St.  ROD 
Well."  

fcn'i 
....6M 

EpUogae—  (CUeen  Mary,)  

FROM  REDGAtJNTLET. 
t  "  A»  Lorda  their  Labourer!'  hire  delay".... 

FBOM  THE  BETROTHED; 

....an 
....son 

Inscription  for  the  Monument  of  the  Rer.  George 

t  Motto,-,  from  Count  Robert  of  Part.,  1-1S  807 

DRAMATIC  PIECES. 
HALIDON  HILL;  A  Dramatic  Sketch  from  Scottish 

Preface  cog  i 

FROM  THE  TALISMAN. 

MACDt'FF-8  CROSS.  B26 

t  Sonj  of  Bioudel—  The  Bloody  Veil  

....  599 

Dedication  (j,  , 

The  Bloody  Vert—  Fylte  Second  

...  600 

THE  DOOM  OF  DEVOROOIL  _  ..    6» 

FROM  WOODSTOCK, 
t  An  hoar  with  th«  „  

...  MB 

ACCHINDRANE;  or  the  Ayrahire  Tragedy  655 

t  Lioe«  to  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp  

...  603 

Act  I.—  Scene  L  Mo 

! 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  BART. 


€>  irq  nf  tlit  ITnst 


A  POEM.   IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


3.  cerno, 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  EDITION  1833. 

THE  Introduction  to  "The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,"  written  in  April  1830.  was  revised 
bv  the  Author  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  when  he 
also  made  some  corrections  in  the  text  of  the 
Poem,  and  several  additions  to  the  notes.  The 
work  is  now  printed  from  his  interleaved  copy. 

It  is  much  to  te  regretted  that  the  original 
MS.  of  this  Poem  has  not  l>een  preserved.  We 
are  thus  denied  the  advantage  of  comparing 
throughout  the  Author's  various  readings, 
which,  in  the  case  of  Munition,  the  Lady  of 
the  Lake,  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  <tc.  are  often 
higlily  curious  and  instructive. — ED. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

A  POEM  of  nearly  thirty  years'  standing1  may 
be  supposed  hardly  to  need  an  Introduction, 
since,  without  one.  it  has  been  able  to  keep 
itself  afloat  through  the  best  part  of  a  gene- 
ration. Nevertheless,  as,  in  the  edition  of  the 
Waverley  Novels  now  in  course  of  publication, 
[1830,]  I  have  imposed  on  myself  the  task  of 
saying  something  concerning  the  purpose  and 
history  of  each,  in  their  turn,  I  am  desirous 
that  the  Poems  for  which  1  first  received  some 
marks  of  the  public  favour,  should  also  be 
accompanied  with  such  scraps  of  their  literary 
history  as  may  be  supposed  to  carry  interest 
along  with  them.  Even  if  I  should  be  mis- 
taken in  thinking  that  the  secret  history  of 
what  was  once  so  popular,  may  still  attract 
public  attention  and  curiosity,  it  seems  to  me 
not  without  its  use  to  record  the  manner  and 
circumstances  under  which  the  present,  and 
other  Poems  on  the  same  plan,  attained  for  a 
season  an  extensive  reputation. 

I  must  resume  the  story  of  my  literary 
labours  at  the  period  at  which  1  broke  off  in 
the  Essay  on  the  Imitation  of  Popular  Poetry, 
[see  post",]  when  I  had  enjoyed  the  first  gleam 


1  Published  in  4to,  (U  5«.)  J»imiry  1605. 


of  public  favour,  by  the  success  of  the  first 
edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Bor- 
der. The  second  edition  of  that  work,  pub- 
lished in  1803,  proved,  in  the  language  of  the 
trade,  rather  a  heavy  concern.  The  demand 
in  Scotland  had  been  supplied  by  the  first 
edition,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  English  was 
not  much  awakened  by  poems  in  the  rude 
garb  of  antiquity,  accompanied  with  notes  re- 
ferring to  the  obscure  feuds  of  barbarous  clans, 
of  whose  very  names  civilized  history  was 
ignorant.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  one  of  those 
books  which  are  more  praised  than  they  are 
read. " 

At  this  time  I  stood  personally  in  a  different 
position  from  that  which  I  occupied  when  I 
first  dipt  my  desperate  pen  in  ink  for  other 
purposes  than  those  of  mv  profession.  In  1796, 
when  I  first  published  the  translations  from 
Burger,  I  was  an  insulated  individual,  with 
only  my  own  wants  to  provide  for,  and  having, 
in  a  great  measure,  my  own  inclinations  alone 
to  consult.  In  18113,  when  the  second  edition 
of  the  Minstrelsy  appeared,  1  had  arrived  at  a 
period  of  life  when  men,  however  thoughtless, 
encounter  duties  and  circumstances  which 
press  consideration  and  plans  of  life  upon  the 
most  careless  minds.  I  had  been  for  some 
time  married — was  the  father  of  a  rising  family, 
and,  though  fully  enabled  to  meet  the  conse- 

3uent  demands  upon  me,  it  was  my  duty  and 
esire  to  place  myself  in  a  situation  which 
would  enable  me  to  make  honourable  provision 
against  the  various  contingencies  of  life. 

It  may  be  readily  supposed  that  the  attempts 
which  I  had  made  in  literature  had  been  un- 
favourable to  my  success  at  the  bar.  The 
goddess  Themis  is,  at  Edinburgh,  and  1  sup- 
pose everywhere  else,  of  a  peculiarly  jealous 
disposition.  She  will  not  readily  consent  to 
share  her  authority,  and  sternly  demands  from 
lier  votaries,  not  only  that  real  duty  be  care- 
fully attended  to  and  discharged,  but  that  a 


"--  Bri'.ish  Critic,  Aagtul  It05. 


10                     SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

certain  air  of  hnsiness  shall  lie  observed  even 

)v  night,"  renouncing  all  the  Delilahs  of  my 

11  the  midst  of  total  idleness.    It  is  prudent. 

liiagination.  or  bid  adieu  to  the  profession  of 

f  not  alisolutely  necessary,  in  a  young  bar- 

he law,  and  hold  another  course. 

rister,  to  appear  entirely  engrossed  by  his  pro- 
ft-t>Mon  ;  however  destitute  of  employment  he 

I  confess  my  own  inclination  revolted  from 
he  more  severe  choice,  which  might  have  been 

mav  in  realitv  be,  he  ought  to  preserve,  if  pos- 

leemed  by  many  the  wiser  alternatiTe     As 

sible,  the  appearance  of  full  occupation.    He 
should,  therefore,  seem  perpetually  engaged 
among  Ins    law-papers,   dusting  them,  as  it 

ny  transgressions  had  been   numerous,   my 
epentance    must    have    been    signalized  by 
unusual  sacrifices.   I  ought  to  have  mentioned. 

were  ;  and,  as  Ovid  advises  the  fair. 

hat  since  my  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  year,  my 

lealth.   originally  delicate,  had   become  ex- 

"  Si  null™  t  ril  pulvis.  lamen  eicute  nuHnm."  I 

refnely  robust      From  infancy  I  had  laboured 

Perhaps  such  extremity  of  attention  is  more 
especially  required,  considering  the  great  num- 

under  the  infirmity  of  a  severe  lameness,  but. 
as  1  believe  is  usually  the  case  with  men  of 

>et  of  counsellors  who  are  called  to  the  bar, 

spirit  who  suffer  under  personal  inconveniences 

and  how  very  small  a  proportion  of  them  are 

of  this  nature,  I  had,  since  the  improvement 

inally  disposed,  or   find   encouragement,  to 

>f  my  health,  in  defiance  of  this  incapacitating 

ollow  the  law  as  a  profession.    Hence  the 

circumstance,    distinguished    myself   by   the 

lumber  of  deserters  is  so  great,  lhat  the  least 

endurance  of  toil  on  foot  or  horse-back,  baring 

ingering  look  behind  occasions  a  young  novice 
to  IM?  set  down  as  one  of  the  intending  fugitives. 

often  walked  thirty   miles  a-day,  and    rode 
upwards  of  a  hundred,  without  resting.     In 

Certain  it  is,  that  the  Scottish  Themis  was  at 

his  manner  I  made  many  pleasant  journeys 

this  time  peculiarly  jealous  of  any  flirtation 

hrough  parts  of  the  country  then  not  very 

with  the  Muses,  on  the  part  of  those  who  had 

accessible,  gaining  more  amusement  and  in- 

ranged themselves  under  her  banners.    This 

struction  than  I  have   been   able  to  acquire 

was  probably  owing  to  her  consciousness  of 
:he  superior  attractions  of  her  rivals.    Of  late, 

since  I  have  travelled  in  a  more  commodious 
nanner.     1  practised  most  silvan  spurts  also, 

tiowever,  she  has  relaxed  in  some  instances 

with  some  success,  and  with   great  delight. 

in   this   particular,  an  eminent   example  of 

3ut  these  pleasures  must  have  been  all  re- 

which has  been  shown  in  the  case  of  my  friend, 

signed,  or  used  with  great  moderation,  had  I 

Mr    Jeffrey,  who,  after  long  conducting  one 

determined  to  regain  mv  station  at  the  bar.    It 

of  the  most  influential  li'erary  periodicals  of 

was  even  doubtful  whether  I  could,  with  per- 

the  age,  with  unquestionable  ability,  has  been, 

:ect    character    as    a   jurisconsult,    retain    a 

by  the  general  consent  of  his  brethren,  recently 
elected  to  he  their  Dean  of  Faculty,  or  Presi- 

situation in  a  vol  unteer  corps  of  cavalry,  which 
i  then  held     The  threats  of  invasion  were  at 

dent.—  being  the   highest  acknowledgement 

:his  time  instant  and  menacing;  the  call  by  i 

of  his  professional  talents  which  they  had  it 

Britain  on  her  children  was  universal,  and  was 

in  their  power  to  offer.  a    But  this  is  an  inci- 

answered by  some,  who,  like  mvself,  consulted 

dent  much  beyond  the  ideas  of  a  period  of 

rather  their  desire  than  their  ability  to  bear 

thirty  years'  distance,  when  a  barrister  who 

arms.     My   services,  however,    were    found 

really  possessed  any  turn  for  lighter  literature, 
was  at  as  much  pains  to  conceal  it,  as  if  it  had 

useful  in  assisting  to  maintain  the  discipline 
of  the  corps,  being  the  point  on  which  their 

in  reality  been  something  to  be  ashamed  of; 

constitution  rendered  them   most  amenable 

and  I  could  mention  more  than  one  instance 

to  military  criticism.     In  other  respects,  the 

in  which  literature  and  society  have  suffered 

squadron  was  a  fine  one,  consisting  chiefly  of 

much  loss,  that  jurisprudence  might  be  en- 

handsome men.  well  mounted  and  armed  at 

riched. 

at  their  own  expense.     My  attention   to  the 

Such,  however,  was  not  my  case  ;   for  the 

corps  took  up  a  good  deal  of  time  ;  and  while 

reader  will  not  wonder  that  my  open  inter- 

it occupied  many  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my 

ference    with    matters    of    light    literature 

life,  it  furnished  an  additional  reason  for  my 

diminished  my  emploj  ment  in  the  weightier 

reluctance  again    to    encounter    the    severe 

matters  of  the  law.    Nor  did  the  solicitors, 

course  of  study  indispensable  to  success  in 

upon  whose  choice  the  counsel  takes  rank  in 
his  profession,  do  me  less  than  justice,  by 

the  juridical  profession 
On  the  other  hand,  my  father,  whose  feel- 

regarding others  among  my  contemporaries  as 

ings  might   have    been  hurt  by  my  quitting 

fitter  to  discharge  the  duty  due  to  their  clients 

the  bar,  had  been  for  two  or  three  years  dead. 

than  a  young  man  who  was  taken  up  with 

so  that  I  had  no  control  to  thwart  my  own 

running  after  ballads,  whether  Teutonic  or 

inclination;  and  my  income  being  equal  to 

national.    My  profession  and  I.  therefore,  came 

all  the  comforts,  and  some  of  the  elegancies, 

to  stand  nearly  upon  the  footing  which  honesi 

of  life,  I  was  not  pressed  to  an  irksome  labour 

Slender  consoled  himself  on  having  established 

by  necessity,  that  most  powerful  of  motives  : 

with   Mistress  Anne   Page;  "There  was  nc 

consequently.  1  was  the  more  e;isily  seduced 

great  love  between  us  at  the  beginning,  and  it 

to  choose  the  employment  which  was  most 

pleased   He;iven  !o   decrease    it    on    far!  her 

agreeable  to  me.    This  was  yet  the  easier, 

acquaintance  "    I  became  sensible  that  the 

tliat  in  1800  I  had  obtained  the  preferment  of    ' 

time  was  come  when   1   must  either  buckle 

Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,  about  3(XW.  a-year  in 

myself  resolutely  to  the  "  toil  by  day,  the  lamp 

value,  and  w  Inch  was  the  more  agreeable  to 

1  ir  drat  be  Dour,  yet  binsh  that  i.orc  away. 

and   relations.    But  1  did  not    abandon    the 

2  Mr.  Jrtrn-y,  after  eomltirtin-  the  Kdiubuieh  Rerir\c  fo 

profession  to  which  I   h;id    been    educated, 

tweAty-«even  years,  withdrew  from  that  office  in  1&29.  on 
beinc  rlrcl.-u  Ivan  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocate*.     In  IbSO 
under  Karl  Grey's  Ministry,  be  was  appointed  Lord  Aiivo 

without^  certain  prudential  resolutions,  which, 
at  the  risk  of  some  egotism,  I  will  here  men- 

cale of  Scotland,  and,  in  lc>34,  a  Senator  of  the  College  o 

tion  ;  not  without  the  hope  that  they  may  be 

Jo.tice  by  the  Ltle  of  Lord  Jeffrey.—  Ed. 

useful  to  young  persons  who  may  stand  in 

THE    LAY    OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


11 


circumstances  similar  to  those  m  wliich  I  then 
stood 

lu  the  first  place,  upon  considering  the  lives 
ami  fortunes  of  persons  who  li;id  given  'hem- 
selves  up  to  literature,  or  to  the  task  of  pleas- 
ing Uie  public,  it  seemed  to  me,  that  the 
circumstances  which  chiefly  alfected  their 
happiness  ami  character,  were  those  from 
which  Horace  has  bestowed  upon  authors  the 
epithet  of  the  Iriitahle  Race.  It  requires  no 
depth  of  philosophic  reflection  to  perceive, 
that  the  petty  warfare  of  Pope  with  the  Dun- 
ces of  Ins  period  could  not  have  been  carried 
on  without  his  suffering  the  most  acute  tor- 
ture, such  as  a  man  must  endure  from  mus- 
quittoes,  hy  whose  stints  he  suffers  agony, 
although  he  can  crush  them  in  his  grasp  by 
myriads.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to  call  to  mem- 
ory the  many  humiliating  instances  in  which 
men  of  the  greaiest  genius  have,  to  avenge 
some  pitiful  quarrel,  made  themselves  re- 
diculous  during  their  lives,  to  become  the 
still  more  degraded  objects  of  pity  to  future 
times. 

Upon  the  whole,  as  I  had  no  pretension  to 
the  i-renius  of  the  distinguished  persons  who 
had  f.ilien  into  such  errors,  I  concluded  there 
could  he  no  occasion  for  imitating  ihein  in 
their  mistakes,  or  what  I  considered  as  such  ; 
and.  in  adopting  literary  pursuits  as  the  princi- 
pal occupation  of  my  future  life,  I  resolved,  if 
possible,  to  avoid  those  weaknesses  of  temper 
which  seemed  to  h  ive  most  easily  beset  my 
more  celebrated  pretiece.-s  ifs 

With  this  view.  it.  was  my  first  resolution  to 
keep  as  far  as  was  in  my  power  abreast  of 
society,  continuing  to  maintain  my  place  in 
general  company,  without  yielding  to  the  very 
natural  temptation  of  narrowing  myself  to 
what  is  calied  literary  society.  By  doing  so 
I  imagined  I  should  escape  the  besettmg  sin 
of  listening  to  language,  which,  from  one  mo- 
tive or  other,  is  apt  to  ascribe  a  very  undue 
degree  of  consequence  to  literary  pursuits,  as 
if  they  were,  indeed,  the  business,  rather  than 
the  amusement,  of  life.  The  opposite  course 
can  only  be  compared  to  the  injudicious  con- 
duct of  one  who  pampers  himself  with  cordial 
and  luscious  draughts,  until  he  is  uuable  to 
endure  wholesome  bitters.  Like  Gil  Bias. 
therefore,  I  resolved  to  stick  by  the  society  of 
my  commis,  instead  of  seeking  that  of  a 
more  literary  cast,  and  to  maintain  my  gene- 
ral interest  in  what  was  going  on  around  me, 
reserving  the  man  of  letters  for  the  desk  and 
the  library. 

My  second  resolution  was  a  corollary  from 
the  first  1  determined  that,  without  shutting 
my  ears  to  the  voice  of  true  criticism.  I  would 
pay  no  regard  to  that  wliich  assumes  the  form 
of  satire.  I  therefore  resolved  to  arm  myself 
with  that  triple  br.iss  of  Horace,  of  which 
those  of  my  profession  are  seldom  held  deti- 
<•]  'lit,  against  all  the  roving  warfare  of  satire, 
parody,  and  sarcasm ;  to  laugh  if  the  jest  was 
a  good  one.  or,  if  otherwise,  to  let  it  hum  and 
buzz  itself  to  sleep.  . 

It  is  Ui  the  observance  of  these  rules,  (accord- 
ing to  my  best  belief.)  that,  after  a  life  of 
thirty  years  engaged  iti  literary  labours  of 
various  kinds,  1  attribute  my  never  having  been 
entangled  in  any  literary  quarrel  or  contro- 
versy; ;md.  which  isas; Hi  muie  i  basing  result. 
that  1  have  been  distinguished  by  the  personal 


friendship  of  my  most  approved  contemporaries 
of  idl  parties 

I  adopted,  at  the  same  time,  another  reso- 
lution, on  which  it  may  doubtless  be  remarked. 
that  it  was  well  for  me  that  I  had  it  in  my 
power  to  do  so,  and  that,  therefore,  it  is  a 
line  of  conduct  which,  depending  upon  acci- 
dent, can  be  less  generally  applicable  in  other 
cases.  Yet  I  fail  not  to  record  this  part  of  my 
plan,  convinced  that,  though  it  may  not  be  in 
every  one's  power  to  adopt  exactly  the  same 
resolution,  he  may  nevertheless,  by  his  own 
exertions,  in  some  shape  or  other,  attain  the 
object  on  which  it  was  founded,  namely,  to 
secure  the  means  of  subsistence,  without  rely- 
ing exclusively  on  literary  talents.  In  this 
respect.  I  determined  that  literature  should  be 
my  staff,  but  not  my  crutch,  and  that  the  pro- 
fits of  my  literary  labour,  however  convenient 
otherwise. should  not,  if  1  could  help  it,  become 
necessary  to  my  ordinary  expenses.  With 
this  purpose  I  resolved,  if  the  interest  of  my 
friends  could  so  far  favour  me,  to  retire  upon 
any  of  the  respectable  offices  of  the  law.  m 
which  persons  of  that  profession  are  glad  to 
take  refuge,  when  they  feel  themselves,  or  are 
judged  by  others,  incompetent  to  aspire  to  its 
higher  honours.  Upon  such  a  post  an  author 
might  hope  to  retreat,  witlioul  any  percepiihle 
alteration  of  circumstances,  whenever  the 
time  should  arrive  that  the  public  grew  weary 
of  his  endeavours  to  please,  or  he  himself 
should  tire  of  the  pen.  Ai  this  period  of  my 
life,  I  possessed  so  many  friends  capable  of 
assisting  me  in  this  object  of  ambition,  that  I 
could  hardly  over-rate  my  own  prospects  of 
obtaining  tlie  preferment  to  which  I  limited 
my  wishes ;  and.  in  fact,  I  obtained  in  no  long 
period  the  reversion  of  a  situation  which  com- 
pletely met  them. 

Thus  far  all  was  well,  and  the  Author  had 
been  guilty,  periiaps.  of  HO  great  imprudence, 
when  he  relinquished  his  forensic  practice 
with  the  hope  of  making  some  figure  in  the 
field  of  literature.  But  an  established  charac- 
ter with  the  public,  in  my  new  capacity,  still 
remained  to  be  acquired  I  have  noticed, 
that  the  translations  from  Burger  had  been 
unsuccessful,  nor  had  the  original  poetry 
which  appeared  under  the  auspices  of  Mr. 
Lewis,  in  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder."  in  any  great 
degree  raised  my  reputation.  It  is  true,  [had 
private  friends  disposed  to  second  me  in  my 
efforts  to  obtain  popularity.  But  I  was  sports- 
man enough  to  know,  that  if  the  greyhound 
does  not  run  well,  the  hailoes  of  his  patrons 
will  not  obtain  the  prize  for  him. 

Neither  was  I  ignorant  that  the  practice  of 
ballad-wntin,'  was  for  the  present  out  of 
fashion,  and  that  any  attempt  to  revive  it,  or 
to  found  a  poetical  character  upon  it,  would 
certainly  tail  of  success.  The  ballad  measure 
itself,  wliich  was  once  listened  to  as  to  an 
enchanting  melody,  had  become  hackneyed 
and  sickening,  from  its  being  the  accompani- 
ment of  every  grinding  hand  organ ;  and 
besides,  a  long  work  in  quatrains,  whether 
those  of  the  common  ballad,  or  such  as  are 
termed  elegiac,  has  an  effect  upon  the  mind 
like  that  of  the  bed  of  1'rocrustes  upon  the 
human  body ;  for,  as  it  must  be  both  awkward 
and  difficult  to  carry  on  u  long  sentence  from 
one  s  anza  to  another,  it  follows,  that  the 
meaning  of  each  period  must  be  comprehended 


12 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


within  four  lines,  and  equally  so  that  it  most 
be  extended  so  as  to  till  that  space.  The 
alternate  dilution  and  contraction  thus  ren- 
dered necessary  is  smgularlv  unfavourable  to 
tiiirraiive  composition;  and*  the  "Gondibert" 
of  Sir  William  D'Avenant.  though  containing 
many  striking  )«:•>. ccs.  hus  nuver  become 
popular,  owing  chiefly  to  its  being  told  lu  this 
species  df  elegiac  verse. 

In  the  dilemma  occasioned  by  this  objection, 
the  idea  occurred  to  the  Author  of  using  the 
measured  short  line,  which  form  the  struc- 
ture of  so  much  minstrel  poetry,  that  it  may 
be  properly  termed  the  Romantic  stanza,  by 
way  oi  distinction  ;  and  which  appears  so  na- 
tural to  our  language,  that  the  very  best  of  our 
poets  have  not  been  able  to  protract  it  into  the 
verse  properly  culled  Heroic,  without  the  use 
of  epithets,  which  are,  to  say  the  least,  un- 
necessary.' But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  ex- 
treme facility  of  the  short  couplet,  which 
seems  congenial  to  our  language,  and  was, 
doubtless  for  that  reason,  so  popular  with  our 
old  minstrels,  is,  for  tlie  same  reason,  apt  to 
prove  a  snare  to  the  composer  who  uses  it  in 
mure  modem  days,  by  encouraging  him  in  a 
lialiit  in  slovenly  composition.  The  necessity 
of  occasional  pauses  often  forces  the  young 
poet  to  pay  more  attention  to  sense,  as  the 
boy's  kite  rises  highest  when  the  tram  is  load- 
ed by  a  due  counterpoise.  The  Author  was 
therefore  intimidated  bv  what  Byron  calls  the 
"fatal  facility"  of  the  octo-syllabic  verse, 
which  was  otherwise  better  adapted  to  his 
purpose  of  imitating  the  more  ancient  poetry. 

1  was  not  less  at  a  loss  for  a  subject  which 
might  admit  of  being  treated  with  the  simplicity 
and  wiidness  of  the  ancient  ballad.  But  acci- 
dent dictated  both  a  theme  and  measure, 
which  decided  the  subject,  as  well  as  the 
structure  of  the  poem. 

The  lovely  young;  Countess  of  Dalkeith, 
afterwards  Harriet  Duchess  of  Buccleiioh.  | 
had  come  to  the  land  of  her  husband  with  the 
desire  of  making  herself  acquainted  with  its 
traditions  and  customs,  as  well  as  its  manners 
and  history.  All  who  remember  this  lady 
will  agree,  that  the  intellectual  character  of 
her  extreme  beauty,  the  amenity  and  cour- 
ttsy  of  her  manners,  the  soundness  of  her 
understanding,  and  her  unbounded  benevo- 
lence, gave  more  the  idea  of  an  angelic  visi- 
tant, than  of  a  being  belonging  to  this  nether 
world  ;  and  such  a  thought  was  but  loo  consis- 
tent with  the  short  s[>ace  she  was  permitted 
to  tarry  among  us.?  Of  course,  where  all 
made  it  a  pride  and  pleasure  to  gratify  her 
wishes,  she  soon  heard  enough  of  Border  lore ; 
among  others,  an  aged  gentleman  of  proper- 
ty, 3  near  Langholm,  communicated  to  her 


1  Thiu  it  has  been  often  remark*!,  that,  in  the  opening 
coapU-ls  of  Pope's  tran-lation  of  Hie  Iliad,  there  are  two 
syllable*  forming  u  MUnrrSous  word  in  each  line,  as  may 
be  observed  by  attending  to  sach  uorils  as  are  printed  in 
Italic*. 

^Achilles  wrath  to  Greece  the  rfirp/Kj  spring 

That  wrath  whw  h  sent  lo  Pluto's  gloomf  reign. 


Urn  collection.—  Ed. 
(This  was  Mr.  Beanie  of  Micltedale,  i 


ladyship  the  story  of  Gilpin  Homer,  a  tradi- 
tion in  which  the  narrator,  and  many  more  of 
that  country,  were  firm  l>elievers.  The  young 
Countess,  much  delighted  with  the  legend, 
and  the  gravity  and  full  confidence  with  which 
it  was  told,  enjoined  on  me  as  a  task  to  com- 
pose a  ballad  on  the  subject.  Of  course,  lo 
liear  was  to  obey  ;  and  thus  the  goblin  story, 
objected  to  liy  several  critics  as  an  excrescence 
upon  the  poem,  was,  in  fact,  the  occasion  of 
its  being  written. 

A  clianre  similar  to  that  which  dictated  the 
snlqect,  gave  me  also  the  hint  of  a  new  mode 
of  treating  it.  \\e  had  at  that  time  the  lease 
of  a  pleasant  cottage,  near  l-asswade.  on  the 
romantic  hanks  of  the  Ksk.  to  which  we  esca- 
ped when  the  vacations  of  the  Court  permitted 
me  so  much  leisure.  Here  1  had  the  pleasure 
to  receive  a  visit  from  Mr  Stoddart.  (now  t-ir 
John  Stoddart,  Judge-Advocate  at  Malta.)  who 
was  at  that  time  collecting  the  particulars 
which  he  afterwards  embodied  in  his  Remarks 
on  Local  Scenery  in  Scotland.*  I  wasof  some 
use  to  him  in  procunng  the  information  which 
he  desired,  and  guiding  him  to  the  scenes 
which  he  wished  to  see.  In  return,  he  made 
me  better  acquainted  than  I  had  hitherto  been 
with  the  noetic  effusions  which  have  since 
made  the  Lakes  of  Westmoreland,  and  the 
authors  *y  whom  they  have  been  sung,  so 
famous  wherever  the  English  tongue  is  spoken. 

1  was  already  acquainted  with  the  "  Joan  of 
Arc,"  the  "  Thalaha."  and  the  "  Metrical  Bal- 
lads "  of  Mr.  Southey.  which  had  found  their 
way  to  Scotland,  and  were  generally  admired. 
But  Mr  Stoddart,  who  had  the  advantage  of 
personal  friendship  with  the  authors,  and  who 
possessed  a  strong  memory  with  an  excellent 
taste,  was  able  to  repeat  to  me  many  long  spe- 
cimens of  their  poetry,  whicli  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared in  print.  Amongst  others,  was  the 
striking  fragment  called  Christabel.  by  Mr. 
Coleridge,  winch,  from  the  singularly  irregular 
structure  of  the  stanzas,  and  the  liberty  which 
it  allowed  the  author,  to  adapt  the  sound  to 
the  sense,  seemed  to  be  exactly  suited  to  such 
an  extravaganza  as  1  meditated  on  the  subject 
of  Gilpm  Horner.  As  applied  to  comic  and 
humorous  poetry,  this  mescolanza  of  measures 
had  teen  already  used  by  Anthony  Hall, 
Anstey,  Dr.  \Volcott.  and  others;  but  it  was 
in  Christabel  that  1  first  found  it  used  in  seri- 
ous poetry,  and  it  is  to  Mr.  Coleridge  that  I 
am  bound  to  make  the  acknowledgment  due 
from  the  pupil  to  his  master.  1  observe  that 
Lord  Byron,  in  noticing  my  obligations  to  Mr 
Coleridge,  which  1  have  been  always  most 
ready  to  acknowledge,  expressed,  or  was  un- 
derstood to  express,  a  hope,  that  I  did  not 
write  an  unfriendly  review  on  Mr.  Coleridge's 
productions.*  On" this  subject  I  have  only  to 

siderably  upwards  of  eighty,  of  a  shrewd  and  sarcastic 
temper,  wbifh  he  did  Dot  at  all  times  suppress  as  the  fol- 
lowing anecdote  will  show  : — A  worthy  clergyman,  now 
deceased,  with  better  good-will  than  tact,  wan  endeavour- 
ine  to  pu*h  the  senior  forward  in  his  recollection  of  Bor- 
der ballads  aud  legends,  by  exnressiiig  reiterated  surprise 
at  his  wonderful  memory.  "No.  sir,"  said  old  Micklcdale  : 


it  were  you,  r«rerer.d  sir,  to  repeat  yonr  b«-rt  sei 
his  drawing-room,  I  icold   nvl  tell   you   half  a 
hat  you  had  been  shaking  about." 


i  hour  afl 

4  Two  volumes,  royal  ot-uvo.    IKjl. 
I      6  Medwin's  conversations  of  Lord  Byron,  p. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


13 


say,  that  I  do  not  even  know  the  review  which 
is  alluded  to;  and  were  I  ever  to  take  the 
unbecoming  freedom  of  censuring  a  mail  of 
Mr.  Coleridge's  extraordinary  talents,  it  would 
he  on  account,  of  the  caprice  and  indolence 
with  which  he  h:vs  thrown  from  him.  as  if  in 
mere  wantonness,  those  uniinished  sci-aps  of 
poetry,  which,  like  the  Torso  of  antiquity,  defy 
the  skill  of  his  poetical  brethren  to  complete 
them.'  The  charming  fragments  which  the 
author  abandons  to  their  fate,  are  surely  too 
valuable  to  be  treated  like  the  proofs  of  care- 
less engravers,  the  sweepings  of  whose  studios 
often  make  the  fortune  of  some  painstaking 
collector. 

I  did  not  immediately  proceed  upon  my  pro- 
jected labour. thpugh  Iwas  now  furnished  with 
a  subject,  and  with  a  structure  of  verse  which 
might  have  the  effect  of  novelty  to  the  public 
ear.  and  afford  the  author  an  opportunity  of 
varying  his  measure  with  the  variations  of  a 
romantic  theme.  On  the  contrary,  it  was,  to 
the  best  of  my  recollection,  more  than  a  year 
after  Mr.  Stoddart's  visit,  thar.  by  way  of  ex- 
periment. I  composed  the  first  two  or  three 
stanzas  of  '•  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. "  I 
was  shortly  afterwards  visited  by  two  intimate 
friends,  one  of  whom  still  survives.  They 
were  men  whose  talents  might  have  raised 
them  to  the  lushest  station  in  literature,  had 
they  not  preferred  exerting  them  in  their  own 
profession  of  the  law,  in  which  they  attained 
equal  preferment.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  con- 
sulting; them  on  my  attempts  at  composition, 
bavins  equal  confidence  in  their  sound  taste 
and  friendly  sincerity.2  In  this  specimen  I 
had,  m  the  phrase  of  the  Highland  servant, 
packed  all  that  was  my  own  at  least,  for  I  had 
also  included  a  line  of  invocation,  a  little  soft- 
ened, from  Coleridge — 

As  neither  of  my  friends  said  much  to  me  on 
the  subject  of  the  stanzas  I  showed  them  be- 
fore their  departure.  I  had  no  doubt  that  their 
disgust  had  been  greater  than  their  good- 
nature chose  to  express.  Looking  upon  them, 
therefore,  as  a  failure,  I  threw  the  manuscript 
into  the  lire,  and  thought  as  little  more  as  1 
could  of  the  matter.  Some  time  afterwards 
I  met  one  of  my  two  counsellors,  who  en- 
quired, with  considerable  appearance  of  inte- 
rest, about  the  progress  of  the  romance  1  had 
commenced,  and  was  greatly  surprised  al 
learning  its  fate.  He  confessed  that  neither 
he  nor  our  mutual  friend  had  been  at  first  able 
to  give  a  precise  opinion  on  a  poem  so  much 
out  of  the  common  road ;  but  that  as  the; 
walked  home  together  to  the  city,  they  ha< 
talked  much  on  the  subject,  and  the  result 
was  an  earnest  desire  that  I  would  proceed 


•To  call  up  Vim  who  left  half  tn!d 
The  «lory  of  Cambuwaii  bold  ?•  •• 

KuUi  la  the  AH**.— Ed. 
2  One  of  these,  William  Er»kine,  Esq.  (Lord  KirmecMer), 

hardly  be  tliank-cl  fordtscloMne  the  name  of  the  other,  y< 
I  cannot  but  date  that  the  gerond  in  George  Crunstoiu 
Esq..  now  n  Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice,  by  the  lit: 
of  Lord  Corehouse.  1K31.— [Mr.  Cranstoua  resigned  h 
seat  on  the  Bench  in  lt-3D.] 


with  the  composition.  He  also  added,  that 
some  sort  of  prologue  might  be  necessary,  to 
place  the  mind  of  the  hearers  in  the  situation 
irstand  and  enjoy  the  poem,  and  recom- 
mended the  adoption  of  such  quaint  mottoes 
is  Spenser  has  used  in  announce  the  contents 
of  the  chapters  of  the  Faery  Queen,  such  as— 

'•  Babe's  bloody  rnnd*  may  not  be  cleansed. 

The  face  of  golden  Mean  : 
Her  «istir»  Iwo.  Extremities, 

I  entirely  agreed  with  my  friendly  critic  in  the 
necessity  of  having  some  sort  of  pitch-pipe, 
which  niight  make  readers  aware  of  the  object, 
or  rather  the  tone,  of  the  publication.  But  I 
loiibted  whether,  in  assuming  the  oracular 
style  of  Spenser's  mottoes,  the  interpreter 
might  not  be  censured  as  the  harder  to  be 
understood  of  the  two.  I  therefore  introduced 
the  Old  Minstrel,  as  an  appropriate  prolocutor, 
by  whom  the  lay  niight  be  sung,  or  spoken, 
and  the  introduction  of  whom  betwixt  the 
cantos,  might  remind  the  reader  at  intervals, 
of  the  time,  place,  and  circumstances  of  the 
recitation.  This  species  of  cadre,  or  frame, 
afterwards  afforded  the  poem  its  name  of 
"  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 

The  work  was  subsequently  shown  to  other 
friends  during  its  progress,  and  received  the 
imprimatur  of  Mr.  Francis  Jeffrey,  who  had 
been  already  for  some  time  distinguished  by 
his  critical  talent. 

The  poem,  being  once  licensed  by  the  critics 
as  fit  for  the  market,  was  soon  finished,  pro- 
ceeding at  about  the  rate  of  a  canto  per  week. 
There  was,  indeed,  little  occasion  for  pause  or 
hesitation,  when  a  troublesome  rhyme  might 
be  accommodated  by  an  alteration  of  the 
stanza,  or  where  an  incorrect  measure  might 
be  remedied  by  a  variation  of  the  rhyme.  It 
was  finally  published  in  1805.  and  may  be 
regarded  as  the  first  work  in  which  the  writer, 
who  has  been  since  so  voluminous,  laid  his 
claim  to  be  considered  as  an  original  author. 

The  book  was  published  by  Longman  and 
Company,  and  Archibald  Constable  and  Com- 
pany. The  principal  of  the  latter  firm  was 
then  commencing  that  course  of  hold  and  libe- 
ral industry  which  was  of  so  much  advantage 
to  his  country,  and  might  have  been  so  to  him- 
self, but  for  causes  which  it  is  needless  to 
enter  into  here.  The  work,  brought  out  on 
the  usual  terms  of  division  of  profits  between 
the  author  and  publishers,  was  not  long  after 
purchased  by  them  for  SOOi,  to  which  Messrs. 
Longman  and  Company  afterwards  added 
1<XM.  in  their  own  unsolicited  kindness,  in 
consequence  of  the  uncommon  success  of  the 
work.  It  was  handsomely  given  to  supply  the 
loss  of  a  fine  horse,  which  broke  down  sud- 
denly while  the  author  was  riding  with  one  of 
the  worthy  publishers.4 

It  would  be  great  affectation  not  to  own 
frankly,  that  the  aut  her  expected  some  success 
from  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  The 
attempt  to  return  to  a  more  simple  and  natural 
style  of  poetry  was  likely  to  be  welcomed,  at 
a  time  when  the  public  had  become  tired  of 
heroic  hexameters,  with  all  the  buckram  and 
binding  whic.lt  belong  to  them  of  later  days. 

3  Book  II.  Canto  II. 

4  Mr.  Owen  Ben,  here  alluded  to,  retired  from  the  tionse 
of  Longman  *  Co.,  at  Midsummer  1837,  and  died  5th  Sep- 
tember following,  in  his  frrih  year.— Ed. 


14 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


But  whatever  mieht  have  been  his  expecta- 
tions, whether  moderate  or  unreasonable,  the 
result  left  them  far  behind,  for  amon?  those 
who  smiled  on  ihe  adventurous  Minstrel,  were 
numbered  the  great  names  of  William  Pitt  and 
Charles  Fox.'  Neither  was  th«  extent  nf  the 
sale  interior  to  the  character  of  the  judges  who 
received  the  poem  with  approbation.  Upwards 
of  tinny  thousand  copies  of  the  Lay  were  dis- 
posed of  by  the  trade ;  and  the  author  had  to 


perform  a  task  difficult  to  human  vanity,  when 
called  upon  to  make  the  necessary  dedoctions 
from  his  own  merits,  in  the  calm  attempt  to 
account  for  his  popularity  2 

A  few  additional  remarks  on  the  author's 
literary  attempts  after  this  period,  will  be 
found  in  the  Introduction  to  the  Poem  of 
Marmion. 

Abbolsford,  April,  1830. 


nf 


ffiinstnl. 


TO  THK 
BIGHT     HONOUKABLE 

CHARLES  EARL  OF  DALKEITH, 

THIS    POEM    IS    INSCRIBED    BY 
THE    AUTHOR. 

PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  Poem,  now  offered  to  the  Public,  is  intended  to  illustrate  the  customs  and  manners  which 
anciently  prevailed  on  the  Borders  of  England  and  Scotland.  The  inhabitants  living  in  a  state 
parfly  pastoral  and  partly  warlike,  and  combining  hnbits  of  constant  depredation  'tith  the  influ- 
ence of  a  rude  spirit  of  chivalry,  were  often  engaged  in  semes  highly  susceptible  of  poetical  orna- 
ment. As  the  description  nf  scenery  and  manners  was  more  the  object  of  the  Author  than  a 
combined  and  regular  narrative,  the  p'an  of  the  Ancient  Metrical  Romance  teas  adopted,  u-fiich 
alJoies  greater  latitude,  in  this  respect,  than  would  be  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  a  regular  Poem. 
Thf  same  motlel  offered  other  facilities,  as  it  permits  an  occasional  alteration  of  measure,  which, 
in  some  drqrer,  authorises  the  change  of  rhythm  in  the  text.  The  machinery,  also,  adopted  from 
popular  belief,  would  have  seemed  puerile  in  a  Poem  which  did  not  partake  of  the  rudeness  of  the 
old  Ballnd,  or  Metrical  Romance. 

Fbr  these  reasons,  the  Poem  wasptit  into  the  mouth  of  an  ancient  Minstrel,  the  last  of  the  race, 
who,  as  he  is  supposed  to  have  survived  the  Revolution,  might  have  caught  somewhat  of  the  refine- 
ment of  modern  poetry,  without  losing  the  simplicity  of  his  oririinal  model.  The  dale  of  the  Tale 
itself  is  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  when  most  of  the  personages  actually  Jiourished. 
The  lime  occupied  by  the  action  is  Three  Nights  and  Three  Days. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  way  was  lone,  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  Minstrel  was  infirm  and  old  ; 
His  wither'd  cheek,  and  tresses  gray, 
Seem'd  to  have  known  a  tetter  day ; 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 

1  "Through  whit  channel  or  in  what  term*  Fox  made 
knnwu  his  opinion  nf  the  Lay,  I  liave  failed  lo  ascertain. 
Pitt's  i>rai»e,  as  rxpreseed  10  his  niece,  Lady  Holer  Sian- 
bope.  within  r-  few  week*  after  Ihe  poem  appeared,  was 
repealed  by  her  to  Mr.  William  Stewart  Rose,  who,  of 
coarse,  communicated  It  forthwith  to  the  author;  and  not 
long  after,  the  Minister,  iti  Conversation  with  Scott's  early 
frcend.  Ihe  Right  Hon.  William  Dundax,  signified  that  it 

the  fortunes  of  such  a  writer.    "I  remember." 


Chancellor 


this  gentletl 


:  Mr.  Pitt's  table  in  1605,  Ihe 


and  TO 


and  after  I  had  answered  hi'i 

can't  remain  as  he  is,'  and  desired  me  tc 

Lock  ban.     Uf,  <tf  Urea.  Vol.  II.  p.  2i«. 

3  "The  poet  has  nnder-esfimated  even 
tangible  evidence  of  his  success.  The  fir 
Lay  was  a  magnificent  quarto,  750  eopi« 
sc~n  exhanxted.  and  there  followed  an  or 
of  1600;  In  1MB,  two  more,  one  of  2COO  c 
2JSO  :  in  1607,  a  fifth  e  lition,  of  2«Xj.  an  J 
in  1809,  3560  ;  in  1*08,  3000— a  small  editn 


fen 


the  patent  and 
it  edition  of  the 
i;  hut  this  was 


The  last  of  all  the  Bards  was  he, 
Who  sun?  of  Border  chivalry ; 
For,  welladay  !  their  date  was  fled, 
His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead ; 
And  he,  neglected  and  oppress'd, 
Wjsh'd  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest.  3 
No  more  on  prancine  palfrey  borne, 
He  caroll'd,  light  as  lark  at  "morn ; 

ballads  and  lyrical  pieces  being  then  annexe!  to  it)— and. 
another  octavo  edition  of  ;-2  0:  in  1611,  3000;  In  1013 
3000;  in  1816,  3000;  in  l«n.  1000.  A  fourteenth  Impres- 
lion  of  2000  foolscap  appeared  in  1826,  and  besides  all 
his,  before  Ihe  enil  of  lt<36.  11.000  copies  had  Bone  forth  in 
he  collected  editions  of  his  poetical  works.  Thus,  nearly 
forty-four  thousand  copies  had  been  disposed  of  in  this 
try,  and  by  the  legitimate  trade  alone,  before  he  super- 
Intended  the  edition  of  IMO,  to  which  hi«  hi.iiiraphical 
introductions  were  prefixed.  In  the  history  of  British 
Poetry  nothing  had  ever  equalled  the  demand  for  the  Lay 
if  the  Last  Minstrel  "—Lift,  Vol.  II.  p.  226. 

3  "  Turning  to  the  northward.  Scott  showed  ns  the  crags 
and  tower  of  Smailholme,  and  behind  it  the  shattered 
nent  of  Krccldoune,  and  repeated  some  pretty  stanzas 
bed  to  the  last  of  the  real  wandering  minstrels  of  this 
district,  by  name  Bant  : 

4  Sing  Erceldoune.  and  Cowdenknowea, 

Where  Homes  had  ance  commanding, 
And  Drygrange.  wi*  the  milk-white  ewes. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


No  longer  courted  and  caress'd, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 

He  pour'd,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay: 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone  ; 

A  stranger  rill'd  the  Stuarts'  throne ; 

T  e  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  call'd  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorn'd  and  poor, 

He  hegg'd  his  bread  from  door  to  door, 

And  tuned,  to  please  a  ]ieasant's  ear, 

The  harp,  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  pass'd  where  Newark's '  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birchen  bower, 
The  Minstrel  gazed  with  wishful  eye- 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  uigh ; 
With  hesitating  step  at  last. 
The  embattled  portal  arch  he  pass'd, 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oil  roll'd  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess*  marked  his  weary  pare, 
His  timid  mien,  and  reverend  face. 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell, 
That  they  should  lend  the  old  man  well: 
For  she  had  known  adversity. 
Though  born  in  such  a  high  degree ; 
lu  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Ha J  wept  o  er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb ! 

When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied, 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified, 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride: 
And  he  began  to  talk  anon, 
Of  good  Karl  Francis.3  dead  and  gone, 
And  of  Earl  Walter,*  rest  him,  God ! 
A  braver  ne'er  to  battle  rode; 
And  how  full  many  a  tale  he  knew, 
Of  the  old  warriors  of  Buccleuch : 

The  bird  that  flees  through  Rcdpath  tree. 

Mny  chaunt  and  sing--.Ssrrff  Lcadrr't  kaufkt 
And  Bonny  JIUIITJU  of  Yarrow. 

His  grief  while  life  eudureth, 
To  see  the  changes  of  this  age 

Which  fleeting  time  procureth  ; 
For  mony  a  place  stands  in  hard  case, 

Where  blythe  folks  kent  nae  sorrow, 
With  Homes  that  dwelt  on  Leader  side. 

And  ScotU  that  dwelt  on  Yarrow." 

Life,  vol.  Ti.  p.  78. 

1  "This  is  a  Tnamive  square  tower,  now  unroofed  and 
ruinous,  surrounded  by  an  outward  wall,  defended  by  round 
flanking  turrets.  It  is  mom  beautifully  situated,  about 
three  miles  from  Selkirk,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Yarrow, 

Et:ricke  about  a  mile  beneath  the  castle. 
'•  Newark  Castle   was  built  by  James  II.    The  royal 

western  side  of  the  tower.  There  was  a  much  more  an- 
cient cabtle  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  called  Auldwark. 
founded,  it  is  »aid,  by  Alexander  III.  Both  were  designed 
for  the  royal  residence  when  the  king  was  disposed  to  lake 
h.s  pleasure  in  Ihe  extensive  forest  of  Kllricku.  Various 
grants  occur  in  (he  records  of  the  Privy  Seal,  bestowing 

There  is  a  popular  tradition  that  it  was  once  Belled,  and 
held  out  by  the  outlaw  Murray,  a  noted  character  in  song, 

m  .'I.-  hereditary  sheriff  of  the  forest.  A  long  balUd,  con- 
Bonier  Minstrelsy,  (vol.  i.  p.  968.)  Upon  Ihe  marriage  of 
James  IV.  with  Margaret,  sister  of  Henry  VIII.,  the 

this  sin-  could  make  link  advantage  ;  for,  after  th    death 


And,  would  the  noble  Duchess  deign 

To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain, 

Though   stilt'   his    band,   his   voice   though 

weak, 

He  thought  even  yet,  the  sooth  to  speak, 
That,  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 
He  could  make  music  to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon  w;is  soon  obtain'd ; 
The  Aged  Minstrel  audience  gain'd. 
But,  when  he  reach'd  the  room  of  state, 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 
Perchance  he  wish'd  his  boon  denied  : 
For,  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried. 
His  trembling  hand  had  lost,  the  ease, 
Which  marks  security  to  please ; 
A.nd  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy,  and  pain, 
Came  wildering  o'er  his  aged  brain  — 
He  tried  to  tune  his  harp  in  vain  !  * 
The  pitying  Ducl«'Ss  praised  its  chime. 
And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  him  time, 
Till  every  string's  according  glee 
Was  blended  into  harmony. 
And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 
He  rould  recall  an  ancient  strain, 
He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 
It  was  not  framed  for  village  churls, 
But  for  high  dames  and  mighty  earls; 
He  had  played  it  lo  l^ng  Charles  the  Good, 
When  he  kept  court  in  Holyrood; 
And  much  he  wish'd,  yet  fear'd,  to  try 
The  long-forgotten  melody. 
Amid  the  strings  his  lingers  stray'd, 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made, 
And  oft  he  shook  his  hoary  head. 
But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 
The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled 
And  lighten'd  up  his  faded  eye, 
With  aJl  a  poet's  ecstasy ! 
In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong, 
He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along : 

of  her  husband,  she  is  found  complaining  heavily,  that 
Bucclench  had  seized  upon  these  lands.  Indeed,  the  office 
of  keeper  was  latterly  held  by  the  family  of  Buccl,  uch, 
and  with  so  firm  a  t;ra»p,  that  when  Ihe  Korest  of  Klmclie 
w.u  duparked.  they  obtained  a  (rant  of  Ihe  Castle  of  New- 
ark in  property.  It  was  within  Ihe  court-yard  of  this 
castle  that  Ueneral  lyslydid  military  execution  upon  the 
prisoners  whom  he  had  taken  at  the  battle  of  Philiphaugh. 

Buccleuch  family  for  more  than  a  century;  and  here,  it  is 
aaid.  the  Duchess  of  Moumouth  and  Buccleuch  was  brought 

make  it  the  scene  in  which  the  Lay  of  Ihe  Last  Minstrel 

Schetky's  lUuttration*  of  the  Lay  of  the  Latt  Minttrel. 

It  may  be  added  that  Bov.  hill  was  the  favourite  residence 
of  Lord  and  Lady  Dalkeilh,  (afterwards  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Buccleuch,)  at  the  lime  when  the  poem  wa«  composed  ; 
the  ruins  of  Newark  are  all  but  included  in  the  p.irk  at- 
tached to  that  modern  seat  of  the  family;  and  Sir  Walter 
Scon,  no  doubt,  was  influenced  in  his  choice  of  the  locality, 
by  the  predilection  of  the  charming  lady  who  Au«ceKled  the 
subject  of  his  Lay  for  the  scenery  of  the  Tarrow-a  beau- 
tiful walk  on  whose  banks,  leading  from  Ihe  hou-e  lo  ihe 
old  caalle,  is  called,  in  memory  of  her.  the  Duchtu'i  Wjllt. 
—Ed. 

3  Anne,  Dachess  of  Buccleuch  and  Monmouth,  repreaen la- 
ve of  Ihe  ancient  Lorils  of  Buccleuch.  and  widow  of  ihe 

i  1685. 

8  Francis  Scott,  Earl  of  Bucclench,  father  of  the  Duchess. 

4  Waller.  Earl  of  Buccleuch,  grandfather  of  the  Duche« 

5  "  Mr.  W.  Dnndas,  (See  Life  of  Scon,  vol.  ii.  p.  KM,) 


16                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 
His  toils,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot  : 

Thirty  steeds,  both  fleet  and  wight, 
Stood  saddled  in  stable  day  and  night. 

Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost. 

Barbed  with  frontlet  of  steel,  1  trow, 

In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost  ; 

And  with  Jedwood-axe  at  saddlebow;3 

Each  blank,  in  faithless  memory  void, 

A  hundred  more  fed  free  in  stall  :  — 

The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied  ; 

Such  was  the  custom  of  Branksome-Hall. 

And,  while  iiis  harp  responsive  rung, 

'Twos  thus  the  Latest  Minstrel  sung. 

VI. 

Why  do  these  steeds  stand  readv  dight  ? 



Why  watch  these  warriors,  arm'd,  by  night  ?— 
They  watch,  to  hear  the  blood-hound  baying: 

2Tte  3La»  of  tje  Hast  IfHfnstrel. 

They  watch  to  hear  the  war-horn  braying  ; 
To  see  St.  George's  red  cross  streaming. 



To  see  the  midnight  beacon  gleaming: 

CANTO   FIRST. 

They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile, 



Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 

j 

Threaten  Brankaome's  lordly  towers, 

From    Warkworth,   or   Naworth,  or   merry 

The  feast  was  over  in  Branksome  tower.  1 

Carlisle.* 

And  the  Ladye  had  gone  to  her  secret  bower  ; 

Her  bower  that  was  guarded  by  word  and  by 

VII. 

spell. 

Such  is  the  custom  of  Branksome-Hall.  — 

Deadly  to  hear,  and  deadly  to  tell— 
Jesu  Maria,  shield  us  well  ! 

Many  a  valiant  knight  is  here  ; 
But  he,  the  chieftain  of  them  all, 

No  living  wight,  save  the  Ladye  alone, 
Had  dared  to  cross  the  threshold  stone. 

His  sword  hangs  rusting  on  the  wall, 
Beside  his  broken  spear. 

11. 

Bards  long  shall  tell 

The  tables  were  drawn  Jt  was  idlesse  all  ; 
Knight,  and  page,  awoionsehold  squire, 
Loiter'd  through  the  lofty  hall, 
Or  crowded  round  the  ample  fire  : 
The  stag-hounds,  weary  with  the  chase, 
Lay  stretched  upon  the  rushy  floor, 
And  urged,  in  dreams,  the  forest  race, 

How  lord  Walter  fell!  5 
When  startled  burghers  fled,  afar, 
The  furies  of  the  border  war  ; 
When  the  streets  of  high  Dunedin* 
Saw  lances  gleam,  and  falchions  redden, 
And  heard  the  slogan's7  deadly  yell  — 
Then  the  Chief  of  Branksome  felL 

From  Teviot-stone  to  Eskdale-moor. 

VIII. 

ni. 

Can  piety  the  discord  heal. 

Nine-and-twenty  knights  of  fame 
Hung  their  shields  in  Branksome-Hall  ;  ' 

Or  stanch  the  death-feud's  enmity  ? 
Can  Christian  lore,  can  patriot  zeal, 

Nine-and-twenty  squires  of  name 
Brought  them  their  steeds  to  bower  from 

Can  love  of  blessed  chanty  ? 
No  !  vainly  to  each  holy  shrine, 

stall  ; 

In  mutual  pilgrimage  they  drew  ; 

Nine-and-twenty  yeomen  tall 
Waited,  duteous,  on  them  all  : 

Implored,  in  vain,  the  grace  divine 
For  chiefs,  their  own  red  falchions  slew  : 

They  were  all  knights  of  mettle  true, 
Kinsmen  to  the  bold  Buccleuch. 

While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 
While  Ettnck  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 
The  slaughter'd  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 

IV. 

The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war, 

Ten  of  them  were  sheathed  in  steel. 

Shall  never,  never  be  forgot  !  8 

With  belted  sword,  and  spur  on  heel  : 

They  quitted  not  their  harness  bright, 
Neither  by  day,  nor  yet  by  night  : 

IX 
In  sorrow  o'er  Lord  Walter's  bier 

They  lav  down  lo  rest, 

The  warlike  foresters  had  bent  ; 

With  corslet  laced, 
Pillow'd  on  buckler  cold  and  hard  ; 

And  many  a  flower,  and  many  a  tear, 
Old  Teviot's  maids  and  matrons  lent  ; 

They  carved  at  the  meal 

But  o'er  her  warrior's  blood  v  bier 

With  gloves  of  steel, 
And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the 
helmet  barr'd. 

The  Ladye  dropped  nor  flower  nor  tear  !  • 
Vengeance,  deep-brooding  o'er  the  slain, 
Had  lock'd  the  source  of  softer  woe  ; 

y 

And  burning  pride,  and  high  disdain, 

Ten  squires,  ten  yeomen,  mail-clad  men, 

Forbade  the  rising  tear  to  flow  ; 
Until,  amid  his  sorrowing  clan. 

Waited  the  beck  of  the  warders  teu; 

Her  son  lisp'd  from  the  nurse's  knee  — 

1  See  Appendix,  Sole  A.         9  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

Compare  also  the  Ballad  of  Kinmont  Willie,  (vol.  ii.  p.  53.) 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  D.  and  compare  these  stanzas  with 
the  drwription  of  Jamie  Telfer's  appearance  at  Branksorae- 

In  Brauksome  ha'  where  that  he  lay,"'*c.  —  Sd. 

Ilall.  (Border    Mlnslr-l»y,   rol.   ii.    p.    6.)    lo    claim    the 
protection  of  "  Arild  Buorlvucb"  —  and  the  ensuing  scene, 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 
6  Edinburgh. 

"The  Scotts  they  rade,  the  Srotu  they  ran, 
8ae  starkly  and  sae  steadilie  1 

8  See  Appendix,  .Note  F. 

And  aye  the  ower-word  o'  the  Ibrang 
Wa<  —  ••  Rise  for  Branksome  readilie,"  Jtc. 

•  One.  (1«  Edition.)  ••  The  Ladye  dropped  nor  Uf\  nor 
ear." 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


17 


"And  if  I  live  to  he  a  man. 

My  father's  death  revenged  shall  be!" 
Then  fast  the  mother's  tears  ilul  si:»!K 
To  dew  the  infant's  kindling  cheek. 

X. 

AH  loose  her  negligent  attire, 

All  loose  In1]-  golden  hair, 
Hung  Margaret  o'er  her  slaughter'd  sire, 

And  wept  in  wild  despair, 
But  not  alone  the  hitter  tear 

Had  filial  grief  supplied  ; 
For  hopeless  love,  and  anxious  fear, 

Had  lent  their  minified  tide  : 
Nor  in  her  mother's  alter'd  eye 
Dared  she  to  look  for  sympathy. 
Her  lover,  'gainst  her  father's  clan, 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood.' 
When  Mathouse-burn  to  Melrose  ran, 

All  purple  with  their  blood ; 
And  well  she  knew,  her  mother  dread, 
Before  Lord  Cranstoun  she  should  wed," 
Would  see  her  oil  her  dying  bed. 

XI. 

Of  noble  race  the  Ladye  came. 
Her  father  was  a  clerk  of  fame, 

Of  BeUiune's  line  of  Picardie  -.3 
He  learn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name. 

In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea.* 
Men  said,  he  changed  his  mortal  frame 

By  feat  of  magic  mystery  ; 
For  when,  in  studious  mood,  he  paced 

St.  Andrew's  cloister'd  hall,5 
His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 

Upon  the  sunny  wall  !• 

XII. 
And  of  his  skill,  as  bards  avow 

He  taught  that  Ladye  fair. 
Till  to  her  bidding  she  could  bow 

The  viewless  forms  of  air.' 
And  now  she  sits  in  secret  bower. 
In  Old  Lord  David's  western  tower, 
And  listens  to  a  heavy  sound, 
That  moans  the  mossy  turrets  round. 
Is  it  the  roar  of  Teviot's  tide. 
That  chafes  against  the  scaur's8  red  side  ? 
Is  it  the  wind  that  swings  the  oaks  ? 
Is  it  the  echo  from  the  rocks  ? 
What  may  it  lie.  the  heavy  sound. 
That  moans  old  Branksome's  turrets  round  T 

XIII. 
At  the  sullen,  moaning  sound. 

The  ban-dogs  bay  and  howl ; 
And.  from  the  turrets  round, 

Loud  whoops  the  startled  owl. 
In  the  hall,  both  squire  and  knight. 

Swore  that  a  storm  was  near. 
And  looked  forth  to  view  the  night t 

But  the  night  was  still  and  clear ; 

XIV. 

From  the  sound  of  Teviot's  tide. 
Chafing  with  the  mountain's  side. 
From  the  groan  of  the  wind-swung-  oak, 
From  the  sullen  echo  of  the  rock, 


1  Sec  Appendix,  Note  G.  (The  same  i«  .pelt  diSeren 
by  the  ranou«  families  who  l>.-ar  it.  Carr  in  selected,  1 
&•  the  mot!  correct,  but  a*  the  muni  poetical  reading.) 

0  See  Appendix,  Note  H.  3  See  Appendix,  Kote 


From  the  voice  of  the  coming  storm, 

The  Ladye  knew  it  well ! 
It  was  the  Spirit  of  the  Flood  that  spoke. 

And  he  called  on  the  Spirit  of  the  Fell. 

XV. 
RIVER  SPIRIT. 

"  Sleep'st  thou,  brother?"— 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

— "  Brother,  nay— 
On  my  hills  the  moonlieams  play. 
From  Craik-cross  to  Skelfhilt  pen, 
By  every  rill,  in  every  glen, 
Merry  elves  their  morris  pacing, 

To  aerial  mmslrelsy, 
Emerald  rings  on  brown  heath  tracing, 

Trip  it  deft  and  merrily. 
Up,  and  mark  their  nimble  feet ! 
Up,  and  list  their  music  sweet !" — 

XVI. 

RIVER  SPIRIT. 

"  Tears  of  an  imprison'd  maiden 

Mix  with  my  polluted  stream  ; 
Margaret  of  Branksome,  sorrow-laden. 

Mourns  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam. 
Tell  me,  thou,  who  view's!  the  stars, 
When  shall  cease  these  feudal  jars? 
What  shall  be  the  maiden's  fate  ? 
Who  shall  be  the  maiden's  mate  ?"— 

XVK. 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

"  Arthur's  slow  wain  his  course  doth  roll, 
In  utter  darkness  round  the  pole  ; 
The  Northern  Bear  lowers  black  and  grim ; 
Orion's  studded  belt  is  dim ; 
Twinkling  faint,  and  distant  far. 
Shimmers  through  mist  each  planet  star; 

III  may  I  read  their  high  decree! 
But  no  kind  influence  deign  they  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide,  and  Branksome's  tower, 

Tiil  pride  be  quelled,  and  love  be  free." 

XVIII. 
The  unearthly  voices  ceast. 

And  the  heavy  sound  was  still; 
it  died  on  the  river's  breast, 

It  died  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
But  round  Lord  David's  tower 

The  sound  still  floated  near: 
For  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  bower, 

And  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  ear. 
She  raised  her  stately  head. 

And  her  heart  throbb'd  high  with  pride  :- 
'•  Your  mountains  shall  bend, 
And  your  streams  ascend, 

Ere  Margaret  be  our  foemaii's  bride !" 

XIX. 

The  Ladye  sought  the  lofty  hall, 

Where  many  a  bold  retainer  lay, 
And,  with  jocund  dm,  among  them  alt 

Her  son  pursued  his  infant  play. 
A  fancied  moss-trooper,8  the  boy 

The  truncheon  of  a  spear  bestrode, 
And  round  the  hall,  right  merrily, 

In  mimic  foray  >  o  rode. 


See  Append,  . 
4  See  Appendix,  N 


5  First  Edition—"  St.  Kmlierme'i  hall."— St.  Mur.go,  or 
Kentigerne.  is  the  patron  mint  of  Olmgow. 
t  See  Appendix,  Note  L.  7  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  N.    10  Tarty,  a  predatory  intoa^. 


18 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Even  bearded  knights,  in  arms  grown  old, 
Share  in  his  frolic  symbols  bore, 

Alheit  the\r  hearts  of  rusned  moult]. 
Were  stubborn  as  the  steel  they  wore. 

For  the  grey  warriors  prophesied. 
How  the"  brave  hoy.  in  future  war. 

Should  tame  the  Unicorn's  pride,' 
Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star.* 

XX. 
The  Ladye  forgot  her  purpose  high, 

One  ni.mient.  and  uo  more; 
One  moment  gazed  with  a  mother's  eye, 

As  she  paused  at  the  arched  door : 
Then  from  amid  the  armed  train. 
She  called  her  Wilbani  of  Deloraine.* 

XXI. 

A  stark  moss-trooping  Scot  was  he. 
As  e'er  couch'd  Border  lance  by  knee ; 
Through  Sol  way  sands,  through  Tarras  moss, 
Blindfold,  he  knew  the  paths  to  cross; 
Bv  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds. 
Had  baffled  Percy's  best  blood-hounds;* 
In  Eske  or  Lidde'l,  fords  were  none, 
But  he  would  ride  them,  one  by  one; 
Alike  to  him  was  time  or  tide. 
December's  snow,  or  July's  pride ; 
Alike  to  him  was  tide  or  time. 
Moonless  midnight,  or  matin  prime  : 
Steady  of  heart,  and  stout  of  hand. 
As  ever  drove  prey  from  Cumberland  ; 
Five  times  outlawed  had  he  been. 
By  England's  King,  and  Scotland's  Queen. 

XXII. 

"Sir  William  of  Deloraine,  stood  at  need. 
Mount  thee  on  the  wight  e&t  steed  ; 
Spare  nut  to  spur,  nor  stint  to  ride, 
Until  thou  come  to  fair  Tweedside; 
And  in  Melrose's  holy  pile. 
Seek  thou  the  Monk'ot  St.  Mary's  aisle. 

Greet  I  he  Father  well  from  me  ; 
Say  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 

And  to-night  he  shall  watch  with  thee. 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb : 
For  this  will  be  St.  Michael's  night. 
And,  though  stars  be  dim.  the  moon  is  bright ; 
And  the  cross,  of  bloody  red, 
Will  point  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead. 

XXIII. 

"  What  he  fives  thee,  see  thou  keep ; 
Stay  not  thou  for  food  or  sleep : 
Be  it  scroll,  or  be  it  book, 
Into  it.  Knight,  thou  must  not  look ; 
If  thoureadest,  thou  art  lorn  ! 
Better  had'st  thou  ne'er  been  born." — 

XXIV. 
"O  swiftly  can  speed  my  dapple-grey  steed, 

Which  drinks  of  the  Teviot  clear ; 
Ere  break  of  day."  the  Warrior  'gan  say, 

"  Again  will  1  "te  hern  : 


eiation  of  the  port  hitn«elf—  •„•  ml  whi>  «tiv  familiar  with 
bi«  utterance  of  the  lenrr  r  »ill  bear  testimony.— Ei. 

3  See  Appendix.  Sole  O.    3  Ibid,  Hole  P.  4  II H,  Note  ft. 

5  /fainta,  the  [lure  of  e  icculiuir  the  rV.ril.-r  Marauder* 
•I  Carii-le  The  fttt-tme  i«  Th.-  beginning  of  the  61»t 
Psalm.  Miterm  met,  Ac.,  anciently  read  by  criminal* 
ilnirnmg  the  benefii  of  clergy.  |"  In  the  rough  bat  »pirited 
a£eteh  of  the  marauding  Borderer,  and  in  the  aatveleof  bin 


And  safer  by  none  may  thy  errand  be  done. 

Than,  noble  dame,  by  me ; 
Letter  nor  line  know  I  never  a  one, 

Wert  my  neck  -verse  at  Hairibee."  * 

XXV. 

Soon  in  his  saddle  sate  he  fast, 
And  soon  the  steep  descent  he  past. 
Soon  crossed  the  sounding  barbican,' 
And  soon  the  Teviot's  side  he  won. 
Eastward  the  wtxnled  path  he  rode, 
Green  hazels  o'er  his  basnet  nod  ; 
He  passed  the  Peel'  of  Goldiland, 
And  cross'd  old  Borthwick's  roaring  strand ; 
Dimly  he  viewed  the  Moat-hill's  mound. 
Where  Druid  shades  still  flitted  round;* 
In  Hawick  twinkled  many  a  light ; 
Behind  him  soon  they  set  in  night; 
And  soon  he  spurr'd  his  courser  keen 
Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazeldean.' 

XXVI. 

The  clattering  hoofs  the  watchmen  mark  :— 
"  Stand,  ho !  thou  courier  of  the  dark." — 
"  For  Branksome.  ho  !"  the  knight  rejoin'd, 
And  left  the  friendly  tower  behind. 
He  turn'd  him  now  from  Teviotside, 

And,  guided  by  the  tinkling  rill. 
Northward  the  dark  ascent  did  ride. 

And  gamed  the  moor  at  Horslieiull ; 
Broad  on  the  left  before  him  lay, 
For  many  a  mile,  the  Roman  way.'-" 

XXVII. 

A  moment  now  he  slack'd  his  speed. 
A  moment  breathed  his  panting  steed ; 
Drew  saddle-girth  and  corslet-band. 
And  loosen'd  in  the  sheath  his  brand. 
On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint, n 
Where  Barnhill  hewed  his  bed  of  flint; 
Who  flung  his  outlaw'd  limbs  to  rest, 
Where  falcons  hang  their  giddy  nest, 
Mid  cliffs,  from  whence  his  eagle  eye 
Kor  many  a  It-ague  his  prey  could  spy ; 
Cliffs,  doubling,  on  their  echoes  home, 
The  terrors  of  the  robber's  horn  ? 
Cliffs,  which,  for  many  a  later  year. 
The  warbling  Doric  reed  shall  hear. 
When  some  sad  swain  shall  teach  the  grove, 
Ambition  is  uo  cure  for  love ! 

XXVIII. 

Unchallenged,  thence  passed  Deloraine, 
To  ancient  .Riddel's  fair  domain.  12 

W  here  Aill,  from  mountains  freed, 
Down  from  the  lakf  s  did  raving  come ; 
Each  wave  was  crested  with  tawny  foam, 

Like  the  mane  of  a  chestnut  steed. 
In  vain !  no  torrent,  deep  or  broad, 
Might  bar  the  bold  moss-trooper's  road. 

XXIX. 

At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low, 
And  the  water  broke  o'er  the  saddlebow; 


trikiut  feature*  of  llie  i 
6  Birh«>,  tne   dVfen. 


leiil  ballad."—  Cnlical  Raton.} 
of  the  outer  tale  of  a  feudal 


7  Peel,  a  Bonier  lower. 

6See  Appemhl,  Note  R.  S  See  Appendix,  5olf  8. 

10  Au  aurient  Roman  road,  crossing  through  part  of  Roz- 
burgluhire. 

11  See  Appendix.  Note  T.  19  Ibid,  Hole  C. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


19 


Above  the  foaming  tide,  I  ween. 

Scarce  half  the  charger's  neuk  was  seen ; 

For  he  was  barded  >  from  counter  to  tail, 

And  the  rider  was  armed  complete  in  mail ; 

Never  heavier  man  and  horse 

Slemm'd  a  midnight  torrent's  force. 

The  warrior's  very  plume,  I  say, 

Was  daggled  by  the  dashing  spray; 

Yet,  through  good  heart  and  Our  Ladye's  grace, 

At  length  he  gam'd  the  lauding  place. 

XXX. 

Now  Bowden  Moor  the  march-man  won, 

And  sreruly  shook  his  plumed  head, 
As  glanced  his  eye  o'ef 'Halidon;* 

For  on  his  soul  the  slaughter  red 
Of  that  nnhallow'd  morn  arose, 
When  first  the  Scott  and  Carr  were  foes ; 
When  royal  James  beheld  the  fray, 
Prize  to  the  victor  of  the  day; 
When  Home  and  Douglas,  in  the  van, 
Bore  down  Buccleuch's  retiring  nlan, 
Till  gallant  Cesiford's  heart-blood  dear 
Reek'd  ou  dark  Elliot's  Border  spear. 

XXXI. 

In  bitter  mood  he  spurred  fast. 

And  soon  the  hated  heath  was  past ; 

And  far  beneath,  in  lustre  wan. 

Old  Metros'  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran ; 

Like  some  bill  rock,  with  lichens  grey, 

Seem'd  dimly  huge,  the  dark  Ahbaye. 

When  Havvick  he  pass'd,  had  curfew  rung, 

Now  midnight  lauds  3  were  in  Melrose  sung. 

The  sound,  upon  the  fitful  gale. 

In  solemn  wise  did  rise  and  fail. 

Like  that  wild  harp,  whose  magic  tone 

Is  waken'd  by  the  winds  alone. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reached, 'twas  silence 

all; 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 
And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  walM 


Here  paused  the  harp ;  and  with  its  swell 
The  Master's  fire  and  courage  fell ; 
Dejectedly,  and  low,  he  bowed, 
And,  gazing  timid  on  the  crowd, 
He  seem'd  to  seek,  in  every  eye. 
It  they  approved  his  minstrelsy  ; 
And,  diffident  of  present  praise. 
Somewhat  he  spoke  of  former  days, 
And  how  old  age,  and  wand'ring  long, 
Had  done  his  hand  and  harp  some  wrong. 
The  Duchess,  and  her  daughters  fair, 
And  every  gentle  lady  there, 
Each  after  each,  in  due  degree, 
Gave  praises  to  ins  melody; 
His  hand  was  true,  his  voice  was  clear. 
And  much  they  longed  the  rest  to  hear. 
Encou rased  thus,  the  Aged  Man, 
After  meet  rest,  again  began. 


Cjje  JLan  of  t&e  East 


CAHTO   SECOMP. 


I. 

If  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Gn  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 
Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  grey. 
When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 
And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white ; 
When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 
Streams  on  the  ruined  central  tower; 
When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 
Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory ; 
When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 
And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die  ;* 
When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave. 
And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's 

grave. 

Then  go— but  go  alone  the  while — 
Then  view  St.  David's  ruin'd  pile  ;8 
And.  home  returning,  soothly  swear, 
Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair! 

II. 

Short  halt  did  Deloraine  make  there ; 
Little  reck'd  he  of  the  scene  so  fair: 
With  dagger's  hilt,  on  the  wicket  strong, 
He  struck  full  loud,  and  struck  full  long, 
The  porter  hurried  to  the  Kate — 

Who  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  so  late  I " 

From  Branksome  I."  the  warrior  cried ; 
And  straight  the  wicket  open'd  wide: 
For  Branksorne's  Chiefs  had  in  battle  stood, 

To  fence  the  rights  of  fair  Melrose ; 
And  lands  and  livings,  many  a  rood. 

Had  gifted  the  shrine  for  their  souls'  repose,1' 

III. 

Bold  Deloraine  his  errand  said ; 
The  porter  bent  his  humble  head ; 
With  torch  in  hand,  and  feet  unshod. 
And  noiseless  step,  the  path  he  trod  : 
The  arched  cloister,  far  and  wide. 
Rang  to  the  warrior's  clanking  stride, 
Till,  stooping  low  his  lofty  crest. 
He  enter  d  the  cell  of  the  ancient  priest. 
And  lifted  his  barred  aventayle,3 
To  hail  the  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle. 

IV. 

"  The  Ladye  of  Branksome  greets  thee  by  me ; 

Says,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 
And  that  to-night  I  shall  watch  with  thee, 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb." 
From  sackcloth  conch  the  monk  arose, 

With  toil  his  stifl'en'd  limbs  he  rear'd; 
A  hundred  years  had  flung  their  snows 

On  IDS  thin  locks  and  floating  beard. 


ward  lay  [he  geld  of  battle  beiwixl  Bnrcleurh  and  Angtu, 
v»rm-h  }-.  railed  to  Ihia  Jay  [he  Skirminh  Field.— See  Ap- 
pendix, Note  D. 

3  Ltu-li,  the  midnight  »emce  of  the  Catholic  church. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

6  David  I.  of  Scotland,  purchased  the  reputation  of  «ai 


monastery  of  M.-lrnse,  but  those  of  Kelao.Jedbiirgh,  and 

of  Ins  smvessor,  Ihtt  he  wa<  a  tore  saint  for  the  crown, 

7  The  Buccleoch  family  were  (ireat  benefactors  to  th« 
Abbey  of  Meltone.    A*  early  as  the  rrien  of  Ronert  II., 
Kobert  Scott,  Baron  of  Murdieston  and  Rankleburn,  (now 
Buocleurh.)  gave  lo  the  monks   the   lands  of  Hinkery,  ia 
Ettrirk   Forenl.  fro  itluli  tuimat  nit.—  diartnlarf  tf 
Mdroie,  28th  May,  1415. 

8  Acntayle.  visor  of  [he  helmet. 


20 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


v. 

And  strangely  on  the  knight  look'd  he, 

And  his  blue  eyes  gleam'd  wild  and  wide  ; 
"  And,  darest  Ihou.  Warrior !  seek  to  see 

What  heaven  and  liell  alike  would  hide  T 
My  breast,  in  twit  of  iron  pent, 

With  shirt  of  hair  and  scourge  of  thorn ; 
For  threescore  years,  in  penance  spent. 

Mj  knees  those  flinty  stones  have  worn : 
Yet  all  too  little  to  atone 
For  knowing  what  should  ne'er  be  known. 

Would'st  thou  thy  every  future  year 
In  cea-seless  prayer  and  penance  drie, 

Yet  wait  thy  latter  end  with  fear — 
Then,  daring  Warrior,  follow  me  !" — 

VI. 

"  Penance,  father,  will  I  none  ; 
Prayer  know  I  hardly  one; 
For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry, 
Save  to  patter  an  Ave  Mary, 
When  I  ride  on  a  border  foray.' 
Other  prayer  can  I  none  ; 
So  speed  my  errand,  and  let  me  be  gone." — 

VII. 
Again  on  the  knight  look'd  the  Churchman  old, 

And  again  he  sighed  heavily  : 
For  he  had  himself  been  a  warrior  bold, 

And  fought  in  Spain  and  Italy. 
And  he  thought  on  the  days  that  were  long 

since  by, 
When  his  limbs  were  strong,  and  his  courage 

was  high :  — 

Now,  slow  and  faint,  he  led  the  way. 
Where,  cloister'd  round,  the  garden  lay; 
The  pillar'd  arches  were  over  their  head. 
And  oeneath  their  feet  were  the  bones  of  the 
dead.* 


Spreading  herbs,  and  flowerets  bright, 
Ghsten'd  with  the  dew  of  night  ; 
Nor  herb,  nor  floweret,  glisten'd  there, 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister-arches  as  fair. 
The  Monk  gazed  long  on  the  lovely  moon, 

Then  into  the  night  he  looked  forth  ; 
And  red  and  bright  the  streamers  light 
Were  dancing  in  the  glowing  north. 
So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start  ;  3 
Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel. 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. 
He  knew,  by  the  streamers  that  shot  so  bright, 
That  spirits  were  riding  the  northern  light. 

IX. 
By  a  steel-clenched  postern  door. 

They  enter'd  now  the  chancel  tall  ; 
The  darken'd  roof  rose  high  aloof 

On  pillars  lofty  anil  lisht  and  small  : 
The  key-stone,  that  lock'd  each  ribbed  aisle, 
Was  a  fleur-de-lys,  or  a  qiiartre-feuille  ; 


The  corbejts4  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim ; 
And  the  pillars,  with  clnstrr'd  shafts  so  trim. 
With  base  and  with  capital  flourished  around.3 
Seem'd  bundles  of  lances  which  garlands  had 
bound. 


Full  many  a  scutcheon  and  banner  riven, 
Shook  to  'the  cold  night-wind  of  heaven. 

Around  the  screened  altar's  pale  : 
And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  bum, 
Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn. 
0  gallant  chief  of  Otterburne  !  6 

And  thine,  dark  Knight  of  l.iddesdale  !  7 
O  fading  honours  of  the  dead  ! 
0  high  ambition,  lowly  laid  I 

XI. 

The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone  8 
Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliaged  tracery  combined  ; 
Thou  would'st  have  thought  some  fairy's  hand 
'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  ozier  wand, 

In  many  a  freakish  Knot  had  twined  ; 
Then  framed  a  spell,  when  the  work  was  done, 
And  changed   the  willow-wreaths  to  stone. 
The  silver  light,  so  pale  and  faint, 
Show'd  many  a  prophet,  and  many  a  saint, 

Whose  image  on  the  glass  was  dyed  ; 
Full  in  the  midst,  his  Cross  of  Red 
Triumphant  Michael  brandished. 

And  trampled  the  Apostate's  pride. 
The  moon-beam  kiss'd  the  holy  pane, 
And  threw  on  the  pavement  a  bloody  stain. 

XII. 
They  sate  them  down  on  a  marble  stone,9  — 

(A  Scottish  monarch  slept  below;) 
Thus  spoke  the  Monk,  in  solemn  tone  :  — 

"  I  was  not  always  a  man  of  woe  ; 
For  Paynim  countries  I  have  trod. 
And  fought  beneath  the  Cross  of  God  : 
Now,  strange  to  my  eyes  thine  arms  appear, 
And  their  iron  clang  sounds  strange  to  my  ear. 

XIII. 

"  In  these  far  climes  it  was  my  lot 
To  meet  the  wondrous  Michael  S>cott; 

A  wizard,  of  stich  dreaded  fame, 
That  when,  in  Salamanca's  cave," 
Him  listed  his  magic  wand  to  wave, 

The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame  !  12 
Some  of  his  skill  he  taught  to  me; 
And,  Warrior,  1  could  say  to  thee 
The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three," 

And  bridled  the  Tweed  with  a  curb  of  stone: 
But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin  ; 
And  for  having  but  thought  them  my  heart 
within, 

A  treble  penance  must  be  done. 

XIV. 

"When  Michael  lay  on  his  dying  bed, 
His  conscience  was  awakened  : 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

3  The  r-loi»ter«  were  frequently  used  as  place*  of  sepul- 
ture.    An  instance  (H-rurl  in  Dryhurgh  Abbey,  where  the 
cloister  has  an  inscription,  bearing,  ttic  j*ct*  f  rater  Ardii- 

Mafm, 

5  See  Appendix.  -Note  T. 

4  CortxQ*,  the  projection*  from  which  the  fcrche*  apriog, 
daually  cat  in  m  faulwlic  face,  or  masa:. 

6  "  With  r'.mth  and  with  capital  rlonriab'd  aronnd." 

Ftrtt 


e  See  Appendix,  Note  Z.  7  Ibid.  Note  3  A. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

9  A  larte  marble  .'one.  in  the  chancel  or  Metro-*.  i« 
pointed  out  aa  the  monument  of  Alexander  IX.,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  our  early  kinpa  ;  others  say,  it  is  the  resting- 
place  of  WaWcve.  one  of  the  early  abbot*,  who  died  in  the 


of  sanctity. 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  9  C. 
12  S,-e  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 


11  Ibid.  Sole  1  D. 
13  Ibid.  Note  2  F. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


21 


He  bethought  him  of  his  sinful  deed, 
AuJ  lie  gave  me  a  sun  to  come  witu  speed  : 
I  was  in  Spain  when  tlie  morning  ruse. 
Bill  I  stood  by  his  bed  ere  evening  close. 
The  words  may  not  again  be  said, 
That  he  spoke  to  me.  on  death  bed  laid  : 
They  would  rend  this  Ahliaye's  massy  nave, 
And  pile  it  it:  heaps  above  his  grave. 

XV. 

"I  swore  to  bury  his  Mighty  Bonk, 

That  never  mortal  might  therein  look  ; 

And  never  to  tell  where  it  was  hid. 

Save  at  his  Chief  of  Branksome's  need  : 

And  when  that  need  was  past  and  o'er, 

Again  the  volume  to  restore. 

1  buried  him  on  St.  Michael's  night, 

When  the  bell  toll'd  one,  and  the  moon  was 

bright, 

And  I  dug  his  chamber  among  the  dead, 
Whefi  the  floor  of  the  chancel  was  stained  red. 
That  his  patron's  cross  might  over  him  wave. 
And  scare  the  fiends  from  the  wizard's  grave. 

XVI. 

"  It.  was  a  night  of  woe  and  drea:l, 

When  Michael  in  the  tomb  I  laid  ! 

Strange  sounds  along  the  chancel  pass'd, 

The  banners  waved  without  a  blast"  — 

—  Still  spoke  the  Monk,  when  the  bell  toll'd 

one!  — 

I  tell  you.  that  a  braver  man 
Than  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need. 
Against  a  foe  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed ; 
Yet  somewhat  was  he  diill'd  with  dread, 
And  his  hair  did  bristle  upon  his  head. 

XVII. 

"  Lo,  Warrior !  now,  the  Cross  of  Red 

Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead  : 

Within  it  burns  a  wondrous  light, 

To  chase  the  spirits  that  love  the  night : 

That  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchably. 

Until  the  elernal  doom  sliall  be."—1 

Slow  moved  the  Monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 

Which  the  hliMxly  Cross  was  traced  upon: 

He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook  : 

An  iron  bar  the  Warrior  took ;  2 

And  the  Monk  made  a  sign  with  his  wither'd 

hand, 
The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

XVIII. 

With  beating  heart  to  the  task  he  went ; 
His  sinewy  frame  o'er  the  grave-stone  bent; 
With  bar  of  iron  heaved  amain. 
Till  the  toil-drops  fell  from  his  brows,  like  rain. 
It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength. 
That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 
I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 
How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Siream'd  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 
And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof! 
No  earthly  flame  blazed  e'er  sn  bright : 
It  shone  like  heaven's  own  blessed  light, 

And.  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Show'il  the  Monk's  cowl,  anil  visage  pale, 
D.mced  on  the  dark-hrow'd  Warrior's  mail, 

And  kiss'd  his  waving  plume. 


1  S«e  Appcndil,  \«<!  2 

2  Orig.  —  .4  bar  frym  tkt 


XIX. 

Before  their  eyes  the  Wizard  lay, 
4s  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 
His  hoary  beard  in  silver  roll'd, 
He  seem'd  some  seventy  winters  old : 

A  palmer's  amice  wrapp'd  him  round, 

With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 
Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea  : 

His  left  hand  held  his  Book  of  Might ; 

A  silver  cross  was  in- his  right; 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee: 
High  and  majestic  was  his  look, 
At  which  the  fullest  fiends  had  shook, 
And  all  unruffled  was  his  face  : 
They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace. 

XX. 

Often  had  William  of  Deloraine 

Rode  through  the  battle's  bloody  plain. 

And  trampled  down  the  warriors  slain, 

And  neither  known  remorse  nor  awe  ; 
Yet  now  remorse  and  awe  he  own'd  ; 
His  breath  came  thick,  his  head  swam  round  ; 

When  this  strange  scene  of  death  he  saw, 
Bewilder'd  and  unnerved  he  stood, 
And  the  priest  pray'd  fervently  and  loud  : 
With  eyes  averted  prayed  he ; 
He  might  not  endure  the  sight  to  see, 
Of  the  man  he  had  loved  so  brotherly. 

XIX. 
And  when  the  priest  his  death-prayer  had 

pray'd. 
Thus  unto  Deloraine  he  said  :  — 

Now,  speed  thee  what  thoii  hast  to  do, 
Or.  Warrior,  we  may  dearly  rue ; 
For  those  thou  rnay'st  not  look  upon. 
Are  gathering  fast  round  the  yawning  stone!" — 
Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 
From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Book, 
With  iron  clasp'd,  and  with  iron  bound  : 
He   thought,  as  he   took   it,  the  dead   man 

frown'd ;  3 

But  the  glare  of  the  sepulchral  light. 
Perchance,  had  dazzled  the  warrior's  sight. 

XXH. 

When  the  huge  stone  sunk  o'er  the  tomb, 
The  night  return'd  in  double  gloom  ; 
For  the  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  stars 

were  few ; 

And.  as  the  Knight  and  Priest  withdrew, 
With  wavering  steps  and  dizzy  brain, 
They  hardly  might  the  postern  gain. 
'Tis  said,  as  through  the  aisles  they  pass'd. 
They  heard  si  range  noises  on  the  blast; 
And  through  the  cloister-galleries  small. 
Which  at  mid-height  thread  the  chancel  wall, 
Loud  sobs,  and  laughter  louder,  ran, 
And  voices  unlike  the  voice  of  man  ; 
As  if  the  fiends  kept  holiday. 
Because  these  spells  were  brought  to  day. 
I  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  be ; 
1  say  the  tale  as  'twas  said  to  me. 

XXIII. 

"Now,  hie  thee  hence,"  the  Father  said, 
'•  And  when  we  are  on  death-bed  laid, 
O  may  our  dear  Ladye.  and  sweet  St.  John. 
Forgive  our  souls  for  the  deed  we  have  done  !" 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  "  H. 


22 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  monk  return'd  him  to  his  cell, 
And  many  a  prayer  ami  penance  sped  ; 

When  the  convent'met  at  the  noontide  hell  — 
The  Monk  of  St  Mary's  aisle  was  dead  ! 


till  he  pray'd. 


Before  the  cross  was  I  lie  body  laid, 
With  hands  clasp'd  fast,  as  it  still  h 


The  Knight  breathed  free  in  the  morning  wind, 

And  strove  his  hardihood  to  find  : 

He  was  glad  when  he  pass'd  the  tombstones 

grevi 

Which  girdle  round  the  fair  Ahbaye  ; 
For  the  mystic  Book,  to  h:s  bosom  prest, 
Felt  like  a  load  upon  his  breast  ; 
And  his  joints,  with  nerves  of  iron  twined, 
Shook,  like  the  aspen  leaves  in  wind. 
Full  fain  was  he  when  the  dawn  of,  day 
Began  to  brighten  Cheviot  grey  ; 
He  joy'd  to  see  the  cheerful  lisht, 
And  he  said  Ave  Mary,  as  well  as  he  might. 

xxv. 

The  sun  had  hrighten'd  Cheviot  grey, 

The  sun  had  brighten'd  the  Carter's1  side  ; 
And  soon  beneaih  I  he  rising  day 

Smiled  Branksome  lowers   and   Teviot's 

tide. 
The  wild  birds  told  their  warbling  tale, 

And  waken'd  every  flower  that  blows  ; 
And  peeped  forth  the  violet  pale, 

And  spread  her  breast  the  mountain  rose. 
And  lovelier  than  the  rose  so  red, 

Yet  paler  than  the  violet  pale, 
She  early  left  her  sleepless  bed, 

The  fairest  maid  of  I'eviotdal£. 

XXVI. 
Why  does  fair  Margaret  so  early  awake, 

AiiJ  don  her  kirtle  so  hastilie  : 
And  the  silken  knots,  which  in  hurry  she  would 
make, 

Why  tremble  her  slender  fingers  to  tie  ; 
Why  does  she  stop,  and  look  often  around, 

As  she  glides  down  the  secret  stair; 
And  why  does  she  pal  the  shaggy  blood  -hound, 

As  he  rouses  him  up  from  his  lair; 
And,  though  she  passes  the  postern  alone, 
Why  is  not  the  watchman's  bugle  blown  ? 

XXVII. 

The  ladye  steps  in  doubt  and  dread, 

Lest  her  watchful  mother  hear  her  tread  ; 

The  ladye  caresses  the  rough  blood-hound, 

Lest  his  voice  should  waken  the  castle  round  ; 

The  watchman's  bugle  is  not  blown, 

For  he  was  her  fosler-father's  son  ; 

And    she  glides  through   the   greenwood  at 

dawn  of  liirht 

To  meet  Baron  Henry,  her  own  true  kuight. 
XXVI11. 

The  Knight  and  ladye  fair  are  met, 

And  under  the  hawthorn's  boughs  are  set. 

A  fairer  pair  were  never  seen 

To  meet  beneath  the  hawthorn  green. 

He  was  stately,  and  young,  and  tall  ; 

Dreaded  in  battle,  and  loved  in  hall  : 

1  A  mountain  uu  the  Border  of  Kuglanil,  above  Jedburgh. 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  i  I. 


And  she,  when  love,  scarce  told,  scarce  hid, 
Lent  to  her  check  a  livelier  red  ; 
When  the  half  sigh  her  swelling  breast 
Against  the  silken  ribbon  prest; 
When  her  blue  eyes  their  secret  told, 
Thoush  shaded  by  her  locks  of  gold — 
Where  would  you  find  the  peerless  fair, 
With  Margaret  of  Branksome  might  compare  ! 

XXIX. 

And  now,  fair  dames,  methinks  I  see 

You  listen  to  my  minstrelsy  ; 

Your  waving  locks  ye  backward  throw, 

And  sidelong  bend  your  necks  of  snow  : 

Ye  ween  to  hear  a  melting  tale, 

Of  two  true  lovers  in  a  dale ; 

And  how  the  Knight,  with  tender  fire, 
To  paint  his  faithful  passion  strove; 

Swore  he  might  at  her  feet  expire. 
But  never,  never  ce:ise  to  love  ; 
And  how  she  blushed,  and  how  she  sigh'd, 
And,  half  consenting,  half  denied, 
And  said  that  she  would  die  a  maid  ; — 
Yet,  might  the  bloody  feud  be  stay'd, 
Henry  of  Cranstoun,  and  only  he, 
Margaret  of  Branksome's  choice  should  be. 

XXX. 

Alas  !  fair  dames,  your  hopes  are  vain ! 
My  harp  has  lost  the  enchanting  strain ; 

Its  lightness  would  my  ase  reprove  : 
My  hairs  are  grey,  my  limbs  are  old. 
My  heart  is  dead,  my  veins  are  cold  : 

J  may  not,  must  not,  sing  of  love. 

XXXI. 

Beneath  an  oak,  moss'd  o'er  by  eld. 
The  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held,2 

And  held  his  crested  helm  and  spear  : 
That  Dwarf  was  scarce  an  earthly  man, 
If  the  tales  were  true  that  of  him  ran 

Through  all  the  Border,  far  and  near. 
Twiis  said,  when  the  Baron  a  hunting  rode 
Through  Keedsdale's  glens,  but  rarely  trod. 

He  heard  a  voice  cry.  "  Lost !  lost !  lost ! " 

And,  like  tennis-ball  by  racket  toss'd, 
A  leap,  of  thirty  feet  and  three, 

Made  from  the  gorse  this  elfin  shape, 

Distorted  like  some  dwarfish  a|ie, 
And  lighted  at  Lord  Cranstoun  s  knee. 

Lord  Cranstoun  was  some  whit  dismay'd  ; 

'Tis  said  that  five  good  miles  he  rade, 

To  rid  him  of  his  company ; 
But  where  he  rode  one  mile,  the  Dwarf  ran 

four. 
And  the  Dwarf  was  first  at  the  castle  door. 

XXXII. 

Use  lessens  man-el,  it  is  said  : 
This  elvish  Dwarf  with  the  Baron  staid; 
Little  he  ate,  and  less  he  spoke. 
Nor  mingled  with  the  menial  flock : 
And  oft  apart  his  arms  he  toss'd. 
And  often  mutter'd  ''  Lost. !  lost, !  lost ! " 
He  was  waspish,  arch,  and  litherlie.s 
But  well  Lord  Cranstoun  served  he  : 

Jonson.  in  bin  play  of  "Die  Dtcil  it  an  An."  h»»  founded 
the  leading  inrident  of  that  comedy  upou  this  article  of 
the  popular  creed.  A  fiend,  railed  Pur,  i«  ambitioua  of 


THE   LAY   OF   THE 

LAST   MINSTREL.             23 

And  he  of  his  service  was  full  fain  ; 

For  once  he  had  been  ta'on  or  slain, 
An  it  hail  not  been  for  his  ministry. 

2T!je  JLap  of  t&e  Hast  ^Hfitstcel. 

All  between  Home  and  Hermitage, 

Talk'd  of  Lord  Granstoun's  Goblin-Page. 

CAN'TO    THIRD. 

XXXIII. 



For  the  Baron  went  on  pilgrimage, 
And  took  with  him  this  elvish  Page, 

I. 

And  said  I  that  my  limbs  were  old. 

To  iMarv's  Chapel  of  the  Lowes  : 

And  said  I  that  my  blood  was  cold, 

For  there,  beside  our  Ladye's  lake, 
An  offering  he  had  sworn  to  make, 

And  that  my  kindly  fire  was  fled. 
And  my  poor  withered  heart  was  dead. 

And  he  would  pay  his  vows. 

And  that  I  might  not  sing  of  love  ?  — 

But.  the  l.adve  of  Branksome  gather'd  a  band 

How  could  1  to  the  dearest  theme, 

Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command  :' 

That,  ever  warm'd  a  minstrel's  dream. 

The  trysting  place  was  Newark  Lee. 

So  foul,  so  false  a  recreant  prove  ! 

Wat  of  Harden  came  thither  amain, 

How  could  I  name  love's  very  name, 

And  thither  came  John  of  Thirlestane. 

Nor  wake  my  heart  to  notes  of  flame  ! 

And  thither  came  William  of  Deloraime  ; 

They  were  three  hundred  spears  and  three. 

H. 

Through  Douglas-burn,  up  Yarrow  stream,2 
Their  horses  prance,  their  lances  gleam. 

In  peace,  love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed  ; 
In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed; 

They  came  to  St.  Mary's  lake  ere  day  ; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen: 

But  the  chapel  was  void,  and  the  Baron  away. 
They  burn'd  the  chapel  for  very  rage, 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 
Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

And  cursed  Lord  Cransloun's  Goblin-Page. 

And  men  below,  and  saints  above  ; 

For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love. 

XXXIV. 

And  now,  in  Branksome's  good  green  wood, 
As  under  the  aged  oak  he  stood. 
The  Baron's  courser  pricks  his  ears, 
As  if  a  distant  noise  he  hears 
The  Dwarf  waves  his  long  lean  arm  on  high, 
And  signs  to  the  lovers  to'part  and  fly  ; 
No  time  was  then  to  vow  or  sigh. 

HI. 
So  thought  Lord  Cransloun,  as  I  ween, 
While,  pondering  deep  the  tender  scene. 
He  rode  tluough  Branksome's  hawthorn  green. 
Bur,  the  page  shouted  wild  and  shrill. 
And  scarce  his  helmet  could  he  don, 
When  downward  from  the  shady  hill 

Fair  Margaret  through  the  hazel  grove, 
Flew  like  the  startled  cushat-dove  :  3 
The  Dwarf  the  stirrup  held  and  rein: 
Vaulted  the  Knight  on  his  steed  amain, 
And,  pondering  deep  that  morning's  scene, 
Kode  eastward  through  the  hawthorns  green. 

A  stately  knight  came  pricking  on. 
That  warrior's  steed,  so  dapple-grey, 
Was  dark  with  sweat,  and  splashed  with  clay; 
His  armour  red  with  many  a  stain  : 
He  seem'd  in  such  a  wearv  plight, 
As  if  he  had  ridden  the  live-long  night; 
For  it  was  William  of  Deloraine. 

While  thus  he  poured  the  lengthen  'd  tale 
The  Minstrel's  voice  besan  to  fail  : 

IV. 
But  no  whit  weary  did  he  seem, 

Full  slyly  smiled  the  observant  page, 
And  gave  the  wither'd  hand  of  age 
A  goblet,  crown'd  with  mighty  wine, 
The  blood  of  Velez'  scorched  vine. 
He  raised  the  silver  cup  on  high, 
And,  while  the  big  drop  fill'd  his  eye, 
Pray'd  (iod  to  bless  the  Duchess  long 
And  all  who  cheer'd  a  son  of  song. 

When,  dancing  in  the  sunny  beam, 
He  mark'd  the  crane  on  the  Baron's  crest;* 
For  his  ready  spear  was  in  his  rest. 
Few  were  the  words,  and  stern  and  high. 
That  mark'd  the  firemen's  feudal  hate  ; 
For  question  fierce,  and  proud  reply, 
Gave  signal  soon  of  dire  debate. 
Their  very  coursers  seem'd  to  know 

The  attending  maidens  smiled  to  see 

That  each  was  other's  mortal  foe, 

How  long,  how  deep,  how  zealously. 

And  snorted  fire,  when  wheel'd  around, 

The  precious  juice  the  Minstrel  quaff'd; 

To  give  each  knight  his  vantage-ground. 

And  he,  embolden'd  by  the  draught. 

Look'd  gaily  back  to  them,  and  laugh'd. 

V. 

The  cordial  nectar  of  the  bowl 
Swell'd  his  old  veins,  and  cheer'd  his  soul  ; 
A  lighter,  livelier  prelude'  ran, 

In  rapid  round  the  Baron  bent  ; 
He  sigh'd  a  sigh,  and  pray'd  a  prayer; 
The  prayer  was  to  his  patron  saint, 

fcre  thus  his  tale  again  began. 

The  sigh  w;is  to  his  ladye  fair. 

"Salon-Only  Ihm  more,  1  bind  you 

and  of  reli.iop,  the  friend  and  counsellor  of  Kin*  Arthur, 

PM  a'h'ow  youl'owT'olwi'rve  Vi'ml'ron'ovv'him'  ';"" 

Ihe  ohaxtixer  of  wrougii,  and  Ihe  scourge  of  the  infidels. 

It  is  olMtrvahti-  lhal  MI  Ihe  «ame  play,  Pun  alluded  to 
the   «parene«H  of    his   diet.     Mr     Scon',    goblin,    thoush 
"waipi»li.  arch,  and  lilheihe."  i  rov.'i  a  faithful  and  honeit 

5  See  note*  on  The  Douglat  Tragedy  in  the  Minstrelny, 
TOl.  iii.  p.  2.—  Ed. 

1    roman.e*  of  ihe  Round  Talile.  w-  fltul  M.-rl'i,,.  Ihe  ,on  of  a 

devil,  ex'-rnns  himself  irvi-l  zeal  ,u»!y  in  the  cause  of  \ulue 

emphatic  Border  mono,  Tlinn  thai'  atanl  ere  1  icffl. 

24 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Stout  Deloraine  nor  sigh'd  i>or  pray'd, 

Nor  saint,  nor  laiiye,  call'd  to  aid  ; 

But  he  voop'd  his  head,  and  coacird  his  spear, 

And  spurred  his  steed  to  full  career. 

The  meeting  of  these  champion*  proud 

Seemed  like  the  bursting  thunder-cloud. 

VL 

St«m  was  the  dint  the  Borderer  lent ! 
The  stately  Baron  backwards  bent; 
Bent  backwards  to  his  horse's  tail. 
And  his  plumes  went  scattering  on  the  sale; 
The  tough  asli  spear,  si)  stout  aud  true, 
Into  a  thousand  iluulcrs  flew. 
But  Cranstouu's  lance,  of  more  avail, 
Pierced  through,  like  silk,  the  Borderer's  mail; 
Tlirini^h  shield,  and  jack,  and  acton,  past, 
Deep  in  his  bosom  broke  at  last. — 
Still  .sate  the  warrior  saddle-fast, 
Till,  stumbling  it  the  mortal  shock. 


His  foe  lay  stretch'd  upon  the  plain. 

VII. 

But  when  he  rein'd  his  courser  round. 
And  saw  his  foeman  un  the  ground 

Lie  senseless  as  the  hloody  clay, 
He  bade  his  page  to  stanch  the  wound, 

And  there  l)eside  the  warrior  May, 
Ami  tend  him  in  his  doubtful  state, 
And  lead  him  to  Branksome  castle-gate  : 
?Iis  noble  mind  was  inly  moved 
For  the  kinsman  of  the  maid  lie  loved. 
"This  shall  thou  do  without  delay : 
No  longer  here  myself  may  stay  ; 
Unless  "the  swifter  1  speed  away. 
Short  shrift  will  be  at  my  dying  day." 

VIII. 

Away  in  speed  Lord  Cranstoun  rode  ; 
The  Goblin  Page  behind  abode ; 
i  lis  lord's  command  he  ne'er  withstood, 
Though  small  his  pleasure  to  do  good. 
As  the  corslet  off  he  took, 
The  dwarf  espied  the  Mighty  Book ! 
Much  he  marvell'd  a  knight  of  pride. 
Like  a  book- bosom 'd  priest  should  nde:i 
He  thougnt  not  to  search  or  stanch  the  wound, 
Until  the  secret  he  had  found. 

IX. 

The  iron  bund,  the  iron  clasp, 
Kesisted  long  the  eltin  grasp  : 
For  when  the  first  lie  had  undone, 
It  closed  as  he  the  next  l>egnn. 
Those  iron  clasps,  that  iron  hand. 
Would  not  yield  to  unchristen'd  hand. 
Till  he  smeared  the  cover  o'er 
With  the  Borderer's  curdled  gore ; 
A  moment  then  the  volume  spread, 
And  one  short  spell  therein  he  read, 
It  had  much  of  glamour*  might 
Could  make  a  lailye  seem  a  knight; 
The  cobwebs  on  a  dungeon  wall 
Seem  tapestry  in  lonl.y  hall ; 
A  nut-shell  seem  a  gilded  barge, 
A  sheelins3  seem  a  palace  large. 
And  youth  seem  age.  and  age  -seem  youth- 
All  was  delusion,  naught  was  truth.« 


1  See  Appendix,  No 
a  Magical  delusion. 


3  A  sh^pherd'a  hot. 


X. 

He  had  not  read  another  spell. 

When  on  his  cheek  a  buffet  fell, 

So  fierce,  it  stretr.h'd  him  on  the  plain, 

Beside  the  wounded  Uelorame. 

From  the  ground  he  rose  dismay'd, 

And  .shook  his  huge  and  matted  head; 

One  word  he  mutter'd,  and  no  more, 

"  Man  of  age,  thou  grnitest  sore  :"— 

No  more  the  Elfin  Paire  durst  try 

Into  the  wondrous  Book  to  pry: 

Theclasps,thnugh  sniear'dwilh  Christian  gore, 

Shut  faster  than  they  w;ere  before. 

He  hid  it  underneath  his  cloak. — 

Now,  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  1  tluive  ; 

It  was  not  given  by  man  alive.8 

XI. 

Unwillingly  he  himself  address'd, 
To  do  his  master's  high  behest: 
He  lifted  up  the  living  corse, 
And  laid  it  on  the  weary  horse; 
He  led  him  into  Branksome  Hail, 
Before  the  beards  of  the  warders  all ; 
And  each  did  after  swear  ajid  say, 
There  only  pass'd  a  wain  of  hay. 
He  took  him  to  Ixird  David's  tower, 
Even  to  the  Ladye's  secret  bower; 
And.  but  that  stronger  spells  were  spread, 
And  the  door  might  not  he  opened, 
He  had  laid  him  on  her  very  bed. 
What'er  he  did  of  gramarye,' 
Was  always  done  maliciously  ; 
He  flung  the  warrior  on  the  ground. 
And  the  blood  well'd  fresldy  from  the  wound. 

XII. 

As  he  repass'd  the  outer  conrt. 
He  spied  a  fair  young  child  at.  sport ; 
He  thought  to  train  him  to  the  wood ; 
For.  at  a  word,  be  it  understood, 
He  was  always  for  ill,  and  never  for  good. 
Seem'd  to  the  hoy.  some  comrade  gay 
Led  liim  forth  to  the  woods  to  play ; 
On  the  drawbridge  the  warders  stout 
Saw  a  terrier  ajid  a  lurcher  passing  out. 

XIII. 
He  led  the  boy  o'er  bank  and  fell. 

Until  they  came  to  a  woodland  brook ; 
The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell,? 

And  his  own  elvish  shape  he  took. 
Could  he  have  had  his  pleasure  vilde, 
He  had  crippled  the  joints  of  the  noble  child ; 
Or.  with  ins  fingers  long  and  lean, 
Had  strangled  him  in  fiendish  spleen  : 
But  his  awful  mother  he  had  in  dread, 
And  also  his  powet  was  limited  ; 
So  he  but  scowl'd  on  the  startled  child, 
And  darted  through  the  forest  wild  : 
The  woodland  brook  he  Itouiiding  cross'd, 
And  laugh'd,  and  shouted, "Lost !  lost !  lost !" — 

XIV. 
Full  sore  amazed  at  the  wondrous  change, 

And  frighten'd  as  a  child  might  be, 
At  the  wild  yell,  and  visaee  strange, 

And  the  dork  words  of  gramarye. 
The  child,  amidst  the  forest  bower, 
Stood  rooted  like  a  lily  flower ; 

4  Bee  Appendix,  Hole  2  M.  5  Ibid.    Kate  2 1C. 

6  M»j!c.  7  See  Appendix.  Note  5  O. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


25 


And  when  at  length,  with  trembling  puce. 
He  sought  to  find  where  Bianksome  lay, 

He  fear'd  to  see  that  grisly  face 

Glare  from  s  >me  thicket  ou  his  way. 
Thus,  s'arting  oft.  he  journey'd  on, 
And  deeper  in  tlie  wood  is  gone,— 
For  ave  the  more  lie  sought  his  way, 
Tlie  f-tit!ier«tQl  he  went  astray,— 
Un'il  he  heard  the  mountains  round 
King  to  t.ie  baying  of  a  h.mnd. 

XV. 
And  h-irk  !  and  hark  !  the  deep-ntouth'd  bark 

Conies  Higher  si  ill,  and  n'gher: 
Bursts  on  the  path  a  dark  blood-hound, 
H:s  tawny  muzzle  track'd  the  ground, 

An. I  his  red  eye  shot  fire. 

50  in  as  the  wikler'd  child  saw  he, 
.He  flew  at  him  risht  furiouslie. 

I  ween  you  would  have  seen  with  joy 
The  bea'nnir  of  the  gallant  boy, 
When,  wo:  thy  of  his  noble  sire, 
His  wet  cheek  el  iw'd  'twixt  fear  and  ire! 
He  faced  t  ie  blood -ho  ind  manfully, 
And  held  his  l.ttle  baton  high  ; 

51  fierce  he  sti  u.  k.  the  dog,  afraid, 
At  c  ut  mis  dis  aiic  >  hoar-ely  bay'd, 

But  siill  in  act  tis.  ring; 
When  da.li'd  an  archer  .  hnmgh  t!ie  glade, 
And  when  he  saw  Hie  hound  was  stay'd, 

He  drew  his  long  i  bow-s  ring ; 
But  a  rough  vo  ce  cried,  "  Shoot  not.  hoy ! 
Ho !  saoot  not,  Edward—  Tis  a  boy !" 

XVI. 

The  sneaker  issued  from  the  wood. 
And  che::k'il  liis  fellow's  surly  muod, 

And  uusill'd  th",  ban  d  m's  ire  ; 
Hu  was  an  English  yeoman  good, 

And  born  in  L/incas  lire. 
Well  could  he  hit  a  fallow  deer 

Five  hundred  fe«-t  him  fro  ; 
With  hand  more  true,  and  eye  more  clear, 

No  arciier  bended  bow. 
His  coal-black  hair,  shorn  round  and  close, 

Set  ntf  his  sun-burn'il  face  : 
Old  England's  sign.  St.  George's  cross, 

His  barret-cap  did,  s;r.ioe ; 
His  bug, e  horn  hung  by  his  Mde, 

All  in  a  wolf  skin  baldric  tied : 
And  his  short  falchion,  sharp  anil  clear, 
HaJ  pijrceJ  the  throat  of  many  a  deer. 

XVII. 
His  kirtle.mad»  of  forest  green, 

Reach'd  scantily  to  his  knee ; 
And.  a  h.s  belt,  of  arrows  keen 

A  fnrbish'd  sheaf  bore  he  : 
His  buciler.  sr-arce  in  breult'i  a  span, 

No  larger  fence  had  he  ; 
He  never  couiiteJ  him  a  man, 

Would  strike  below  the  knee  :  1 
His  slackenM  imw  »a<  in  his  hand, 
And  the  leash   that  was  his  blood-hound's 
band. 

XVIII. 

He  would  not  do  the  fair  child  harm. 
Hut  held  him  with  his  powerful  arm, 
That  he  might  neither  fight  nor  flee  ; 
For  when  the  Red-Cro?s  spied  he,  • 

1  Soe  \ppeuilii.  Note  1  P. 

2  BiwIt'Mr,  belt  for  carrying  ammunition. 


The  boy  strove  long  and  violently. 
"  Now,  l>y  St.  George."  the  archer  cries, 
"  Edward,  niethmks  we  have  a  prize  1 
This  boy's  fair  face,  and  courage  free, 
Show  he  is  come  of  high-degree." — 

XIX. 

•'Yes!  I  am  come  of  high-degree, 

For  I  am  the  heir  of  bold  Buccleuch  ; 
And  if  thou  dost  not  set  me  free, 

False  Southron,  thou  shall  dearly  rue ! 
For  Walter  of  Harden  shall  come  with  speed, 
And  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 
And  every  Scott,  from  Esk  to  Tweed ; 
And,  if  thou  dost  not  let  me  go. 
Despite  thy  arrows  and  thy  bow, 
I'll  have  thee  hang'd  to  feed  the  crow  !" — 

XX. 

"  Gramercy,  for  thy  good-will,  fair  boy ! 
My  mind  was  never  set.  so  high  ; 
lint  if  ihou  art  chief  of  such  a  clan, 
And  art  the  son  of  such  a  man. 
And  ever  comest  to  thy  command, 

Our  wardens  had  need  to  keep  good  order ; 
My  bow  of  yew  to  a  hazel  wand, 

Tliou'lt  make  them  work  upon  the  Border. 
Meantime  he  pleased,  to  come  with  me, 
For  good  Lord  Dacre  shall  thou  see  ; 
I  think  our  work  is  well  begun, 
When  we  have  taken  thy  father's  son." 

XXI. 

Althoush  the  child  was  led  away, 
In  Branksome  still  he  seemed  to  stay, 
For  so  the  Dwarf  his  part  did  play  ; 
And,  in  the  shape  of  that  young  boy. 
He  wrought  the  castle  much  annoy. 
The  comrades  of  the  young  Buccleuch 
He  pinch'd,  and  beat,  and  overthrew  ; 
Nay,  some  of  them  he  wellnigh  slew. 
He  tore  Dame  Maudlin's  silken  tire, 
And,  as  Syrn  Hull  stood  by  the  fire. 
He  lighted  the  match  of  his  bandelier,' 
And  wofullv  scorch'd  the  hackbuteer.3 
It  may  be  hardly  thought,  or  said. 
The  mischief  I  hat  the  urchin  made, 
Till  many  of  the  castle  guess'd, 
That  the  young  Baron  was  possess'd. 

XXII. 

Well  I  ween  the  charm  he  held 
The  noble  Ladye  had  soon  dispell'd ; 
But  she  was  deeply  busied  I  hen 
To  tend  the  wounded  Deloraine. 
Much  she  wonder'il  to  find  him  lie. 

On  the  stone  threshold  stretch'd  along; 
She  thought  some  spirit  of  the  sky 

Had  done  the  bold  moss-trnoper  wrong: 
Because,  despite  her  precept  dread, 
Perchance  he  in  the  book  had  read  ; 
But  the  broken  lance  in  his  bosom  stood, 
And  it  was  earthly  steel  and  wood. 

XXIII. 
She  drew  the  splinter  from  the  wound. 

And  with  a  charm  she  stanch'd  the  blood  ;* 
She  bade  the  gash  be  cleansed  and  bound : 

No  longer  by  his  couch  she  stood ; 
But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance, 

And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 

S  HocXnuttr,  muskele.T. 
t  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er.1 
William  of  Delorame.  in  tr.iuue, 
Whene'er  she  turn VI  it  round  and  round, 
Twisted  as  if  she  gall'd  his  wound. 
Then  to  her  maidens  she  did  say, 
That  he  should  be  whole  man  and  sound, 

Within  the  course  of  a  night  and  day. 
Fall  Ion?  she  toil'd ;  for  she  did  rue 
Mishap  lo  friend  so  stout  and  true. 

XXIV. 

So  pass'd  the  day— the  evening  fell. 
Twas  near  the  time  of  curfew  hell ; 
The  air  was  mild,  the  wind  was  calm. 
The  s'ream  was  smooth,  the  dew  was  balm  ; 
E'en  the  rude  watchman,  on  the  tower, 
Enjoy'd  and  hless'd  the  lovely  hour. 
Far  more  fair  Margaret  loved  and  bless'd 
The  hour  of  silence  and  of  rest. 
On  the  high  turret  sitting  lone, 
She  waked  at  times  the  lute's  soft  tone ; 
Touch'd  a  wild  note,  and  all  between 
Thought  of  the  bower  of  hawthorns  preen. 
Her  golden  hair  streani'd  free  from  band, 
Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her  hand, 
Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar, 
For  lovers  love  the  western  star. 

XXV. 

Is  yon  the  star,  o'er  Penchryst  Pen, 
That  rises  slowly  to  her  ken, 
And,  spreading  broad  its  wavering  light. 
Shakes  its  loose  tresses  on  the  night? 
Is  yon  red  glare  the  westem  st.'ir  ! — 
0.  'tis  the  beacon-blaze  of  war ! 
Scarce  could  she  draw  her  tighten'd  breath, 
For  well  she  knew  the  fire  of  death ! 

XXVI. 

The  Warder  view'd  it  blazing  strong. 
And  blew  his  war-note  loud  and  long, 
Till,  at  the  high  and  haughty  sound, 
Rock.  wood,  and  river,  rung  around. 
The  blast  alann'd  the  festal  hall, 
And  startled  forth  the  warriors  all ; 
Far  downward,  in  the  castle  yard. 
Full  many  a  torch  and  cresset  glared ; 
And  helms  and  plumes,  confusedly  toss'd, 
Were  in  the  blaze  half-seen,  half-lost; 
And  spears  in  wild  disorder  shook. 
Like  reeds  beside  a  frozen  brook. 
The  Seneschal,  whose  silver  hair 
W'as  redden'd  by  the  torches'  glare, 
Stood  in  the  midst,  with  gesture  proud, 
And  issued  forth  his  mandates  loud  : — 
"  On  Penchryst  glows  a  hale  2  of  tire, 
And  three  are  kindling  on  Priebtbaughswire  ; 

Rule  out,  ride  out, 

The  foe  to  scout ! 

Mount,  mount  for  Branksome,3  every  man! 
Thou,  Todrig,  warn  the  Johnstone  clan, 

That  ever  are  true  and  stout — 
Ye  need  not  send  to  Liddesdale  ; 
For  when  they  see  the  blazing  bale, 
Elliots  and  Armstrongs  never  fail. — 
Fide,  Alton,  ride,  for  death  and  life ! 
And  warn  the  Warder  of  the  strife. 
Young  Gilbert,  let  our  beacon  blaze, 
Our  km,  and  clan,  and  friends,  to  raise."  * 


XXVIII. 

Fair  Margaret,  from  the  turret  head, 
Heard,  far  below,  the  coursers'  tread, 

While  loud  the  harness  rung, 
As  to  their  seats,  with  clamour  dread, 

The  ready  horsemen  sprung : 
And  trampling  hoofs,  and  iron  coats, 
And  leaders'  voices,  mingled  notes, 

And  out!  and  out! 

In  hasty  route, 

The  horsemen  gallop'd  forth ; 
Dispersing  to  the  south  to  scout, 
And  east,  and  west,  and  mirth, 
To  view  their  coming  enemies. 
And  warn  their  vassals  and  allies. 

XXIX. 

The  ready  page,  with  hurried  hand,      • 
Awaked  the  need  fire's"  slumbering  brand,     ' 

And  ruddy  blnsh'd  the  heaven  : 
For  a  sheet  of  flame,  from  the  turret  high, 
Waved  like  a  blood-flag  on  the  sky, 

All  flaring  and  uneven ; 
And  soon  a  score  of  fires,  I  ween. 
From  height,  and  hill,  and  clitf,  were  seen; 
Each  wi:h  warlike  tidings  fraught; 
Each  from  each  the  signal  caught ; 
Each  after  each  they  glanced  to  sight, 
As  stars  arise  upon  the  night. 
They  gleamed  on  many  a  dusky  tarn,8 
Haunted  by  the  lonely  earn : 7 
On  many  a  cairn's  "  grey  pyramid. 
Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid ; 
Till  high  I  MI nrHm  the  blazes  saw, 
From  Soltra  and  Dumpender  Law ; 
And  Lothian  heard  the'  Regent's  order. 
That  all  should  bowne'  them  for  the  Border. 

XXX. 
The  livelong  night  in  Branksome  rang 

The  ce;iseless  sound  of  steel ; 
The  castle-bell,  with  backward  clang, 

Sent  forth  the  larum  peal ; 
Was  frequent  heard  the  heavy  jar, 
Where  massy  stone  and  iron  bar 
Were  piled  on  echoing  keep  and  tower, 
To  whelm  the  foe  with  deadly  shower; 
Was  frequent  heard  the  changing  guard, 
And  walch-word  from  the  sleepless  ward  ; 
While,  weaned  by  the  endless  dm. 
Blood-hound  and  ban-dog  yell'd  within. 

XXXI. 

The  noble  Dame,  amid  the  broil. 
Shared  the  gay  Seneschal's  high  toil, 
And  s;>oke  of  danger  with  a  smile; 

Cheer'd  the  young  knights,  and  council  sage 
Held  with  the  duel's  of  riper  age. 
No  tidings  of  the  foe  were  brought, 
.Nor  of  his  numbers  knew  they  aught, 
Nor  what  in  time  of  truce  lie  sought. 

Some  s;iid,  that  there  were  thousands  ten  ; 
And  others  ween'd  that  it  was  nought 

But  Leven  Clans,  or  Tynedale  men. 
Who  came  to  gather  in  black-mail : '" 
And  Liddi-sdale,  with  small  avail, 

.Might  drive  ihem  lightly  liack  agen. 
So  pass'd  the  anxious  mglit  away, 
And  welcome  was  the  peep  of  day. 


1  Sre  Aprendix,  Note  3  R. 
X  See  Apf  eudix.  Not'  1  8. 
9  Mana  for  BrankKtie  wa.  the  Catherine  word  of  tilt 

•rocu. 


4  See  Ai-pi-ndix,  Jiolr  »  T.  5  Xttdjire.  Deacon. 

6  Tern,  a  mountain  lake.         7  Earn,  a  Scottish  eagle. 
6  S,-.-  Appendix,  Noie  3  U.  9  Biaent,  make  read;. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


Ceased  the  hixh  sound— the  listening  throng 

Applaud  the  Master  of  the  Sons ; 

And  marvel  much,  in  helpless  age, 

So  hard  should  he  his  pilgrimage. 

Had  he  no  friend— no  daughter  dear, 

His  wandering  toil  to  share  and  .cheer; 

No  son  to  l>e  his  father's  stay. 

And  guide  him  on  the  rugged  way  ? 

"  Ay.  once  he  had— but  he  was  dead  !" — 

Upon  the  harp  he  stoop'J  his  head, 

And  busied  himself  the  strinss  withal, 

To  hide  the  tear  that  fain  would  fall. 

In  solemn  measure,  soft  and  slow, 

Arose  a  father's  notes  of  woe. 


JJTjje  JLnv  of  tlie  Hast 


CANTO    FOURTH. 


I. 

Sweet  Teviot !  on  Ihy  silver  tide 

The  Rlarinu'  bale-fires  blaze  no  more; 
No  longer  steel-clad  warriors  ride 

Along  thy  w  Id  and  willow'd  shore ; 
Where'er  thou  wind'st,  by  dale  or  hill, 
All.  all  is  peaceful,  all  is  still. 

As  if  thy  waves,  since  Tune  was  born, 
Since  first  they  roil'd  upon  the  Tweed,1 
Had  only  heard  the  shepherd's  reed, 

Nor  started  at  the  bugle-horn. 

n. 

Unlike  the  tide  of  human  time, 

Which,  though  it  change  in  ceaseless  flow, 
Retains  each  grief,  retains  each  crime 

Its  earliest  course  was  dooin'd  to  know; 
And,  darker  as  it  downward  tears. 
Is  stain'd  with  past  and  present  tears. 

Uiw  as  I  hut  tide  has  ebh'd  with  me, 
It  still  reflects  to  Memory's  eye 
The  hour  my  brave,  my  onlv  bov, 

Fell  hy  the  side  of  great  Dundee." 
Why.  when  the  volleying  musket  play'd 
Against  the  bloody  Highland  blade, 
Why  was  not,  1  beside  him  la:d  ! — 
Knough — he  died  the  death  of  fame, 
Enough — he  died  with  conquering  Graeme. 

III. 
Now  over  border,  dale  and  fell. 

Full  wide  and  far  was  terror  spread ; 
For  pathless  marsh,  and  mountain  cell, 

The  peasant  left,  his  lowly  shed. 3 
The  frighten'd  (locks  and  herds  were  pent 
Beneath  the  peel's  rude  battlement; 
And  maids  and  matrons  dropp'd  the  tear, 
While  ready  warriors  seize;!  the  spear. 

1  Orig.     •  Since  first  thej  rolled  IJuir  i»«y  to  Tweed." 
t  Tli.-  Viscount  of  Dundee,  slain  in  the  battle  of  Killi. 

>  Sire  Append!*.  Hole  2  V. 
4  See  Appendix,  Sale  2  W. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 

They  nhouled  a'  banh  loud  ami  hie, 
Till  up  and  «pak  him  auld  Buccleuch. 

Said—'  Whae'i.  lhi»  brines  the  fraye  lo  me  7"— 
•It  '»  I,  Jamie  Telfer.  o1  Ihe  fair  Dml'he  id, 

And  a  harried  man  I  think  I  be,'  "  ic. 

Border  .ViiMrtUv.  vol.  ii.  p.  8. 


From  Branksome's  towers,  the  watchman's  eye 

Dun  wreaths  of  distant  smoke  can  spy, 
Whtehi.  curling  in  the  rising  sun. 
Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun. * 

IV. 

Now  loud  the  heedful  gate-ward  cried— 
"  Prepare  ye  all  for  blows  and  blood ! 

Walt  Tinlinn,'  from  the  Liddel-side, 
Comes  wading  through  the  flood.8 

Full  oft  the  Tynedale  snatchers  knock 
At  his  lone  gate,  and  prove  the  lock  ; 

It  was  but  last  St.  Barnaliright 

They  sieged  him  a  whole  summer  night, 

But 'fled  at  morning;  well  they  knew, 

In  vain  he  nevei  twang'd  the  yew. 

Right  sharp  has  been  the  evening  shower. 

That  drove  him  from  his  Liddel  tower; 

And.  by  my  faith,"  the  gate-ward  said. 

"I  think  'twill  prove  a  Warden-Raid."7 

V. 

While  thus  he  spoke,  the  bold  yeoman 
Enter'd  the  echoing;  barbican. 
He  led  a  small  and  shaggy  nag, 
That  through  a  bog.  from  hag  to  hag,' 
Could  bound  like  any  Billhope  .stag." 
It  bore  his  wife  and  children  twain  ; 
A  half  clothed  serf"  was  all  their  tra;n; 
His  wife,  stout,  ruddy,  and  dark-bt  ow'd, 
Of  silver  brooch  and  bracelet  proud. " 
l.augh'd  to  her  friends  among  the  crowd. 
He  was  of  siature  passing  tall. 
But  sparely  form'd,  and  lean  withal ; 
A  batter'd  morion  on  his  hrow; 
A  leather  jack,  as  fence  enow, 
On  his  brood  shoulders  loosely  hung; 
A  border  axe  behind  was  slung; 
His  spear,  six  Scottish  ells  in  length, 

Seein'd  newly  dyed  with  gore  ; 
His  shafts  and  bow,  of  wondrous  strength, 

His  hardy  partner  bore. 

VI. 

Thus  to  the  Ladye  did  Tinlinn  show 
The  tidings  of  the  English  foe  : — 
"  Belled  Will  Howard12  is  marching  here. 
And  hot  Lord  Racre,1*  with  many  a  spear 
And  all  the  German  hackbut-men,1* 
Who  have  long  lain  at  Askerten : 
They  cross 'd  the  Liddel  at  curfew  hour, 
And  burn'd  my  little  lonely  tower : 
The  fiend  receive  their  soul  therefor! 
It  had  not  been  burnt  this  year  and  more. 
Hani-yard  and  dwelling,  blazing  bright, 
Served  to  guide  me  on  my  flight ; 
But  I  was  chased  the  livelong  night. 
Black  John  of  Akeshaw,  and  Fergus  Graeme,* 
Fast  upon  my  traces  came, 
Until  I  tiirn'd  at  Priesthaiigh  Scrogg, 
And  shot  their  horses  in  the  hog, 

7  An  inroad  commanded  by  ihe  Warden  in  person. 

8  The  broken  ground  in  a  bog. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y. 

10  Bondsman. 

11  As  the  Borderers  were  indifferent  about  Ihe  furniture 
of  their  habitation!*,  DO  much  exposed  to  be  burned  mod 
plundered.    Ibey   were   proportionally   anxioutt    to  display 

See  Lesley  de  .Vf&n'mj  Ltmitaneorum. 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

13  See  Appendix.  Note  3  A. 

14  Musket,  ers.     See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 


28                     SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Slew  Fergus  with  my  lance  outright— 

By  the  sword  thev  won  their  land, 

1  had  him  long  at  high  despite  : 

And  by  the  sword  they  hold  it  still. 

He  drove  my  cows  last  Fasturn's  night." 

Hearken,  Ladye,  to  the  tale, 

How  thy  sires  won  fair  Eskdale.  — 

vn. 

Earl  Morton  was  lord  of  that  valley  fair, 

Now  weary  scouts  from  Liddesdale, 

The  Beattisons  were  his  vassals  there. 

Fast  hurrying  in.  confirm'd  the  tale  ; 

The  Earl  was  gentle,  and  mild  of  mood. 

As  far  as  thev  could  judge  by  ken. 

The  vassals  were  warlike,  and  fierce,  and  rude  ; 

Th  ree  hours  would  bring  to  Teviot's  strand 

High  of  heart,  and  haughty  of  word. 

Three  thousand  armed  Englishmen— 

Little  they  reck'd  of  a  tame  liege  lord. 

Meanwhile,  full  many  a  warlike  band, 

The  Earl  into  fair  Kskdule  came. 

FromTeviot,  Aill.and  Ettrick  shade, 

Homage  and  seignory  to  claim  : 

Came  in,  their  Chief's  defence  to  aid. 

Of  Gilbert  the  Galliard  a  heriof  he  sought, 

There  was  saddling  and  mounting  in  haste. 
There  was  pricking  o'er  moor  and  lea; 

Saying.  "Give  thy  best  steed,  as  a  vassal  ought." 
—  "  Dear  to  me  is  my  bonny  white  steed, 

He  that  was  last  at  the  trysiing-place 

Oft  has  he  help'd  me  at  pinch  of  need  ; 

Was  but  lightly  held  of  Ins  gaye  ladye.l 

Lord  and  Earl  though  thou  he,  I  trow, 
I  can  rein  Bucksfoot  better  than  thou."— 

VIII. 

Word  on  word  gave  fuel  to  fire, 

From  fair  St.  Mary's  silver  wave, 
From  dreary  Gamescleuch's  dnsky  height, 

Till  so  highly  blazed  the  Beaitison's  ire, 
But  that  the  p;arl  the  flight  had  ta'en, 

His  ready  lances  Thirlestane  brave 

The  vassals  there  their  lord  had  slajn. 

Array'd  beneath  a  banner  bright. 
The  treasured  fleur-de-luce  he  claims. 

Sore  he  plied  Ixith  whip  and  spur, 
As  he  urged  his  steed  through  Eskdale  muir; 

To  wreathe  his  shield,  since  royal  James, 

And  it  fell  down  a  wean-  weight, 

Encamp'd  bv  Fala's  mossy  wave. 

Just  on  the  threshold  of  Branksome  gate. 

The  prouil  distinction  grateful  gave, 

XI. 

For  faith  'mid  feudal  jars  ; 
What  time,  save  Thirlestane  alone, 
Of  Scot  land's  stubborn  barons  none 
Would  march  to  southern  wars; 
And  hence,  in  fair  remembrance  worn, 
Yon  sheaf  of  spears  his  crest  has  home  ; 
Hence  his  high  motto  shines  reveal'd  — 
"  Ready,  aye,  ready,"  for  the  field.1 

The  Earl  was  a  wrathful  man  to  see, 
Full  fain  avenged  would  he  be. 
In  haste  to  Bnmksome's  Lord  he  spoke. 
Saying—  "Take  these  traitors  to  thy  yoke  ; 
For  a  cast  of  hawks,  and  a  purse  of  gold. 
All  Eskdale  I'll  sell  thee,  to  have  and  hold: 
Beshrew  thy  heart  of  the  Beattisons'  clan 
If  thou  leavest  on  Esk  a  landed  man; 

IX. 

But  spare  Woodkerrick's  lands  alone. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  steel'd. 
With  many  a  moss-trooper,  came  on  : 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field. 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 
Without  the  liend  of  Murdieston.3 
Wide  lav  his  lands  round  Oukwood  tower, 
And  wide  round  haunted  Castle-Ower; 
High  over  Borthwick's  mountain  flood, 
His  wood-emhosom'd  mansion  stood  ; 
In  the  dark  gleu,  so  deep  below, 
The  herds  of  plunder'd  England  low  ; 
His  bold  retainers'  daily  f<x>  ;, 
And  bought  with  danger,  blows,  and  blood. 
Marauding  chief!  his  sole  delight 
The  moonlight  raid,  the  morning  fight  ; 
Not  even  the  Flower  of  Yarrow's  charms, 
In  youth  might  tame  his  rage  for  arms  ; 

For  he  lent  me  Ins  horse  to  escape  upon." 
A  glad  man  then  was  Branksome  bold, 
Down  he  flung  him  the  purse  of  gold; 
To  Eskdale  soon  he  spurr'd  amain. 
And  with  him  five  hundred  riders  has  ta'en. 
He  left  his  merrymen  in  the  midst  of  the  hill, 
And  bade  them  hold  them  close  and  still  ; 
And  alone  he  wended  to  the  plnin, 
To  meet  with  the  Galliard  and  all  his  train. 
To  Gilbert  the  Galliard  thus  he  said  :  — 
"  Know  thou  me  for  thy  liege-lord  and  head  ; 
Deal  not  with  me  as  with  Morton  tame, 
For  Scotts  play  best  at  the  roughest  game. 
Give  me  in  peace  my  heriot  due. 
Thy  bonny  white  steed,  or  thou  shall  me. 
If  my  horn  1  three  times  wind, 
Eskdale  shall  long  have  the  sound  in  mind.''  — 

And  still,  in  age,  he  spurn'd  that  rest, 

XII. 

And  still  his  brows  the  helmet  press'd, 
Albeit,  the  blanched  locks  helovr 
Were  white  as  Outlay's  spotless  snow  ; 
Five  statelv  warriors  drew  the  sword 
Before  their  father's  band; 
A  braver  knight  than  Harden's  lord 
Ne'er  belled  on  a  brand.* 

Loudly  the  Beattison  lauffh'd  in  scorn  ; 
"  Little  care  we  for  thy  winded  horn. 
Ne'er  shall  it  be  the  6alliard's  lot, 
To  yield  his  steed  to  a  haughty  Scott. 
Wend  thou  to  Branksome  back  on  foot, 
With  rusty  spur  and  miry  boot."  — 
He  blew  his  bugle  so  loud  and  hoarse, 

V  5 

That  the  dun  deer  started  at  fair  Craikcross; 

A. 

He  blew  again  so  loud  and  clear. 

Scotts  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band.« 
Came  trooping  down  ihe  Todshawhill  ; 

Through  the  grey  mountain-mist  there  did 
lances  apfiear  ; 

l  The  four  lait  lines  of  Manza  vii.  are  not  in  Ihe  1st  Edi- 

made  much  noise  in  Kdinburgh  shortlr  after  the  appearance 

i    lion.  ~E4. 

of  the  Miiutrelii.  h.ia  then  lines  :— 

JSre  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

"  A  mode.il  author  »pemi><  a  hundred  leave*. 

4  $*•*•  benides  Ihe  note  on  thii  Manx*,  one  in  the  Border 

5  Stanus  X.  xi    Hi.  were  not  in  the  first  Kditiou. 

Mmolrehy,  vol.  ii.  p.  10,  relpcctinj  Wat  of  Harden,  Ihe 

6  S--e  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

Author'*  ancestor. 

7  The   frmlal  miprrior.  in  certain  cast*,  wan  entitled  to 

A  satirical  piece,  entitled  "  The  Town  Eclogoe,"  which 

the  oral  hone  of  Ihe  va-al,  in  name  of  Henol  or  Hereleld, 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


And  the  third  blast  rani?  wiili  such  a  din, 

That  the  echoes  answer  d  from  Peiuouu-linn, 

And  all  his  riJcrs  came  lisluly  in. 

Then  had  you  seen  a  triilian'  shock, 

When  sudJles  were  e  in  pi  led.  an.l  lances  broke  ! 

Fur  each  scornful  word  I  he  Galliard  liad  said, 

A  Beattison  on  the  field  was  laid. 

His  own  good  sword  the  chieftain  drew. 

And  he  bore  the  Galliard  thruush  and  through  : 

Where  the  Beattisons'  blood  niix'd  with  the  rill, 

The  Galliard's-Haugh  men  call  it  still. 

The  Sootts  have  scaiter'd  the  Beattjson clan, 

In  Eskdale  tiiey  left  but  one  landed  man. 

The  vaile.y  ot'  Eske,  from  the  mouth  to  the 

source. 
Was  lost  and  won  for  that  bonny  white  horse. 

XIII. 

Whitslade  the  Hawk,  and  Headshaw  came, 
And  warriors  more  than  I  may  name  ; 
From  Yarrow-clench  to  Hindiiaiigh-swair,' 

From  Woodhouselie  to  Chester-glen. 
Troop 'd  man  and  horse,  and  tiow  and  spear; 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden.2 
And  better  hearts  o'er  Border  sod 
To  siege  or  rescue  never  rode. 
The  Ladye  mark'd  the  aids  come  in, 
And  lush  tier  heart  of  pride  arose  : 
She  bade  her  youthful  son  attend. 
That  he  might  know  his  father's  friend, 

Aud  learn  to  face  his  foes. 
"The  boy  is  ripe  to  lo  >k  on  war; 

I  saw  him  draw  his  cross-bow  stiff, 
And  his  true  arrow  struck  afar 

The  raven's  nest  upon  the  cliff; 
The  red  cross  on  a  southern  breast, 
Is  broader  than  the  raven's  nest : 
Thou,  Whitslade,  shall  teach  him  his  weapon 

to  wield, 
And  o'er  him  hold  his  father's  shield." 

XIV. 

Well  may  yon  think,  the  wily  page 
Cared  not  to  face  the  Ladye  sage. 
He  counterfeited  childish  fear. 
And  shriek'd.  and  shed  full  many  a  tear. 
And  moan'd  and  plain'd  in  manner  wild. 

The  attendants  to  the  Ladve  told. 
Some  fairy  sure  had  changed  the  child, 

That  wont  to  be  so  free  and  bold. 
Then  wrathful  was  the  noble  dame ; 
She  blush'd  blood-red  for  very  shame : — 
"Hence  !  ere  the  clan  his  faiiitness  view; 
Hence  with  the  weakling  to  Buccleuch  I—- 
Watt Tinlinn,  thou  shalt  be  his  guide 
To  Rangleburn's  lonely  side. — 
Sure  some  fell  fiend  has  cursed  our  line, 
That  coward  should  e'er  be  son  of  mine  !"— 

XV. 

A  heavy  task  Watt  Tinlinn  had, 
To  guide  the  counterfeited  lad. 
Soon  as  the  palfrey  felt  the  weight, 
Of  that  ill-omen'd  elfish  freight, 
He  bolted,  sprung,  and  rear'd  amain. 
Nor  heeded  bit,  nor  curb,  nor  rein. 
It  cost  Watt  Tinlinn  mickle  toil 
To  drive  him  but  a  Scottish  mile ; 

But  as  a  shallow  brook  they  cross'd, 
The  elf  amid  the  running  stream. 
His  figure  changed,  like  form  in  dream, 
And  fled,  and  shouted,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 

1  Thin  aii'l  the  three  following  line*  are  not  In  the  Ant 


Full  fast  the  urchin  ran  and  laueh'd, 

But  faster  s  ill  a  cloth-yard  shaft 

Whistled  from  startled  Tmlinn's  yew. 

And  pierced  his  shoulder  through  and  through. 

Although  the  imp  might  not  l.e  slain, 

And  though  the  wound  soon  heal'd  again, 

Yet  as  he  ran,  he  yell'd  for  pain  ; 

And  Watt  of  Tiulinn,  much  aghast, 

Rode  back  to  Branksome  fiery  fast. 

XVI. 

Soon  on  the  hill's  steep  verge  he  stood, 
That  looks  o'er  Branksome's  towers  and  wood ; 
And  martial  murmurs,  from  below. 
Proclaim'd  the  approaching  southern  foe. 
Through  the  dark  wood  in  mingled  tone, 
Were  Border  pipes  and  bugles  blown  ; 
The  coursers'  neighing  he  could  ken, 
A  measured  tread  of  marching  men; 
While  broke  at  times  the  solemn  hum, 
The  Almayn's  sullen  kettle-drum; 
And  banners  tall,  of  crimson  sheen. 

Above  the  copse  appear; 
And,  glistening  through  the  hawthorns  green, 

Shine  helm,  and  shield,  and  spear. 

XVII. 

Light  forayers  first,  to  view  the  ground, 
Spurr'd  their  fleet  coursers  loosely  round; 
Behind,  in  close  array,  and  fast, 

The  Kendal  archei-s,  all  in  green, 
Obedient  to  the  bugle  blast, 

Advancing  from  the  wood  were  seen. 
To  buck  and  guard  the  archer  hand. 
Lord  Caere's  bill-men  were  at  hand : 
A  hardy  race,  on  Irthing  bred, 
With  kirtles  white,  and  crosses  red, 
Array'd  beneath  the  banner  tall, 
That  stream'd  o'er  Acre's  conquer'd  w»ll ; 
And  minstrels,  as  they  march'd  in  ord«-.r, 
Play'd."  Noble  Lord  Dacre,  he  dwell*  on  the 
Border." 

XVIII. 

Behind  the  English  bill  and  bow 
The  mercenaries,  firm  and  slow, 

Moved  on  to  fight,  in  dark  array, 
By  Conrad  led  of  Wolfenstein, 
Who  brought  the  band  from  distant  Rhine, 

And  sold  their  blood  for  foreign  pay. 
The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  knew  no  country,  own'd  no  lord  :* 
They  were  not  arm'd  like  England's  sons, 
But  bore  the  levin-darting  guns; 
Buff  coats,  all  frounced  and  'broider'd  o'er, 
And  morsing-horns*  and  scarfs  they  wore ; 
Each  better  knee  was  bared,  to  aid 
The  warriors  in  the  escalade ; 
AH,  as  they  march'd,  in  rugged  tongue, 
Songs  of  Teutonic  feuds  they  sung. 

XIX. 

But  louder  si  ill  the  clamour  grew. 
And  louder  still  the  minstrels  blew. 
When,  from  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
Rode  forth  Lord  Howard's  chivalry ; 
His  men-at-arms,  with  glaive  and  spear, 
Brought  up  the  battle's Vlittering  rear, 
There  many  a  youthful  knignt,  full  keen 
To  gain  his  spurs,  in  arms  was  seen ; 
With  favour  in  his  crest,  or  glove, 
Memorial  of  his  ladye-love. 


4  Powcler-flaikl. 


30                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

So  rode  thev  forth  in  fair  array. 

All  in  Lord  Howard's  livery  dress'd, 

T,l,  full  their  lengthened  lines  display  ; 

The  lion  argent  deck'd  his  breast; 

Then  call'd  a  halt,  and  made  a  stand. 

He  led  a  boy  of  blooming  hue— 

Aud  cried,  -*St.  George,  for  merry  England!'1 

O  sight  to  meet  a  mother's  view  ! 

It  was  the  heir  of  great  Buccleugn. 

XX. 

Obeisance  meet  the  herald  made. 

Now  every  English  eye,  in'ent 

And  thus  his  master's  will  he  said  :  — 

On  BranUsome's  armed  towers  was  bent  ; 

YYTV 

So  near  thev  were,  that  ihev  might  know 

A.vl  V  . 

The  straining  harsh  of  eacli  cross-bow  ; 

falt  irks,  high  Dame,  my  noble  Lords, 

1  On  battlement  and  bartizan 

'Gainst  ladye  fair  to  draw  their  swords  ; 

Gleam'd  axe,  and  spear,  and  partisan  ; 
Falcon  and  culver.i  on  each  tower. 

But  yet  they  may  not  tainelv  see. 
All  through  the  Western  Wardenry, 

Stood  prompt  their  deadly  hail  to  shower; 

Your  law-contemning  kinsmen  ride, 

And  flashing  armour  frequent  broke 

And  burn  and  S|>oil  the  Border-side; 

From  eddving  whirls  of  sable  smoke, 

And  ill  beseems  your  rank  and  birth 

Where  upon  tower  and  turret  head. 

To  make  your  lowers  a  flemens-firth.' 

The  seething  pitch  and  molten  lead 

We  claim  from  thee  William  of  Deloraine 

Reek'd,  like  a  witch's  caldron  red. 

That  he  may  suffer  march-treason^  pain. 

While  yet  they  ga/.e.  the  bridges  fall, 

It  was  hut  last  St.  Cuthbert's  even 

The  wicket  opes,  and  from  the  wall 

He  prick'd  to  Stapleton  on  Leven, 

Rides  forth  the  hoary  Seneschal. 

Harried3  the  lands  of  Richard  Musgrave, 

And  slew  his  brother  by  dint  of  glaive. 

XXI. 

Then,  since  a  lone  and  widow'd  Dame 

Armed  he  rode,  all  save  the  head. 

These  restless  riders  may  not  tame. 

His  white  beard  o'er  his  breast-plate  spread  ; 

Either  receive  within  thy  towers 

L'nhroke  by  age,  erect  his  seat, 

Two  hundred  of  my  master's  powers, 

He  ruled  liis  eager  courser's  sail  ; 
Forced  him.  with  chasten'd  fire,  to  prance. 

Or  straight  they  sound  their  warrison,* 
And  storm  and  spoil  thy  garrison  : 

And.  high  curvetting,  slow  advance  : 
In  sign  of  truce,  his  better  hand 

And  this  fair  boy,  to  London  led. 
Shall  good  King  Edward's  page  be  bred. 

Display'd  a  peeled  willow  wnnd  ; 

V  YV 

His  squire,  attending  in  the  rear. 

A.V  V  . 

Bore  high  a  gauntlet  on  a  spear.  2 
When  they  espied  him  riding  out, 

He  ceased  —  and  loud  the  boy  did  cry, 
And  stretch'd  his  little  arms  on  high; 

Lord  Howard  and  Lord  Dacre  stout 

Implored  for  aid  each  well-known  face. 

Sped  to  the  front  of  their  array. 
To  hear  what  this  old  knight  should  say. 

And  strove  to  seek  the  Dame's  embrace. 
A  moment  changed  that  Ladye's  cheer, 
Gush'd  to  her  eye  the  unbidden  tear; 

XXII. 

She  gazed  upon  the  leaders  round. 

"  Ye  English  warden  lords,  of  you 

And  dark  and  sad  each  warrior  frown'd; 

Demands  the  I-ndye  of  Buccleuch, 

Then,  deep  within  her  sobbing  breast 

Why.  'gainst  the  truce  of  Border  tide, 

She  lock'd  the  struggling  sigh  to  rest; 

In  hostile  guise  ye  dare  to  ride, 
With  Kendal  bow,  and  Gils-land  brand, 

Unalter'd  and  collected  stood, 
And  thus  replied,  in  dauntless  mood  :  — 

And  all  yon  mercenary  hand. 

Upon  the  bounds  of  fair  Scotland  T 

XXVI. 

Sly  Ladye  reads  you  swith  return  ; 
And,  if  but  one  poor  straw  you  bum, 
Or  do  our  towers  so  much  molest, 
As  scare  one  swallow  from  her  nest, 
St.  Mary  !  but  we'll  light  a  brand 

"  Say  to  yonr  Lords  of  high  emprize,"" 
Who  war  on  women  and  on  boys, 
That  either  William  of  Deloraine 
Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason 
staiu.  8 

Shall  warm  your  hearths  in  Cumberland."— 

Or  else  he  will  the  combat  take 

XXIII 

'Gainst  Musgrave.  for  his  honour's  sake. 

No  knight  in  Cumberland  so  good. 

A  wrathful  man  was  Dacre  's  lord, 
But  calmer  Howard  took  the  word  : 
"  May't  ple:ise  thy  Dame,  Sir  Seneschal, 
To  seek  the  castle's  oufward  wall, 
Our  pursuivant-at-anns  shall  show 

But  William  may  count  with  him  kin  and  blood. 
Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword." 
When  English  blood  swell'd  Ancram's  ford;'" 
And  hut  Lord  Dacre's  steed  was  wight, 
And  bare  him  ably  in  the  flight. 

Bo!.h  why  we  came,  and  when  we  go."  — 
The  message  sped,  the  noble  Dame 

Himself  had  seen  him  dubh'd  a  knight. 
For  the  young  heir  of  Branksome's  line, 

To  the  wall's  outward  circle  came  ; 

God  be  his  aid,  and  God  be  mine  ; 

Each  chief  around  lean'd  on  his  spear, 

Through  me  no  friend  shall  meet  his  doom  ; 

To  see  the  pursuivant  appear. 

Here,  while  1  live,  no  foe  finds  room. 

1  Ancient  piece«  of  artillery. 

5  Plundered. 

1  A  glove  upon  a  lance  wa»  the  emblem  of  faith  arann? 

the  ancient  Borderers,  who  were  wnnr,  when  anv  one  broke 

6  Note  of  aieault. 

lew  villain  at  the  fir-t  Border  meeting.    Thu  certmour 

1  O~ig.    "  Say  to  tlig  Lord*  of  high  emprixe." 

waa  much  dreaded.     See  Lei.'ey. 

8  See  Append.*.  Note  a  L 

1  An  a.ylnm  for  outlawa. 

0  Ibid.  Sou  3  K. 

4  See  Appendix.  Note  3  H. 

10  Ibid.  Note  3  L. 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


31 


XXVII. 

Proud  she  look'd  round,  applause  to  claim  — 
Then  lighten'd  Tliirlestane's  eye  of  flame; 

His  bugle  Wat  of  Harden  hlew; 
Pensils  and  pennons  wide  were  flung, 
To  heaven  the  Border  slogan  rung. 

"  St.  Mary  for  the  young  Buecleugh  7" 
The  English  war-cry  answer'd  wide, 

And  forward  bent  each  southern  spear  ; 
Each  Kendal  archer  made  a  stride, 

And  drew  the  bowstring  to  his  ear; 
Each  minstrel's  war-note  loud  was  blown;  — 
Bur,  ere  a  grey  goose  shaft  had  flown, 

A  horseman  gallop'd  from  the  rear. 

XXVIII. 

"  Ah  !"  noble  Lords!'1  he  breathless  said, 
"  What  treason  has  your  march  betray'd  I 
What  make  you  here,  from  aid  so  far, 
Before  you  walls,  around  you  war? 
Your  foenien  triumph  in  the  thought, 
That  in  the  toils  the  lion's  caught. 
Already  on  dark  Ruberslaw 
The  Douglas  holds  his  we;-pon-schaw  ;» 
The  lances,  waving  in  his  train, 
Clothe  the  dun  heath  like  autumn  grain; 
And  on  the  Liddel's  northern  strand, 
To  liar  retreat  to  Cumberland, 
Lord  Maxwell  ranks  his  merry-men  good, 
Beneath  the  eagle  and  the  nxxl  ; 

And  Jedwood.  Eske,  and  Tevjotdale, 
Have  to  proud  Angus  come  ; 

And  all  tlie  Merse  and  Lauderdale 
Have  risen  with  haughty  Home. 

An  exile  from  Northumberland, 
In  Liddesdale  I've  wander'd  long  : 

But  still  my  heart  was  with  merry  England, 

And  cannot  brook  my  country's  wrong  ; 
And  hard  I've  spurr'd  all  night,  to  show 
The  mustering  of  the  coming  foe." 

XXIX. 

•'  And  let  them  come  !"  fierce  Dacre  cried  ; 
"  For  soon  yon  crest,  my  father's  pride, 
That  swept  the  shores  of  Juilah's  sea, 
Ami  waved  in  gales  of  Galilee, 
From  Branksome's  highest  towers  display'd, 
Shall  mark  the  rescue's  lingering  aid  !  — 
Level  each  harquebuss  on  row  ; 
Draw,  merry  archers,  draw  the  bow  ; 
Up,  bill-men,  to  the  walls,  and  cry, 
Dacre  for  England,  wiu  or  die  !"  — 

XXX. 

"Yet  hear,''  quoth  Howard,  "calmly  hear, 

Nor  deem  my  words  the  words  of  fear  : 

For  who,  in  field  or  foray  slack, 

Saw  the  blanche  lion  e'er  fall  back?  3 

But  thus  to  risk  our  Border  flower 

In  strife  against  a  kingdom's  power, 

Ten  thousand  Scuts  'gainst,  thousands  three, 

Certes,  were  desperate  policy. 

Nay,  take  the  terms  the  Ladye  made, 

Ere  conscious  of  the  advancing  aid  : 

Let  .Musgrave  meet  tierce  Deloraine4 

In  single  right,  and,  if  he  gain, 


1   Wfmp^n-tchttw,  the  militar 


He  gains  for  us ;  but  if  he's  cross'd, 
"j'is  but  a  single  warrior  lost : 
The  rest,  recreating  as  they  came. 
Avoid  defeat,  and  death,  aiid  shame." 

XXXI. 

Ill  could  the  haughty  Dacre  brook 
His  brother  Warden's  sage  rebuke ; 
And  yet  his  forward  step  he  staid, 
And  slow  and  sullenly  obi-y'd. 
Bui  ne'er  again  the  Border  side 
Did  these  two  lords  in  friendship  ride ; 
And  this  slight  discontent,  men  say, 
Cost  blood  upon  another  day. 

XXX11. 
The  pursuivant-at-arms  again 

Before  the  castle  took  his  stand ; 
His  trumpet  call'd,  with  parleying  strain. 

The  leaders  of  the  Scottish  band  ; 
And  he  defied,  in  Musgrave's  right, 
Stout  Deloraine  to  single  fight ; 
A  gauntlet  at  their  feet  he  laid. 
And  thus  the  terms  of  fight  he  said  : — 
"  If  in  the  lists  good  Musgrave's  sword 

Vanquish  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 
Your  youthful  chieftain,  Branksome's  Lord, 

Shall  hostage  for  his  clan  remain  ; 
If  Deloraine  foil  good  Musgrave, 
The  boy  his  liberty  shall  have. 

Howe'er  it  falls,  the  English  hand, 
Unharming  Scots,  by  Scots  unharm'd, 
In  peaceful  march,  like  men  unarm'd. 

Shall  straight  retreat  to  Cumberland." 

XXXIII. 

Unconscious  of  the  near  relief, 

The  proffer  pleased  each  Scottish  chief, 

Though  much  the  Ladye  sage  gainsay'd  ; 
For  though  their  hearts  were  brave  and  true, 
From  Jedwood's  recent  sack  they  knew, 

How  tardy  was  the  Regent's  aid  : 
And  you  may  guess  the  noble  Dame 

Durst  not  the  secret  prescience  own, 
Sprung  from  the  art  she  might  not  name, 

By  which  the  coming  help  was  known.- 
Closed  was  the  compact,  and  agreed 

That  lists  should  be  enclosed  with  speed, 
Beneath  the  castle,  on  a  lawn : 
They  fix'd  the  morrow  for  the  strife, 
On  foot,  with  Scottish  axe  and  knife, 

At  the  fourth  hour  from  peep  of  dawn  ; 
When  Delorame.  from  sickness  freed, 
Or  else  a  champion  in  his  stead. 
Should  for  himself  and  chieftain  stand. 
Against  stout  Musgrave,  hand  to  hand. 

XXXIV. 

I  know  right  well,  that,  in  their  lay, 
Full  many  minstrels  sing  and  say, 

Such  combat  should  he  made  on  horse, 
On  foaniinsr  steed,  in  full  career, 
With  brand  to  aid.  when  as  the  spear 

Should  shiver  in  the  course  : 
But  he,  the  jovial  Harper,5  taught 
Me,  yet  a  youth,  how  it  was  fought, 

In  guise  which  now  I  say ; 
He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  Black  Lord  Archibald's  battle  laws,* 

In  the  old  Douglas'  day 
He  brook'd  not,  he,  that  scoffing  tongue 
Should  tax  his  minstrelsy  with  wrong, 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  M.  4  Ibid.  Note  I  X. 


.32 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Or  rail  his  sons;  untrue  : 
For  tins,  wlien  tliey  the  goblet  plied, 
And  such  rude  taunt  had  chafed  his  pride, 

The  Bard  of  Reull  lie  slew. 
On  Tevidt's  side,  in  fight  they  stood, 
And  tuneful  hands  were  siam'd  with  blood  ; 
Where  still  the  thorn's  white  brunches  wave, 
Memorial  o'er  his  rival's  grave. 

XXXV. 

Why  should  I  tell  the  rigid  doom, 
That  dragg'd  my  master  to  his  toml) ; 

How  Ouseuam's  maidens  tore  their  hair, 
Wept  till  their  eyes  were  dead  and  dim, 
And  wrung  their  hands  tor  love  of  him, 

Who  died  at  Jedwoml  Air? 
He  died  ! — his  scholars,  one  by  one. 
To  the  cold  silent  grave  are  gone  ; 
And  l.alas!  survive  alone. 
To  muse  o'er  rivalries  of  yore, 
And  grieve  that  I  shall  hear  no  more 
The  strains,  with  envy  heard  before ; 
For,  with  my  mmstre'l  brethren  fled, 
My  jealousy  of  soug  is  dead . 

He  paused :  the  listening  dames  again 
Applaud  the  hoary  Minstrel's  strain. 
With  many  a  word  of  kindly  cheer, — 
In  pity  half,  anil  half  sincere, — 
Marvell'd  the  Duchess  how  so  well 
His  legendary  son?  could  tell — 
Of  ancient  deeds,  so  long  forgot: 
Of  feuds,  whose  memory  was  not ; 
Of  forests,  now  laid  waste  and  bare: 
Of  towers,  which  harbour  now  the  hare  ; 
Of  manners,  long  since  changed  and  gone ; 
Of  chiefs,  who  under  their  grey  stone 
So  long  had  slept,  that  fickle  Fame 
Had  blotted  from  her  rolls  their  name, 
And  twined  round  some  new  minion's  head 
The  fading  wreath  for  which  they  bled  ; 
In  sooth,  'twas  strange,  this  old  man's  verse 
Could  call  them  from  their  marble  hearse. 

The  Harper  smiled,  well-pleased ;  for  ne'er 
Was  flattery  lost  on  poet's  ear : 
A  simple  race!  they  waste  their  toil 
For  the  vain  tribute  of  a  smile  ; 
E'en  when  in  age  their  flame  expires, 
Her  dulcet  breath  can  fan  its  fires  : 
Their  drooping  fancy  wakes  at  praise, 
And  stnves  to  trim  the  short-lived  blaze. 

Smiled  then,  well-pleased,  the  Aged  Man, 
And  thus  his  tale  continued  ran. 


2Laj  of  t&e  3L«st  fttinstrel. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 
I. 

Call  it  not  vain :— they  do  not  err, 
Who  say,  that  when  the  Poet  dies, 

Mute  nature  mourns  her  worshipper. 
And  celebrates  his  obsequies  : 

1  Ong.     "  Spfar-htadt  above  the  columns  dun."— Ed. 

t  Sre  Appendix,  Kale  3  (J, 

t  In  the  firrt  million  we  read  — 

"  Vaila  not  to  u-ll  what  hundmls  more 

The  linn  on  Wedderburne  mid  Swintcn  were  inserted  II 
UK  «econd  edition.— Ei. 


Who  say.  tall  cliff,  and  cavern  lone, 
For  the  departed  Bard  make  moan ; 
That  mountains  weep  in  crystal  rill; 
That  flowers  in  tears  of  balm  distil : 
Through  his  loved  groves  that  breezes  sigh, 
And  oaks,  in  deeper  groan  reply  ; 
And  rivers  teach  their  rushing  wave 
To  murmur  dirges  rouud  his  grave. 

IT. 

Not  that,  in  sooth,  o'er  mortal  urn 
Those  things  inanimate  can  mourn ; 
But  that  the  stream,  the  wood,  the  gale, 
Is  vocal  with  the  plaintive  wail 
Of  those,  who,  else  forgotten  long, 
Lived  in  the  poet's  faithful  song. 
And,  with  the  poet's  parting  breath 
Whose  memory  feels  a  second  death. 
The  Maid's  pale  shade,  who  wails  her  lot. 
That  love,  true  love,  should  be  forgot, 
From  rose  and  hawthorn  shakes  the  tear 
Upon  the  gentle  Minstrel's  bier: 
The  phantom  Knight,  his  glory  fled. 
Mourns  o'er  the  field  he  heap'd  with  dead  ; 
Mounts  the  wild  blast  that  sweeps  amain, 
And  shrieks  along  the  battle-plain. 
The  Chief,  whose  antique  crownlet  long 
Still  sparkled  in  the  feudal  song, 
Now,  from  the  mountain's  misty  throne, 
Sees,  in  the  thaiiedom  once  his  own, 
His  ashes  undistiuguish'd  lie, 
His  place,  his  power,  his  memorv  die : 
His  groans  the  lonely  caverns  fill, 
His  tears  of  rage  impel  the  nil : 
All  mourn  the  Minstrel's  harp  unstrung. 
Their  name  unknown,  their  praise  unsung. 

m. 

Scarcely  the  hot  assault  was  staid. 
The  terms  of  truce  were  scarcely  made. 
When    they    could    spy,    from    Branksome's 

towers. 

The  advancing  march  of  martial  powers. 
Thick  clouds  of  dust  afar  appear'd, 
And  trampling  steeds  were  faintly  heard  ; 
Bright  spears,i  above  the  columns  dun. 
Glanced  momentary  to  the  sun  ; 
And  feudal  banners  fair  display'd 
The  bands  that  moved  to  Branksome's  aid. 

IV. 
Vails  not  to  tell  each  hardy  clan, 

From  the  fair  Middle  Marches  came; 
The  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 

Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name  ! a 
Vails  not  to  tell  what  steeds  did  spurn,* 
Where  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderburne* 

Their  men  in  battle-order  set ; 
And  Swinton  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 
That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 

Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet.5 
Nor  list  I  say  what  hundreds  more, 
From  the  rich  Merse  and  Lammermore, 
And  Tweed's  fair  borders,  to  the  war, 
Beneath  the  crest  of  Old  Dunbar, 

4  Sir  David  Home  at  Waldrrburne,  who  wa.  "lain  in  the 

daughter  of  Horprmple  of  Gala«hie!.  (now  Prinsle  of 
Whttrhank .)  They  were  called  the  Se»en  Spear*  of 
Weddtrburne. 

t  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


33 


And  Hepburn's  minglnd  banners  come, 
Down  the  steep  mountain  glittering  far. 
And  shouting  still,  "  A  Home  !  a  Hume  I"1 

V. 

Now  squire  and  knight,  from  Branksome  sent, 
On  many  a  courteous  message  went; 
To  every  chief  and  lord  they  paid 
Meet  thanks  for  prompt  and  powerful  aid  ; 
And  told  them,— how  a  truce  was  made, 

And  how  a  day  of  fight  was  ta'en 

'Twixt  Musgrave  and  stout  Deloraine  ; 
And  how  the  Ladye  pray'd  them  dear 

That  all  would  stay  the  fight  to  see, 

And  deign,  in  love  and  courtesy, 
To  taste  of  Branksome  cheer. 
Nor.  while  they  bade  to  feast  each  Scot, 
Were  England's  noble  Lords  forgot. 
Himself,  the  hoary  Senesdial 
Rode  forth,  in  seemly  lenns  to  call 
Those  gallant  foes  to  Branksome  Hall. 
Accepted  Howard,  than  whom  knight 
Was  never  dubb'd.  more  bold  in  fiaht ; 
Nor,  when  from  war  and  armour  free. 
More  filmed  for  stately  courtesy: 
But  angry  Dacre  rather  chose 
In  his  pavilion  to  repose. 

VI. 
Now,  noble  Dame,  perchance  you  ask, 

How  these  two  hostile  armies  mett 
Deeming:  it  were  no  easy  task 

To  keep  the  truce  which  here  was  set ; 
Where  martial  spirits,  all  on  fire. 
Breathed  only  blood  and  mortal  ire.— 
By  mutual  inroads,  mutual  blows, 
By  habit,  and  by  nation,  foes, 

They  met  on  Teviot's  strand  ; 
They  met  and  sate  them  mingled  down, 
Without  a  threat,  without  a  frown. 

As  brothers  meet  in  foreign  land : 
The  hands,  the  spear  that  lately  grasp'd, 
Still  iu  the  mailed  gaunilet  clasp'd, 

Were  interchanged  in  greeting  dear; 
Visors  were  raised,  and  faces  shown. 
And  many  a  friend,  to  friend  made  known, 

Partook  of  social  cheer. 
Some  drove  the  jolly  howl  about ; 

With  dice  and  draughts  some  chased  the  day; 
And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout, 
In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout. 

Pursued  the  foot- ball  play.' 

VII. 

Yet.  be  it  known,  had  bugles  blown, 

Or  sign  of  war  been  seen, 
Those  bands,  so  fair  together  ranged, 
Those  hands,  so  frankly  interchanged, 

Had  dyed  with  gore  the  green: 
The  merry  shout  by  Teviot-side 
Had  sunk  in  war-cries  wild  and  wide, 

And  in  the  groan  of  death  • 
And  whingers,3  now  in  friendship  bare, 
The  social  meal  to  part  and  share, 

Had  found  a  bloody  sheath. 
'Twixt  truce  and  war.  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange, 

In  the  old  Border-day  :* 
But  yet  on  Branksome's  towers  ;md  town, 
In  peaceful  merriment,  sunk  down 

The  sun's  declining  niy. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note.  3  S.  2  Ibid.  Nole  8  T. 

I  A  sort  of  knife  or  poniard. 


VIII. 

The  blithsome  signs  of  wassel  gay 
Decay'd  not  with  the  dying  day  ; 
Soon  through  the  latticed  windows  tall 
Of  lofty  Branksome's  lordly  hall, 
Divided  square  by  shafts  of  stone, 
Huge  flakes  of  ruddy  lustre  shone; 
Nor  less  the  gilded  rafters  rang 
With  merry  harp  and  beakers'  clang  : 

And  frequent,  on  the  darkening  plain, 
Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran, 

As  bands,  their  stragglers  to  regain, 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan  ; 
And  revellers,  o'er  their  bowls,  proclaim 
Douglas  or  Dacre's  conquering  name. 


Less  frequent  heard,  and  fainter  still, 

At  length  the  various  clamours  died  : 
And  you  might  hear,  from  Branksome  hill, 

No  sound  hut  Teviot's  rushing  tide  ; 
Save  when  the  changing  sentinel 
Tiie  challenge  of  his  watch  could  tell  : 
And  save,  where,  through  the  dark  profound, 
The  clanging  axe  and  hammer's  sound 

Rung  from  the  nether  lawn  ; 
For  many  a  busy  hand  toil'd  there, 
Strong  pales  to  shape,  and  beams  to  square,* 
The  lists'  dread  barriers  to  prepare 

Against  the  morrow's  dawn. 

X. 

Margaret  from  hall  did  soon  retreat, 

Despite  the  Dame's  reproving  eye  ; 
Nor  murk'd  she,  as  she  left  her  seat, 

Full  many  a  stilled  sigh  ; 
For  many  a  noble  warrior  strove 
To  win  the  Flower  of  Teviot's  love, 

And  many  a  bold  ally.— 
With  throbbing  head  and  anxious  heart, 
All  in  her  lonely  bower  apart, 

In  broken  sleep  she  lay  : 
By  times,  from  silken  couch  she  rose  : 
While  yet  the  banner'd  hosts  repose, 

She  view'd  the  dawning  day  ; 
Of  all  the  hundreds  sunk  to  rest, 
First  woke  the  loveliest  and  the  best. 

XI. 

She  gazed  upon  the  inner  court, 

Which  in  the  tower's  tall  shadow  lay  ; 
Where  coursers'  clang,  and  stamp,  and  snort, 

Had  rung  the  livelong  yesterday  ; 
Now  still  as  death  ;  till  stalking  slow,  — 

The  jingling  spurs  announced  his  tread,— 
A  stately  warrior  pass'd  below  ; 

But  when  he  raised  his  plumed  head- 

Blessed  Mary  !  can  it  be  ?  — 
Secure,  as  if  in  uiisenam  bowers, 
He  walks  through  Branksome's  hostile  towers, 

With  fearless  step  and  free. 
She  dared  not  sign,  she  dared  not  speak— 
Oh  !  if  one  page's  slumbers  break, 

His  blood  the  price  must  pay  ! 
Not  all  the  pearls  Queen  Mary  wears, 
Not  .Maraiiret's  yet  more  precious  tears, 


sot  Margaret'! yet  mo 

Shall  buy  his  life  a  d 


ay. 


6  Ibid.  Note  3  V. 


84                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  vet  not  long  the  strife—  for,  lo! 

XII. 

Himself,  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 

Yet  was  his  hazard  small  ;  for  well 

Strong,  as  it  seem'u.  and  free  from  pain, 

You  may  bethink  you  of  the  spell 

In  armour  sheuth'd  from  top  to  toe, 

Of  that  slv  urchin  page  ; 
This  to  his  lord  lie  did  impart, 
And  made  him  seem,  by  glamour  art, 

Appear'd,  and  craved  the  combat  due. 
The  Dnme  her  charm  successful  knew,4 
And  the  tierce  chiefs  their  claims  withdrew. 

A  knight  from  Hermitage. 

Unchallenged  thus,  the  warder's  post, 

XVI. 

The  court,  unchallenged,  thus  he  cross  'd, 
For  ail  the  vassalage  ; 
But  0  '.  what  magic's  quaint  dissruise 
Could  blind  fair  Margaret's  azure  eyes  ! 
She  started  from  her  seat  ; 

When  for  the  lists  they  sought  the  plain, 
The  stately  Ladve's  silken  rein 
Did  noble  Howard  hold  ; 
Unarmed  by  her  side  he  walk'd, 

While  with  surprise  aad  fear  she  strove, 
And  both  could  scarcely  master  love  — 
Lord  Henry  's  at  her  feet. 

And  much,  in  courteous  phrase,  they  talk'd 
Of  feats  of  arms  of  old. 
Costly  his  garb  —  his  Flemish  rnff 
Fell  o'er  his  doublet,  shaped  of  buff, 

xni. 

With  satin  slash'U  and  lined  ; 

Oft  have  I  mused,  what  purpose  bad 
That  foul  malicious  urchin  had 

Tawny  his  boot,  and  gold  his  spur, 
His  cloak  was  all  ot  Poland  fur. 

To  bring  this  meeting  round  ; 
For  happy  love's  a  heavenly  sight, 

His  Bilboa  blade,  by  Marchmen  felt, 
Hung  in  a  broad  and  studded  belt  ; 

And  by  a  vile  malignant  sprite 
In  such  no  joy  is  found  ; 
And  oft  I've  deem'd,  perchance  he  thought 

Hence,  in  rude  phrase,  the  Borderers  still 
Call'd  noble  Howard,  Belted  Will. 

Their  erring  passion  might  have  wrought 

Sorrow,  and  sin,  and  shame  : 

XVII. 

And  death  to  Cranstoun's  gallant  Knight, 
And  to  the  gentle  ladye  bright, 
Disgrace,  and  loss  of  fame. 
But  earthly  spirit  could  not  tell 
The  heart  of  them  that  loved  so  well. 
True  love's  the  gift  which  God  has  given 
To  man  alone  beniath  the  heaven  : 
It  is  not  fantasy's  hot  fire, 
Whose  wishes,  soon  as  granted,  fly  ; 
It  liveth  not  in  fierce  desire, 
With  dead  desire  it  doth  not  die  ; 
It  is  the  secret  sympathy, 
The  silver  link.'  the  silken  tie, 
Which  heart  to  heart,  and  mind  to  mind, 
In  bodv  and  in  soul  can  bind.  — 
Now  leave  we  Margaret  and  her  Knight, 
To  tell  you  of  the  approaching  fight. 

Behind  Lord  Howard  and  the  Dame, 
K;ur  Margaret  on  her  palfrey  came, 
Whose  foot-cloth  swept  the  ground  : 
White  was  her  wimple,  and  her  veil, 
And  her  loose  locks  a  chaplet  pale 
Of  whitest  roses  bound  ; 
The  lordly  Angus,  by  her  side. 
In  courtesy  to  cheer  her  tried  ; 
Without  his  aid.  her  hand  in  vain 
Had  strove  to  guide  her  hroider'd  rein. 
He  deem'd,  she  shudder'd  at  the  sight 
Of  warriors  met  for  mortal  fight  ; 
But  cause  of  terror,  all  unguess'd, 
Was  fluttering  in  her  gentle  breast, 
When,  in  their  chairs  of  crimson  placed, 
The  Dame  and  she  the  barriers  graced. 

XIV. 

xvrn. 

Their  warning  blasts  the  bugles  drew, 
The  pipe's  shrill  port2  aroused  each  clan  ; 
In  haste,  the  deadly  strife  to  view, 
The  trooping  warriors  eager  ran  : 
Thick  round  the  lists  their  lances  stood, 

Prize  of  the  field,  the  young  Buccleuch, 
An  English  knight  led  forth  to  view; 
Scarce  rued  the  boy  his  present  plight, 
So  much  he  lonsr'd  to  see  the  fight. 
Within  the  lists,  in  knightly  pride, 

Like  blasted  pines  in  Ettrick  wood  ; 
To  Branksome  many  a  look  they  threw, 
The  combatants'  approach  to  view. 

High  Home  and  haughty  Dacre  ride  ; 
Their  leading  staffs  of  steel  they  wield, 
As  marshals  of  the  mortal  field  ; 

And  bandied  many  a  word  of  boasr, 
About  the  knight  each  favour'd  most. 

While  to  each  knight  their  care  assign'd 
Like  vantage  of  the  sun  and  wind.3 

YV 

Then  heralds  hoarse  did  loud  proclaim. 

A  V  . 

In  King  and  Queen,  and  Warden's  name, 

Meantime  full  anxious  was  the  Dame  ; 

That  none,  while  lasts  the  strife, 

For  now  arose  disputed  claim. 

Should  dare,  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word, 

Of  who  should  fight  for  Deloraine, 

Aid  to  a  champion  to  afford, 

'Twixt  Harden  and  'twixt  Thirlestaine  ;3 

On  peril  of  his  life  ; 

They  'gait  to  reckon  kin  and  rent. 

And  not  a  breath  the  silence  broke. 

And  frowning  brow  on  brow  was  bent  ; 

Till  thus  the  alternate  Heralds  spoke  :  — 

1  In  the  first  edition,  ••  the  silver  cord  ;"— 

3  It  may  he  noticed  that  the  late  Lord  Napier,  the  repre- 

sentative of  the  Scotia  of  Thirlestane,  was  Lord  Ueutenant 

"Ye.,  ]„«.  Indeed,  in  Hirtit  from  heaven  ; 

of  Selkirkshire  (of  wl.icb  the  author  wa.  nhenff-depnle,  al 

A  gpark  of  that  immortal  fire 

the  'tme  when  the  poem  wa*  written;  the  competitor  for 

With  angel,  shared,  by  Alia  liven. 

the  honour  of  supplying  Deloraiue's  place  wait  the  poet'a 

Tke  Gioornr. 

4  S.e  Canto  III.  Stanza  xxiii. 

P                                  P                       fPI» 

6  This  cojrJet  was      d      in  1  .e  ««con 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.             36 

As  through  the  lists  he  ran  ; 

XIX. 

Unmindful  of  the  shouts  on  high, 

ENGLISH  HERALD. 

That  hail'd  the  conqueror's  victory, 

"  Here  standeth  Richard  of  Musgrave, 
Good  knight  and  true,  and  freely  born, 
Amends  from  Deloraine  to  crave, 
For  foul  despiteous  scathe  and  scorn. 
He  sayeth,  that  William  of  Deloraine 
Is  traitor  false  by  Border  laws  : 
This  with  his  sword  he  will  maintain, 
So  help  him  God,  and  his  good  cause  !" 

He  raised  the  dying  man  ; 
Loose  waved  his  silver  beard  and  hair, 
As  o'er  him  he  kneel'd  down  in  prayer; 
And  still  the  crucifix  on  hieh 
He  holds  before  his  darkening  eye  ; 
And  still  he  bends  an  nnxious  ear, 
His  faltering  peni'ence  to  hear  ; 
Still  props  him  from  the  bloody  sod, 
Still,  even  when  soul  and  body  part, 

XX. 

Pours  ghosily  comfort  on  his  heart, 

And  bids  him  trust  in  God  ! 

SCOTTISH  HERALD. 

Unheard  lie  prays  ;  —  the  death-pang's  o'er  !' 

"  Here  standeth  William  of  Deloraine, 

Richard  of  Musgrave  breathes  no  more. 

Good  knight  and  true,  of  noble  strain. 

Who  sayeth,  that  foul  treason's  st;iin, 

XXIV. 

Since  he  bore  arms,  ne'er  soil'd  his  coat  • 
And  that,  so  help  him  God  above  ! 
He  will  on  Musgrave's  body  prove, 
He  lies  most  foully  in  his  throat." 

As  if  exhausted  in  the  fight, 
Or  musing  o'er  the  piteous  sight, 
The  silent  victor  s'ands; 
His  heaver  did  he  not  unclasp. 

LORD  DACRE. 

Mark'd  not  the  shouts,  felt  not  the  grasp 

Of  gratulating  hands. 

"Forward,  brave  champions,  to  the  fight! 

When  lo!  strange  cries  of  wild  surprise, 

Sound  trumpets  !"  

Mingled  with  seeming  terror,  rise 

LORD  HOME. 

Among  the  Scottish  bands; 

And  all,  amid  the  throng'd  array, 

"  God  defend  the  right  !"—  > 

In  panic  haste  gave  open  way 

Then,  Teviot!  how  thine  echoes  rang, 
When  bugle-sound  and  trumpet-clang 
Let  loose  the  martial  foes, 
And  in  mid  list,  with  shield  poised  high, 
And  measured  step  and  wary  eye, 
The  combatants  did  close. 

To  a  half-naked  ghastly  man, 
Who  downward  from  the  castle  ran  : 
He  cross'd  the  barriers  at  abound, 
And  wild  and  haggard  look'd  around, 
As  dizzy,  and  in  pain  : 
And  all,  upon  the  armed  ground, 
Knew  William  of  Deloraine! 

XXI. 
Ill  would  it  suit  your  gentle  ear, 
Ye  lovely  listeners,  to  hear 

Each  ladye  sprung  from  seat  with  speed  ; 
Vaulted  each  marshal  from  his  steed  ; 
"  And  who  art  thou."  they  cried, 
"  Who  hast  this  battle  fought  and  won!"— 

How  to  the  axe  the  helms  did  sound, 

His  plumed  helm  was  soon  undone  — 

And  blood  pour'd  down  from  many  a  wound  ; 

'•  Cranstoun  of  Teviot-side  ! 

For  desperate  was  the  strife  and  long. 
And  either  warrior  fierce  and  strong. 
But,  were  each  dame  a  listening  knight. 

For  this  fair  prize  I've  fought  and  won,"  — 
And  to  the  Ladye  led  her  son. 

I  well  could  tell  how  warriors  fiffht  ! 

XXV. 

For  I  have  seen  war's  lightning  flashing, 
Seen  the  claymore  with  bayonet  clashing. 
Seen  through  red  blood  the  war-horse  dashing, 
And  scorn'd,  amid  the  reeling  strife, 
To  yield  a  step  for  death  or  life.  — 

Full  oft  the  rescued  boy  she  kiss'd, 
And  often  press'd  him  to  her  breast  ; 
For,  under  all  her  dauntless  show. 
Her  heart  had  throbbed  at  every  blow; 
Yet  not  Lord  Cranstoun  deign'd  she  greet, 

XXII. 

Though  low  he  kneeled  at  her  feet. 

'Tis  done,  'tis  done  !  that  fatal  blow 
Has  stretch'd  him  on  the  bloody  plain  ! 
He  strives  to  rise  —  Brave  Musgrave.  no  ! 
Thence  never  shall  thou  rise  again  !               . 
He  chokes  in  blood  —  some  friendly  hand 
Undo  the  visor's  barred  band, 
Unfix  the  gorget's  iron  clasp, 

Me  lists  not  tell  what  words  were  made, 
What  Douglas,  Home,  and  Howard,  said— 
—  For  Howard  was  a  generous  foe—- 
And how  the  clan  united  pray'd 
The  Ladye  would  the  feud  forego, 
And  deign  to  bless  the  nuptial  hour 
Of  Cranstoun's  Lord  and  Teviot's  Flower. 

And  give  him  room  for  life  to  gasp!— 

O,  bootless  aid  !  —  haste,  holy  Friar,2 

XXVI. 

Haste,  ere  the  sinner  shall  expire  ! 
Of  all  his  guilt  let  him  be  shriven, 
And  smooth  his  path  from  earth  to  heaven  ! 

She  look'd  to  river,  look'd  to  hill, 
Thought  on  the  Spirit's  prophecv, 
Then  broke  her  silence  stern  and  still,— 

XXIII. 

"  Not  you,  but  Fate,  has  vanquish  'd  me; 

Their  influence  kindlv  stars  niav  shower 

In  haste  the  holy  Friar  sped  ;  — 

On  Teviot's  tide  and  Branksome's  tower, 

His  naked  foot  was  dyed  with  red, 

For  pride  is  quell'd.  and  luve  is  free  "  — 

1  After  this,  in  the  first  edition,  we  read  only. 

2  First  Kdiliou,  "In   torn-  In  Mm  .'    haste,  holy  Fri- 

" At  the  last  words,  with  deadly  blown. 

ar." 

The  ready  warriorn  fiercely  c-loie."—  Ei. 

3  Orif  .—  "  Unheard  h«  prays  ;—  'Hi  o'rr  !  "Hi  o'fr  f 

36                     SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

She  took  fair  Margaret  by  the  hand, 

And  when  I  lay  in  dungeon  dark, 

Who.  hreathless.treinhlmg.scaice  might  stand 

Of  Naworth  Castle,  long  months  three, 

That  hand  to  Cranstoun's  lord  gave  she  :  — 

Till  ransomM  for  a  thousand  mark. 

"  As  I  am  true  to  thee  and  thine, 

Dark  Musgrave,  it  was  \irna  of  thee. 

Do  thou  be  true  to  me  and  mine  ! 

And,  Musurave.  could  our  fight  be  tried, 

This  clasp  of  love  our  bond  shall  be  ; 

And  thou  wert  now  alive,  as  I, 

For  this  is  your  betrothing  day. 

No  mortal  man  should  us  divide, 

And  all  these  noble  lords  shall  stay, 

Till  one,  or  both  of  us  did  die  : 

To  grace  it  with  their  company."— 

Yet  rest  thee  God  !  for  well  1  know 

I  ne'er  shall  find  a  nobler  foe. 

xxvn. 

In  all  the  northern  counties  here, 

Whose  word  is  Snaffle,  spur,  and  spear,' 

All  as  they  left  the  listed  plain. 

Thou  wert  the  best  to  follow  gear  ! 

Much  of  the  story  she  did  gain  ; 

Twas  pleasure,  as  we  look'd  behind, 

How  Cranstoun  fought  with  Deloraine, 

To  see  how  thou  the  chase  could'st  wind, 

And  of  his  page,  and  of  the  Book 
Which  from  the  wounded  knight  he  took; 

Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  his  way, 
And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray  !  ' 

And  how  he  sought  her  castle  high, 

I'd  give  the  lands  of  Deloraine, 

That  morn,  by  help  of  gramarye  ; 

Dark  Musgrave  were  alive  again."  — 

How.  in  Sir  William's  armour  dight. 

Stolen  by  his  page,  while  slept  the  knight 

XXX. 

He  took  on  him  the  single  fight. 
But  half  his  tale  he  left  unsaid, 
And  linger'd  till  he  join'd  the  maid.  — 
Cared  not  the  Ladye  to  betray-- 
Her  mystic  arts  in  view  of  day; 
But  well  she  thought,  ere  midnight  came, 
Of  that  strange  page  the  pride  to  tame, 
From  his  foul  hands  the  Book  to  save.    . 
And  send  it  back  to  Michael's  grave  — 
Needs  not  to  tell  each  tender  word 

So  mourn'd  he.  till  Lord  Dacre's  band 
Were  Downing  back  to  Cumberland. 
They  raised  brave  Musgrave  from  the  field. 
And  laid  him  on  his  bloody  shield  ; 
On  levell'd  lances,  four  and  four, 
By  turns  the  noble  burden  bore. 
Before,  at  times,  upon  the  gale, 
Was  heard  the  Minstrel's  plaintive  wail, 
Behind,  four  priests,  in  sable  stole'. 

'Twixt  Margaret  and  'twixt  Cranstouu's  lord  ; 
Nor  how  she  told  of  former  woes, 

Sung  requiem  for  the  warrior's  soul  : 
Around,  the  horsemen  slowly  rode  ; 

And  how  her  bosom  fell  and  rose, 
While  he  and  Musgrave  bandied  blows.— 
Needs  not  these  lovers'  joys  to  tell  : 

With  trailing  pikes  the  spearmen  trode  ; 
And  thus  the  gallant  knight  they  bore, 
Through  Liddesdale  to  Leven's  shore  : 

One  daj",  fair  maids,  you'll  know  them  well. 

Thence  to  Holme  Coitrame's  lofty  nave, 
And  laid  him  in  his  father's  grave. 

XXVIII. 



William  of  Deloraine,  some  chance 
Had  waken'd  from  his  deathlike  trance, 

The  harp's  wild  notes,!  hough  hush'd  the  song, 
The  mimic  march  of  deatli  prolong  ; 

And  taught  that,  in  the  listed  plain, 

Now  seems  it  far,  and  now  a-near, 

Another,  in  his  arms  and  shield. 

Now  meets,  and  now  eludes  the  ear; 

Against  fierce  Musgrave  axe  did  wield, 

Now  seems  some  mountain  side  to  sweep, 

I'mler  the  name  of  Deloraine. 

Now  faintly  dies  in  valley  deep  ; 

Hence,  to  the  field,  unarm  'd,  he  ran, 

Seems  now  as  if  the  Minstrel's  wail, 

And  hence  his  presence  scared  the  clan. 

Now  the  sad  requiem,  loads  the  gale  ; 

Who  held  him  for  some  Heeling  wraith,1 

Last,  o'er  the  warrior's  closing  grave, 

And  not  a  man  of  blood  and  breath. 

Rung  the  full  choir  in  choral  stave. 

Not  much  this  new  ally  he  loved. 

Yet  when  he  saw  what  hap  had  proved, 
He  greeted  him  right  heart  ilie  : 
He  would  not  waken  old  debate. 
For  he  was  void  of  rancorous  hate, 
Though  rude,  and  jcanl  ol  courtesy; 
In  raids  he  spilt  but  seldom  blood, 
Unless  when  men-at-arms  withstood, 

After  due  pause,  they  bade  him  tell, 
Why  he,  who  touch'd  the  harp  so  well, 
Should  thus,  with  ill-rewarded  toil, 
Wander  a  poor  and  thankless  soil. 
When  the  more  generous  Southern  Land 
Would  well  requite  his  skilful  hand. 

Or,  as  was  meet,  for  deadly  feud. 
He  ne'er  bore  grudge  for  stalwart  blow, 
Ta'en  in  fair  fight  from  gallant  foe  : 

The  Aged  Harper,  howsoe'er 
His  orilv  friend,  his  harp,  was  dear, 

And  so  'twas  seen  of  him  e'en  now. 

Liked  riot  to  hear  it  rank'd  so  high 

When  on  dead  Musgrave  he  look'd  down; 

Above  his  flowing  poesy  : 

Grief  darken'd  on  his  rugged  brow, 

Less  liked  he  still,  that  scornful  jeer 

Though  half  disguised  with  a  frown  ; 

Misprised  the  land  he  loved  so  dear; 

And  thus,  while  sorrow  bent  his  head, 

High  was  the  sound,  as  thus  again 

His  lot-man's  epitaph  he  made. 

The  Bard  resumed  his  minstrel  strain. 

XXIX. 

1  The  spectral  apparition  of  a  living  person. 

"  Now,  Richard  Mnsgrave,  liest  thou  here  ! 

2  "  TVie  lands,  that  over  OHM;  lo  Berwick  forth  do  bear. 

T  ween,  mv  deadlv  eneinv  : 

Have  for  their  blazon  had,  theuiaUli-,  »|mr.  and  »pear." 

For.  if  I  slew  thy  brother  dear. 

„           full-  Jdbuitt,  bcif  19. 

Thou  slew'st  a  sister's  son  to  me; 

9  See  Appendil,  Note  3  W. 

THE   LAY   OF   THE 

LAST   MINSTREL.              37 

_ 

Me  lists  not  tell  of  owches  rare. 

Ufce  2Lnj  of  tlje  ILast  fflfnstrel. 

Of  mantles  green,  and  braided  hair, 
And  kirtles  furr'd  wjih  miniver; 
What  plumage  waved  the  alt;ir  round, 



How  spurs  and  ringing  chainlets  sound; 

CANTO   SIXTH. 

And  hard  it  were  for  B;ird  to  speak 



The  changeful  hue  of  Margaret's  cheek; 

I. 

That  lovely  hue  which  comes  and  flies, 

BREATHES  there  the  man.  with  soul  so  dead, 

As  awe  and  shame  alternate  rise  ! 

Who  never  to  himself  hath  said. 

V. 

This  is  my  own.  mv  native  land  ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  hurn'd, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turn'd, 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ! 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well; 
For  him  no  Minstrel  raptures  swell; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim  ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self, 
Livina:,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doublv  dvmg.  sh:dl  eo  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonour'd,  and  unsung. 

Some  bards  have  sung,  the  Ladye  high 
Chapel  or  altar  came  not  nigh  ; 
Nor  durst  the  rites  of  spousal  grace, 
So  much  she  fear'd  each  holy  place. 
False  slanders  these  :  —  I  trust  right  well 
She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell  ;3 
For  mighty  words  and  signs  have  power 
O'er  sprites  in  planetary  hour  : 
Yet  scarce  1  praise  their  venturous  part, 
Who  tamper  with  such  dangerous  art. 
But  this  for  faithful  truth  I  say, 
The  Ladye  by  the  altar  stood, 
Of  sable  velvet  her  array, 
And  on  her  head  a  crimson  hood 

II. 

With  pearls  embroidei'd  and  entwined, 

0  Caledonia  !  stern  and  wild. 
Meet  nurse  for  a  poetic  child  ! 
Land  of  brown  heath  and  shagay  wood, 

Guarded  with  gold,  with  ermine  lined  ; 
A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist* 
Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  twist. 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood, 

Land  of  my  sires  !  what,  mortal  hand 

VI. 

Can  e'er  untie  the  filiid  band, 

The  spousal  rites  were  ended  soon  : 

That  knits  me  to  thy  rusiged  strand  ! 

'Twas  now  the  merry  hour  of  noon, 

Still,  as  1  view  each  well-known  scene, 

And  in  the  lofty  arched  hall 

Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been, 

Was  spread  the  gorgeous  festival. 

Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 

Steward  and  squire,  with  heedful  haste, 

Sole  friends  thy  woods  and  streams  were  left; 

Marshall'd  the  rank  of  every  guest  ; 

And  thus  1  love  them  better  still. 

Pages.  wi:h  ready  blade,  were  there. 

Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 

The  mighty  meal  to  carve  and  share  : 

Bv  Yarrow's  streams  still  let  me  stray. 

O'er  capon,  heron-shew,  and  crane, 

Though  none  should  guide  mv  feeble  way; 
Still  feel  the  breeze  down  Kt  trick  hreak 

Arid  princely  peacock's  gilded  train,  5 
And  o'er  the  boar-head,  garnish'd  brave, 

Although  it  chill  my  wither'd  cheek  ;l 

And  cysnet  from  St  Mary's  wave  ;6 

Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot's  Stone," 

O'er  ptarmigan  and  venison. 

Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone, 

The  priest  had  spoke  his  benison. 

The  Bard  may  draw  his  parting  groan. 

Then  rose  the  riot  and  the  din. 

rwr 

Above,  beneath,  without,  wilhin  ! 

HI. 

For,  from  the  lofty  balcony. 

Not  scorn'd  like  me  !  to  Branksome  Hall 
The  Minstrels  came,  at  festive  call  ; 

Rung  trumpet,  shalin.  and  psaltery  : 
Their  clanging  bowls  old  warriors  quaff  'd. 

Trooping  they  came,  from  near  and  far, 
The  jovial  priests  of  mirth  and  war; 

Loudly  they  spoke,  and  loudly  laugh'd  ; 
Whisper'd  young  knishts,  in  tone  more  mild, 

Alike  for  feast  and  fisht  prepared, 

To  ladies  fair,  and  ladies  smiled. 

Batile  and  Banquet  both  they  shared. 

The  hooded  hawks,  high  perch'd  on  beam. 

Of  late,  before  each  martial  clan, 

The  clamour  join'd  with  whistling  scream, 

They  blew  their  death-note  in  the  van, 

And  flapp'd  their  wings,  and  shook  their  bells, 

But  now,  for  every  merry  mate, 

In  concert  with  the  stag-hounds'  yells. 

Rose  the  portcullis'  iron  grate  ; 

Kound  go  the  flasks  of  ruddy  wine. 

They  sound  the  pipe,  they  strike  the  string, 

From  Bordeaux,  Orleans,  or  the  Khine  ; 

They  dance,  they  revel,  and  they  sing, 

Their  tasks  the  busy  sewers  ply, 

Till  the  rude  turrets  shake  and  ring. 

And  all  is  mirth  and  revelry. 

IV. 

VII. 

Me  lists  not  at  this  tide  declare 

The  Goblin  Page,  omitting  still 

The  splendour  of  the  spousal  rite. 

No  opportunity  of  ill, 

How  muster'd  in  the  chape!  fair 
Both  maid  and  matron,  squire  and  knight; 

Strove  now,  while  blood  ran  hot  and  high, 
To  rouse  debate  and  jealousy  ; 

the  monument  at  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  the  market-place  of 

BTheie  are  often  flights  of  wild  «wan«  upon  St.  Marv'a 

Selkirk  —See  Life,  »ol.  x.  p.  557. 

Lake,  at  the  head  of  the  ri.er  Yarrow.    See  Wordaworth'i 

2  •Hie  line  "  Still  lay  my  land,  &c,  wa»  not  in  the  Ant 

Yarrow  VitiUd. 

edition.—  Si. 

"The  swan  on  Mill  St.  Mary'«  Lake 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  8  X.               4  Ibid,  Note  3  Y. 

Flo.il>  double,  swan  and  shadow."—  Ed 

88                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Till  Conrad.  Lord  of  Wolfeustein, 

X. 

By  nature  fierce,  and  warm  with  wine, 
And  now  in  humour  highly  cross'd. 
About  some  steeds  Ins  band  had  lost. 
High  words  to  words  succeeding  still, 
Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Hunthill;1 
A  hot  and  hardy  Ruthertord. 
Whom  men  tailed  Dickon  Draw-the-sword. 

By  this,  the  Dame,  lest  farther  fray 
Should  mar  the  concord  of  the  day 
Had  bid  the  Minstrels  tune  their  lay, 
And  first  slept  forth  old  Albert  Graeme, 
The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name  :  5 
Was  none  who  struck  the  harp  so  well, 
Within  the  Land  Debuteable  ; 

He  took  it  on  the  page's  saye, 
Hunthill  had  driven  these  steeds  away. 
Then  Howard.  Home,  and  Douglas  rose, 
The  kindling  discord  to  compose  : 
Stern  Rutherford  right  little  said. 
But  bit  his  glove,2  and  shook  his  head.  — 
A  fortnight  thence,  in  Inglewood. 

Well  friended,  too,  his  hardy  kin, 
Whoever  lost,  were  sure  to  win  ; 
They  sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 
In  Scotland  and  in  England  both. 
In  homely  guise,  as  nature  bade. 
His  simple  song  the  Borderer  said. 

Stout  Conrade,  cold,  and  drencli'd  in  blood, 

XI. 

His  bosom  gored  with  many  a  wound, 

Was  by  a  woodman's  lyme-dog  found  ; 
Unknown  the  manner  of  his  death, 
Gone  was  his  brand,  both  sword  and  sheath  ; 
But  ever  from  that  time,  'twas  said. 
That  Dickon  wore  a  Cologne  blade. 

It  was  an  English  ladye  bright. 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,*) 
And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  knight, 
For  Love  will  still  be  lord  of  all. 

Blithely  they  saw  the  rising  sun. 

VIII. 

When  he  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  wall  ; 

The  dwarf,  who  fear'd  his  master's  eye 

But  they  were  sad  ere  day  was  done, 
Though  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Might  his  foul  treachery  espie. 

jNow  sought  the  castle  buttery, 
Where  many  a  yeoman,  bold  and  free, 
Revell'd  as  merrily  and  well 
As  those  that  sat  in  lordly  selle. 
Watt  Tmlinn,  there,  did  frankly  raise 

Her  sire  gave  brooch  and  jewel  fine, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall; 
Her  brother  gave  but  a  Husk  of  wine, 
For  ire  that  Love  was  lord  of  all. 

The  pledge  to  Arthur  Fire-t  he-  Braes  ;  ' 
And  lie.  as  by  his  breeding  bound. 
To  Howard's  merry-men  sent  it  round. 
To  quit  them,  on  the  English  side. 
Red  Roland  Forster  loudly  cried, 

For  she  had  lands,  both  meadow  and  lea, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 
And  he  swore  her  death,  ere  he  would  see 
A  Scottish  knight  t  lie  lord  of  all  ! 

"A  deep  carouse  to  yon  fair  bride!"  — 

XII. 

At  every  pledge,  from  vat  and  pail, 
Foaiii'd  forth  in  floods  the  nut-brown  ale; 
Wnile  shout  the  riders  every  one  ; 
Such  day  of  mirth  ne'er  cheer'd  their  clan, 
Since  old  Buccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 

That  wine  she  had  not  tasted  well, 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 
When  dead,  in  her  true  love's  arms  she  fell, 
For  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all! 

When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  ta'en.4 

He  pierced  her  brother  to  the  heart, 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall  : 

IX. 

So  perish  all  would  true  love  part, 

That  Love  may  still  be  lord  of  all  ! 

The  wily  page,  with  vengeful  thought, 

Remember'd  him  of  Tinlinn's  yew, 

And  then  he  took  the  cross  divine, 

Anil  swore,  it  should  be  dearly  bought 
That  ever  he  the  arrow  drew. 

(Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 
And  died  for  her  sake  in  Palestine, 

First,  he  the  yeoman  did  molest, 

So  love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

With  bitter  gibe  and  taunting  jest  ; 

Told,  how  he  fled  at  Solway  strife. 
And  how  Hob  Armstrong  cheer'd  his  wife  ; 

Now  all  ye  lovers,  that  faithful  prove, 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Then,  shunning  still  his  powerful  ann. 

Pray  for  their  souls  who  died  for  love, 

At  unawares  he  wrought  him  harm  ; 

For  love  shall  still  be  lord  of  all  ! 

From  trencher  stole  Ins  choicest  cheer, 

Oasli'd  from  his  lips  his  can  of  beer; 

XIII. 

Then,  to  his  knee  sly  creeping  on, 
With  bodkin  pierced  him  to  the  bone: 

As  ended  Albert's  simple  lay, 
Arose  a  bard  of  loftier  port  ; 

The  venom'd  wound,  and  festering  joint, 

For  sonnet,  rhyme,  and  roundelay, 

Long  afler  rued  that  bodkin's  point. 

Kenown'd  in  haughty  Henry's  court: 

The  startled  yeoman  swore  and  spurn  'd, 

There  rung  thy  harp,  unrivall'd  long, 

And  board  and  flagons  overturn'd. 

Ftoraver  of  the  silver  song  ! 

Riot  and  clamour  wild  began  ; 
Back  to  the  hall  the  Urchin  ran  ; 

The  gentle  Surrey  loved  his  lyre— 
Who  has  not  heard  ol  Surrey's  fame  T* 

Took  in  a  darkling  nook  liis  post, 

His  was  the  hero's  soul  of  fire, 

And  grinn'd,  and  mutter'd,"  Lost!  lost!  lost!" 

And  his  the  bald's  immortal  name, 

3  The  perton  bearing  Ibis  redoubtable  Item  il  furrre  wa» 

4  See  Apprndix,  Note  4  C. 
6  See  Appendix,  Sole  4  D. 

an  Elliot,  and  renided  at  Thnrlenhopr.  in  Liddealale.    He 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  B. 

occuri  in  the  i»l  of  Border  hdera,  in  1697. 

7  See  Appendix.  Note  4  F. 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


39 


And  his  was  love,  exalted  high. 
By  all  the  glow  of  chivalry. 

XIV. 

They  sought,  together, climes  afer, 

And  oft,  within  some  olive  erove, 
When  even  came  with  twinkling  star. 

They  sung  of  Surrey's  absent  love. 
His  step  the  Italian  peasant  stay'd. 

And  deem'd,  that  spirits  from  on  high. 
Round  where  some  hermit  saint  was  laid, 

Were  breathing  heavenly  melody  ; 
So  sweet  did  harp  and  voice  combine,' 
To  praise  the  name  of  Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver!  0  what  tongue  may  say 

The  pangs  thy  faithful  bosom  knew, 
When  Surrey,  of  the  deathless  lay, 

Ungrateful  Tudor's  sentence  slew  t 
Regardless  of  the  tyrant's  frown. 
His  harp  call'd  wrath  and  vengeance  down. 
He  left,  for  Naworth's  iron  towers, 
Windsor's  green  glades,  and  courtly  bowers. 
And  faithful  to  his  patron's  name. 
With  Howard  still  Fitztraver  came  : 
fxmd  William's  foremost  favourite  lie, 
And  chief  of  all  his  minstrelsy. 

XVI. 
FITZTRAVEl. 

Twas  All-soul's  eve,  and  Surrey's  heart  beat 

high: 
He  heard  the  midnight  bell  with  anxious 

start, 
"Vhich  told  the  mystic  hour,  approaching  nigh, 

When  wise  Cornelius  promised,  by  his  art, 
To  show  to  him  the  ladye  of  his  heart. 

Albeit  betwixt  them  roar'd  the  ocean  prim ; 
Vet  so  the  saae  had  night  to  play  his  part. 

That  he  should  see  her  form  in  life  and  limb. 
And  mark,  if  still  she  lored,  aud  still  she 
thought  of  him. 

XVII. 

Dark  was  the  vaulted  room  of  gramarye, 

To  which  the  wizard  led  the  gallant  Knight, 
Save  that  before  a  mirror,  huge  and  high. 

A  hallow'd  taper  shed  a  glimmering  light 
On  mystic  implements  of  magic  might; 

On  cross,  and  character,  and  talisman, 
And  almagest,  and  altar,  nothing  bright : 

For  fitful  was  the  lustre,  pale  and  wan. 
As  watchlight  by  the  bed  of  some  departing 
man. 

XVHII. 
Bat  soon,  within  that  mirror  huge  and  high, 

Was  seen  a  self-emitted  light  to  gleam ; 
And  forms  upon  its  breast  the  Earl  Vim  spy, 

Cloudy  and  indistinct,  as  feverish  dream; 
Till  slow  arranging,  and  defined  they  seem 

To  form  a  lordly  and  a  lofty  room. 
Part  lighted  by  a  iamp  with  silver  beam, 

Placed  by  a  couch  of  Agra's  silken  loom, 
And  part  hy  moonshine  pale,  and  part  was  hid 
in  gloom. 


XIX. 
Fair  all  the  pageant — but  how  passing  fair 

The  slender  form,  which  lay  on  couch  of  Ind : 
O'er  her  white  bosom  stray 'u  her  hazel  hair, 

Pale  her  dear  cheek,  as  if  for  love  she  pined  ; 
All  in  her  night-robe  loose  she  lay  recliued. 
And,  pensive,  read  from  tablet  eburuine, 
Some  strain  that  seem'd  her  inmost  soul  to 

find  :— 
That  favour'd  strain  was  Surrey's  raptured 

line, 
That  fair  and  lovely  form,  the  Lady  Geraldine. 

XX. 

Slow  roll'd  the  clouds  upon  the  lovely  form, 

And  sw«pt  the  goodly  vision  all  away — 
So  royal  envy  roll'd  the  murky  storm 

O'er  my  beloved  Master's  glorious  day. 
Thou  jealous,  ruthless  tyrant !    Heaven  repay 

On  thee,  and  on  thy  children's  latest  liue, 
The  wild  caprice  of  thy  despotic  sway, 

The  gory  bridal  bed,  the  plumler'd  shrine, 
The  murder'd   Surrey's  bloud,   the   tears  of 
Geraldine ! 

XXL 

Both  Scots,  and  southern  chiefs,  prolong 
Applauses  «f  Fitztraver's  song; 
These  hated  Henry's  name  as  death, 
And  those  still  held  the  ancient  faith. — 
Then,  from  his  seat,  with  lofty  air. 
Rose  Harold,  bard  of  brave  St.  Clair; 
St  Clair,  who.  feasting  high  at  Home, 
Had  wilh  that  lord  to  battle  come. 
Harold  was  born  where  restless  seas 
Howl  round  the  storm-swept  Orcades;' 
Where  erst  St.  Clairs  held  princely  sway 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay  ;— 
Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall, 
Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall! — * 
Thence  oft  he  marked  fierce  Pentland  rave 
As  if  grim  Odin  rode  her  wave  ; 
And  watch'd,  the  whilst,  with  visage  pale 
And  throbbing  heart,  the  struggling  sail ; 
For  all  of  wonderful  and  wild 
Had  rapture  for  the  lonely  child. 

XX1L 

And  much  of  wild  and  wonderful 

Tn  these  rude  isles  might  fancy  cull ; 

For  thither  came,  in  times  afar, 

Stern  Lochlin's  sons  of  roving  war. 

The  Norsemen,  train'd  to  spoil  and  blood, 

Skill'd  to  prepare  the  raven's  food ; 

Kings  of  the  main  their  leaders  brave. 

Their  barks  the  dragons  of  the  wave  « 

And  there,  in  many  a  stormy  vale, 

The  Scald  had  told  his  wondrous  tale ; 

And  many  a  Runic  column  high 

Had  witness'd  grim  idolatry. 

And  thus  had  Harold,  in  his  youth, 

I.earn'd  many  a  Saga's  rhyme  uncouth, — 

Of  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  curld, 

Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world  ;  5 

Of  those  dread  Maids,8  whose  hideous  yell 

Maddens  the  tattle's  bloody  swell ; 

Of  Chiefs,  who.  an/tied  through  the  gloom 

By  the  pale  death-lights  of  the  tomb, 


i  FirMt  Edit.—"  So  sweet  their  Karf  and  toioa  join." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  O.  3  Ibid.  Hole  4  H. 

4  The  chiefs  of  the  VaKnfr,  or  Scandinavian  pirates,  a 


fumed  the  till*;  of  Sattumunrr,  or  Sea-kings.  Ships,  in  the 
Inflated  language  of  the  K.-aiJs,  arc  often  termed  the  BIT- 
pents  of  the  ocean. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  41.  «  Ibid.  Note  4  K. 


40                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Ransack'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 

Their  falchions  wrench'd  from  corpses'  hold,1 

Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle  ; 

Waked  the  deaf  toml>  \vi>h  war's  alarms, 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold- 

And  bade  the  dead  aiise  to  arms  ! 

But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosubelle  ! 

With  war  and  wonder  ail  on  flame. 

To  Roslin's  bowers  voung  Harold  came, 

And  each  St.  Clair  was  buried  there, 

Where,  by  sweet  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 

With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell  ; 

He  learn'd  a  milder  minstrelsy  ; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds 

Yet  something  of  the  northern  spell 

snng,» 

Mix'd  with  the  softer  numbers  well. 

The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabslle. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

HAROLD. 

So  sweet  was  Harold's  piteous  lay. 

0  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay  ! 

Scarce  mark'd  the  guests  the  darken'd  hall, 

Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay. 

A  wondrous  shade  involved  them  all  : 

That  mourns  the  lovely-  Rosabelle.' 

It  was  not  eddying  mist  or  fog, 

Drain'd  by  the  sun  from  fen  or  bog; 

—  "  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew  ! 
And,  gentle  ladye,  deign  to  s'ay  ! 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Kavenshench,' 

Of  no  eclipse  had  sages  told  ; 
And  yet,  as  it  came  on  apace, 
Each  one  could  scarce  his  neighbour's  face, 

Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

Could  scarce  disown  stretch'tl  hand  behold. 

A  secret  horror  check'd  the  feast, 

"The  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  white  : 

And  chill'il  the  soul  of  every  guest  ; 

To  inch*  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly  : 

Even  the  high  Dame  stood  half  aghast, 

The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-  Sprite, 

She  knew  some  evil  on  the  blast  ; 

Whose  screams  forebode  thai  wreck  is  nigh. 

The  elvish  page  fell  to  the  ground, 

And,  shuddering,  mutter'd,  "Found!  found! 

"  Last  night  the  gifted  seer  did  view 

found  !" 

A  wet  shroud  swathed5  round  ladye  gay; 

Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch  : 

XXV. 

Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  1"  — 

Then  sudden,  through  the  darken'd  air 

"  T  is  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To-night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball, 
But  that  my  ladye-mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall. 

A  flash  of  lightning  came  ; 
So  broad,  so  bright,  so  red  the  glare, 
The  castle  seem'd  on  flame. 
Glanced  every  rafter  of  the  hall, 
Glanced  even'  shield  upon  the  wall  ; 

"  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride, 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 
But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide, 
If  't  is  not  fill'd  by  Rosabelle."— 

Each  trophied  beam,  each  sculptured  stone, 
Were  instant  seen,  and  instant  gone  : 
Full  through  the  guests'  bedazzled  band 
Resistless  flash'd  the  levin-brawl. 
And  fill'd  the  hall  with  smouldering  smoke, 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  dreary  night, 
A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam  ; 
T  was  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moon-beam. 

As  on  the  elvish  page  it  broke. 
It  broke,  with  thunder  long  and  loud, 
Dismay'd  the  brave,  appall'd  the  proud,  — 
From  sea  to  sea  the  larum  nine:  ; 
On  Berwick  wall,  and  at  Carlisle  withal. 

It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock, 
It  ruddied  •  all  the  copse-wood  glen  ; 
T  was  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak, 

To  arms  the  startled  warders  sprung. 
When  ended  was  the  dreadful  roar, 
The  elvish  dwarf  was  seen  no  more  ! 

And  seen  from  caveru'd  Hawthorndeu. 

XXVI. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapelproud, 

Some  heard  a  voice  in  Branksome  Hall, 

Wliere  Roslin's  chiefs  uncoffin'd  lie, 

Some  saw  a  sight,  not  seen  by  nil  ; 

Each  Baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 

That  dreadful  voice  was  heard  by  some, 

Sheathed  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Cry,  with  loud  summons.  GYI.BIN,  COME  !'' 

And  on  the  spot  wliere  hurst  the  brand, 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 

Just  where  the  page  had  flung  him  down, 

Deep  sacristy'  and  altar's  pale  ; 

Some  saw  an  arm,  and  some  a  hand, 

Shone  every  pillar  foliage-bound, 

And  some  the  waving  of  a  gown. 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mr.il.3 

The  guests  in  silence  pray'd  and  shook, 
And  terror  dimm'd  each  lofty  look. 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high, 

But  none  of  all  the  astonish'd  train 

Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fail- 

Was  so  dismay'd  as  Deloraine  ; 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 

His  blood  did  freeze,  his  brain  did  burn, 

The  lordly  Une  of  high  St.  Clair. 

Twas  fear'd  his  mind  would  ne'er  return  ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  t  L. 

5  Firm  Kfil.     "  A  wet  shroud  ntTJ." 

t  Tl.ia  KM  a  family  name  in  the  home  of  St.  Clair. 

C  Pint  Elii.     -  It  rtiUenai,"  ice. 

Henry  SI    Clatr,  the  »ei-ond  of  the  line,  married  Rosauclle, 

7  First  EJtt.     "  Both  vaulted  rrypt,"  Ice. 

fourth  daughter  of  the  Karl  of  Stratberoe. 

t  See  Appendix.  Note  4  N. 

3  See  Appendix,  Sole  4  M. 

9  Fira  BUI.    ••  Bat  the  kelpie  runt  and  the  mennaidi 

4  /nek.  Uk. 

MOf." 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


41 


For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan, 
Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran. 
Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  iu  Man.l 
At  length,  by  fits,  he  darkly  told, 
With  broken  hint,  and  shuddering  cold— 

That  he  had  seen,  right  certainly, 
A  shape  with  amice  wrrrpp'd  around, 
With  a  wrmtghl  Simnish  baldric  bound, 

Like  pilgrim  frani  beyonti  the  sea ; 
And  knew— but  how  it  matter'd  not — 
It  was  the  wizard,  Michael  Scott. 

XXVII. 

The  anxious  crowd,  with  horror  pale. 
All  trembling  heard  the  wondrous  tale ; 

No  sound  w;is  made,  no  word  was  spoke, 

Till  noble  Angus  silence  broke ; 
And  he  a  solemn  sacred  plight 

Did  to  St.  Bride  of  Douglas  make,* 

That  he  a  pilgrimage  would  take 

To  Melrose  Abbey,  for  the  sake 

Of  Michael's  restless  sprite 
Then  each,  to  ease  his  troubled  breast, 
To  some  hless'd  saint  his  prayers  address'd  : 
Some  to  St.  Modan  made  their  vows, 
Some  to  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes, 
Some  to  the  Holy  Rood  of  Lisle, 
Some  to  our  Ladye  of  the  Isle ; 
F.ach  did  his  putron  witness  make. 
That  he  such  pilgrimage  would  take, 
And  monks  should  sing,  and  bells  should  toll, 
All  for  the  weal  of  Michael's  soul. 
While  vows  were  ta'en,  and  prayers  were 

pray'd, 

'Tis  said  the  noble  dame,  dismay'd, 
Renounced,  for  aye,  dark  magic's  aid. 

XXVIII. 

Nought  of  the  bridal  will  I  tell, 
Which  after  in  short  space  befell ; 
Nor  how  hrave  sons  and  daughters  fair 
Bless'd  Teviot's  Flower,  and  Cranstoun's  heir: 
After  such  dreadful  scene,  'twere  vain 
To  wake  the  note  of  mirth  again. 

More  meet  it  were  to  mark  the  day 
Of  penitence  and  prayer  divine, 

When  pilgrim  chiefs,  in  sad  array, 
Sought  Melrose'  holy  shrine. 


With  naked  foot,  and  sackcloth  vest, 
And  arms  enfolded  on  his  breast, 

Did  every  pilgrim  go; 
The  standers-by  might  hear  nneath, 
Footstep,  or  voice,  or  high-drawn  breath, 

Through  all  the  lengthen'd  row  : 
No  lordly  look,  nor  martial  stride. 
Gone  was  their  glory,  sunk  their  pride, 

forgotten  their  renown ; 
Silent  and  slow,  like  ghosts  they  glide 
To  the  high  altar's  hallow'd  side, 

Ami  there  they  knelt  them  down  : 
Above  the  suppliant  chieftains  wave 
The  banners  of  departed  brave ; 

1  S-i-  Appendix,  Jfole  4  O. 

2  IbiJ.  Sole  4  P. 

3 "  the  »lte  unfold. 

With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 
Of  rullivated  nature; 


Beneath  the  letter'd  stones  were  laid 
The  ashes  of  their  fathers  dead ; 
From  many  a  garnish'd  niche  around. 
Stern  saints  and  tortured  martyrs  frown'd. 

XXX. 

And  slow  up  the  dim  aisle  afar, 
With  sable  cowl  and  scapular, 
And  snow-white  stoles,  in  order  due, 
The  holy  Fathers,  two  and  two, 

In  long  procession  came ; 
Taper  and  host,  and  book  they  bare, 
And  holy  banner,  flourish'd  fair 

With  the  Redeemer's  name. 
Above  the  prostrate  pilgrim  band 
The  mitred  Abbot,  stretch'd  his  hand, 

And  bless'd  them  as  they  kneel'd; 
With  holy  cross  he  sign'd  them  all. 
And  pray'd  they  might  be  sage  in  hall, 

And  fortunate  in  field. 

Then  mass  was  sung,  and  prayers  were  said, 
And  solemn  requiem  for  the  dead  ; 
And  bells  toll'd  out  their  mighty  peal, 
For  the  departed  spirit's  weal ; 
And  ever  in  the  office  close 
The  hymn  of  intercession  rose  ; 
And  far  the  echoing  aisles  prolong 
The  awful  burthen  of  the  song, — 

DIES  IK.K,  DIES  ILLA, 

SpLVKT  SMCLVM  IN  FAVILLA ; 
While  the  pealing  organ  rung: 

Were  it  meet  with  sacred  strain 

To  close  my  lay,  so  light  and  vain, 
Thus  the  holy  Fathers  sung. 

XXXI. 

KYM1T  FOR  THE  DEAD. 

That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day. 
When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 
What  power  shall  be  the  sinner's  stay  ? 
How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day? 
When,  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll, 
The  flaming  heavens  together  roll ; 
When  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread, 
Swells  the  high  trurnp  that  wakes  the  dead! 
Oh  !  on  that  day,  that  wrathful  day. 
When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay, 
Be  Thou  the  trembling  sinner's  stay, 
Though  heaveu  and  earth  shall  pass  away ! 


Hush'd  is  the  harp — the  Minstrel  gone. 
And  did  he  wander  forth  alone? 
Alone,  in  indigence  and  age. 
To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage? 
No ;  close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower,' 
Arise  the  Minstrel's  lowly  bower; 
A  simple  hut ;  but  there  was  seen 
The  little  garden  hedged  with  green. 
The  cheerful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean. 
There  shelter'd  wanderers,  by  the  blaze. 
Oft.  heard  the  tale  of  other  days  ; 
For  much  he  loved  to  ope  his  door. 
And  give  the  aid  he  begg'd  before. 


Ami,  rising  from  thoR 
Behold  a  ruin  hoar' 

TV  shattered  front  o! 
RcnownM  in  Borde: 


•  lofty  gri 


irk's  towers. 


1  Fair  wcnea  for  childhood's  opening  bloom, 

•"or  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength  ; 
Anil  age  to  wear  awny  in,"  &c. 

Wordsworth's  Yarrow  Vitittt. 


J42                                APPENDIX   TO   THE 

So  pass'tl  the  winter's  day;  but  still. 

Then  would  he  sing  achievements  high, 

When  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhill,1 

And  circumstance  of  chivalry. 

And  July's  eve.  with  balmy  breath, 

Till  the  rapt  traveller  would  stay, 

Waved  the  blue-bells  cm  Newark  hea'h  ; 

Forgetful  of  the  closinc  day  ; 

When  throstles  sung  in  Harehead  shaw. 

And  noble  youths,  the  strain  to  hear, 

And  corn  WHS  green  on  Carterhangh.* 

Forsook  tlie  hun'.mg  of  the  deer; 

And  flourish  'd,  broad,  Blackandro's  oak, 

And  Yarrow,  as  he  roll'd  along. 

The  aged  Harper's  soul  awoke  ! 

Bore  burden  to  the  Minstrel's  song. 

APPENDIX. 

NOTE  A. 

in  the  same  month,  part  of  the  barony  of  Lang- 

holm,  and  many  lands  in  Lanarkshire,  were 

The  feast  utas  over  in  Branksome  tincer.  —  P.  16. 

conferred  upon  Sir  Walter  and  his  son  hy  the 

same  monarch. 

IN  the  reign  of  James  I.,  Sir  William  Scott 

After  the  period  of  the  exchange  with  Sir 

of  Buccleuch,  chief  of  the  clan  bearing  that 

Thomas  In?l:s.  Branksome  became  the  princi- 

name, exchanged,  with  Sir  Thomas  Inglis  of 

pal  seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family.    The  castle 

Manor,  the  estate  of  Murdiestone.  in  Lanark- 
shire, for  one-half  of  the  barony  of  Branksome, 
or  Brankholm.s  lying  upon  the  Teviot,  about 
three  miles  above  Hawick.     He  was  probably 
induced  to  this  transaction  from  the  vicinity 
of  Branksome  to  the  extensive  domain  which 

was  enlarged  and  strengthened  hy  Sir  David 
Scott,  the  grandson  of  Sir  William,  its   first 
g)ssessor.     But,  in  1570-1,  the  vengeance  of 
lizabeth.  provoked  by  the  inroads  of  Buc- 
cleuch. ami  his  attachment  to  the  cause  of 
Queen  Mary,  destroyed  the  castle,  and  laid 

he  possessed  in  Ettrick  Forest  and  in  Teviot- 
dale.    In  the  former  district  he  held  by  occu- 
pancy the  estate  of  Buccleuch.*  and  much  of 
the  forest  land  cm  the  river  Ettrick.    In  Te- 
viotdale.  he  enjoyed  the  barony  of  Eckford,  hy 
a  grant  from  Robert  It.  to  his  ancestor,  Walter 
Scott  of  Kirknrd,  for  the  apprehending  of  Gil- 
bert Ridderford,  confirmed  by  Robert  III.  3d 

waste  the  lands  of  Branksome.    In  the  same 
year  the  castle  was  repaired  and  enlarged  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  its  brave  possessor;  but  the 
work  was  not  completed  until  after  his  death, 
in  1.174,  when  the  widow  finished  the  building. 
This  appea  rs  from  the  following  inscriptions. 
Around  a  stone,  bearing  the  arms  of  Scott  of 
Buccleuch.  appears   the  following  legend  :— 

May  1424.    Tradition  imputes  the  exchange 
betwixt  Scott  and  Inglis  to  a  conversation,  in 

"  Sfr   ££.  Scott    of    Eranrljcfm  | 

which  the  latter—  a  man,  it  would  appear,  of 

Ztitflt  oe  of  Sfr  EJU'fUfain  Scott  of 

amild  and  forbearing  nature,  complained  much 
of  the  injuries  which  he  was  exposed  to  from 

UfrfcurtJ  Rnjjt  btjjan  je  toorfe  upon 

the  English  Borderers,  who  frequently  plun- 
dered his  lands  of  Branksome.    Sir  William 
Scott  instantly  offered  him  the  estate  of  Mur- 

je 24  of  fttarclje  1571  gear  qu&a 
fceftartft  at  CoVs  plrfsour  je  17 

diestone.  in  exchange  for  that  which  was  sub- 

Sprfl 1574" 

ject  to  such  egregious  inconvenience.     When 
the  bargain  was  completed,  hedrvly  remarked, 
that  the  cattle  in  Cumberland  were  as  good  as 
those  of  Teviotdale  ;  and  proceeded  to  com- 
mence a  system  of  reprisals  upon  the  English, 
which  was  regularly  pursued  hy  his  successors. 
In  the  next  reign.  James  11.  granted  to  Sir 

On  a  similar  copartment  are  sculptured  the 
arms  of  Douglas,  with  this  inscription,  "  Dame 
Margaret  Dowjlas  his  spmis  complelit  lite  fore- 
said  work  in  October  1576."    Over  an  arched 
door  is  inscribed  the  following  moral  verse  :  — 

En  barlto.  is  nod)t.  nature,  IKS. 

Walter  Scott  of  Branksome,  and  to  Sir  David, 
his  son,  the  remaining  half  of  the  baronv  of 
Branksome.  to  be  held  in  blanche  for  the  pay- 

ftrouQftt. flat.  sal.  lest.  ay. 
£i)arcfore.  serbe.  OSoti.fcefp.befl.je. 

ment  of  a  red  rose.     The  cause  assicnecl  for 
the  grant  is,  their  brave  and  faithful  exertions 
in  favour  of  the  king  against   the  house  of 

roD.  tl)j>.  fame.  sal.  nocljt,  tjdtan.  ' 
Sfi-  Sfcalter  Scott  of  Eranrtolin 

Douglas,  with  whom  James  had  lieen  recently 
tugginz   for  the   throne  of   Scotland.      This 

linfgijt.    fKavjjaret    Boufllas. 

charter  is  dated  the  2d  of  February  1443  :  and 

1571. 

1  Bowhill  i)  now,  an  haa  been  mentioned  already,  •  «eat 

Branksome  ha*  been  adopted,  as  amtbble  to  the  pronuncia- 

of tl.-  Duke  of  Bucrlecrh.     It  alandi  immediately  below 

tion,  and  more  proper  for  poetry. 

Mewark  Hill,  and  nboie  the  junction  of  Ihe  Yarrow  aud 

4  There  are  DO  \v*ii-«.  of  any  builriinp  at  Buecleuch,  ex- 

reader  is  referred  to  various  note*  ou  the  Mjijatn-biy  or  the 

Sconisb  Border.  —  Kd. 

cit-nt  bamnti  of  Bu.cU-uch  lie  buried.     There  i«  also  *aid  to 

have  been  a  mill  near  this  «olilary  spot  :  an  extraordinary 

2  Orig.  —  "  And  rrai'ji  wavarf  freen  on  Carterhaagh." 

rirctmutance,  at>   little  or   no   corn    grows   within    Beren.1 

miles  of  B'jcclrjirh.     Satrtu-II*  Mays  it  wa«  need    to  (riod 

1      SBranxholm  in  the  proper  name  of  the  barony;   bat 

corn  for  the  hoond»  of  the  chirfl&in. 

LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


43 


Branksome  Castle  continued  to  be  the  prin- 
cipal seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family,  while  se- 
curity was  any  object  in  their  choice  of  a  man- 
sion. It  lias  since  been  the  resilience  of  the 
Commissioners,  or  Chamberlains,  of  the  family. 
From  the  various  alterations  which  the  build- 
ing has  undergone,  it  is  not  only  greatly  re- 
stricted in  its  dimensions,  but  retains  little  of 
the  castellated  form,  if  we  except  one  square 
tower  of  massy  thickness,  the  only  part  of  the 
original  building  which  now  remains.  The 
whole  forms  a  handsome  modern  residence, 
lately  inhabited  by  my  deceased  friend,  Adam 
Ogilvy,  Esq.  of  Hartwoodmyres, Commissioner 
of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccieuch. 

The  extent  of  the  ancient  edilice  can  still  be 
traced  by  some  vestiges  of  its  foundation,  and 
its  strength  is  obvious  from  the  situation,  on  a 
steep  bank  surrounded  by  the  Teviot.  and 
dunked  by  a  deep  ravine,  formed  by  a  precipi- 
tous brook.  It  was  anciently  surrounded  by 
wood,  as  appears  from  the  survey  of  Roxburgh- 
shire, made  for  Pout's  Atlas,  and  preserved  in 
the  Advocates'  Library.  This  wood  was  cut 
about  tifty  years  aao,  but  is  now  replaced  by 
the  thriving  plantations,  which  have  been 
formed  by  the  noble  proprietor,  for  miles 
around  the  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers. 


NOTE  B. 

Nine-atid-tiufnty  knights  nffame 
Huny  their  shields  in  Branksome-Uall.—?.  16. 

The  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch,  both  from 
feudal  splendour  and  from  I  heir  frontier  situa- 
tion, retained  in  their  household  at  Brnnksome, 
a  number  of  gentlemen  of  their  own  name,  who 
held  lands  from  their  chief,  for  the  military 
service  of  watching  and  warding  his  castle. 
Satchells  tells  us,  in  his  doggrel  poetry, 


Four  anil  twenty  gentlemen  in  their  hall. 
Each  two  had  a  Nervant  to  wait  upon  them 

The  bella  rung  and  the  trumpets  sowuedj 
And  more  than  that.  I  do  confess. 
They  kept  four  and  twenty  pensioners. 

They  know  if  I  .peak  truth,  or  l'ie. 

for  service  done  and  to  be  done  ; 

This  let  the  reader  understand. 

The  nnme  both  oi  the  rn.-n  and  land, 

Wni.  h  tr.ey  po«*e«setl,  it  ix  of  truth. 

Both  from  the  L:um«  and  Lords  of  Buckleugh." 

Accordingly,  dismounting  from  his  Pegasus, 
Satchells  gives  us,  in  prose,  the  names  of 
twenty-four  gentlemen,  younger  brothers  of 
ancient  families,  who  were  pensioners  to  the 
bouse  of  Buccleuch,  and  describes  the  lands 
which  each  posse1--  >1  for  his  Border  service. 
In  time  of  war  with  England,  the  garrison  was 
doubtless  augmented.  Satchells  adds. "  These 
twenty-three  pensioners,  all  of  his  own  name 
of  Scott,  and  Walter  Gladstanes  of  W'hitelaw, 
a  near  cousin  of  my  lord's,  as  aforesaid,  were 
ready  on  all  occasions,  when  his  honour  pleased 
cause  to  advertise  them.  It  is  known  to  many 


1  Room,  portion  of  land. 


of  the  countrv  better  than  it  is  to  me,  that  the 
rent  of  these  lauds,  which  the  Lairds  and  Lords 
of  Buccleuch  did  freely  bestow  upon  their 
friends,  will  amount  to  above  twelve  or  four- 
teen thousand  merks  a-year." — History  of  the 
name  of  Scott,  p.  45.  An  immense  sum  in  those 
times. 


NOTE  C. 

" with  Jeduiood-axe  at  sadtllebow.  —  P.  16. 

"  Of  a  truth,"  says  Froissart,  "  the  Scottish 
cannot  boast  great  skill  with  the  bow,  but 
rather  bear  axes,  with  which,  in  time  of  need, 
they  give  heavy  strokes."  The  Jedwood-axe 
was  a  sort  of  partisan.  u?«0  by  horsemen,  as 
appears  from  the  arms  of  Jedburgh.  which  bear 
a  cavalier  mounted,  and  armed  with  this  wea- 
pon. It  is  also  called  a  Jedwood  or  Jeddart 
statf. 

NOTE  D. 

They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  fruile. 
Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  tinners. 

From  Warkworlh,  or  Naworth,  or  merry  Car- 
lisle.—P.  16. 

Branksome  Castle  was  continually  exposed 
to  the  attacks  of  the  English,  both  from  it-s  si- 
tuation and  the  restless  military  disposition  of 
its  inhabitants,  who  were  seldom  on  good  terms 
with  their  neighboars.  The  following  letter 
from  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  to  Henry 
VIII.  in  1533,  gives  an  account  of  a  successful 
inroad  of  the  English,  in  which  the  country 
was  plundered  up  to  the  gates  of  the  castle, 
although  the  invaders  failed  in  their  principal 
object,  which  was  to  kill,  or  make  prisoner, 
the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  It  occurs  in  the  Cot- 
ton MS.  Calig.  b  viii.  f.  222. 

"Pleaseth  yt  your  most  gracious  highness  to 
be  aduertised,  that  my  comptroller,  with  Ray- 
nald  Carnaby.  desyred  licence  of  me  to  invade 
the  realme  of  Scollande,  for  the  annoysaunce 
of  your  highnes  enemys,  where  they  thought 
best  exploit  by  theyme  might  be  done,  and  to 
haue  to  concur  withe  theyme  the  inhabitants 
of  Northumberland,  suche  as  was  towards  me 
according  to  theyre  assembly,  and  as  by  theyre 
discretions  vpon  the  ,-aine  they  shulde  thinke 
most  convenient ;  and  soo  they  dyde  meet 
vppone  Monday,  before  night,  being  the  iii  day 
of  this  instant  monethe.  at  Wawhope.  upon 
Northe  Tyne  water,  above  Tyndaill,  where 
they  were  to  the  number  of  xvc  men.  and  soo 
mvadet  Scotland  at  the  hour  of  viii  of  the  clok 
at  nyght,  at  a  place  called  Whele  Causay  :  am! 
before  xi  of  the  c!ok  dyd  send  forth  a  forrey  of 
Tyndaill  and  Kyddisjail.  and  laide  all  the  resy- 
dewe  in  a  htishmenl.  and  actyvelydid  set  vpon 
a  towne  called  Brmixholme.  where  the  Lord  of 
Bucloush  dweliythe,  and  purposed  theyme- 
selves  with  a  trayne  for  hym  lyke  to  his  accus- 
tomed nmnner,  in  rysynge  to  all  Craves;  albeit, 
that  knyght  he  was  not  at  home,  and  so  they 
brynt  the  suid  Branxliolm,  and  other  towiies, 
as  to  say  Whichestre.  VVhiehestre-helnie.  and 
Wheltey,  and  baid  ordered  theymself,  soo  that 
sundrv  of  the  said  Lord  Bueldugh's  servants, 
who  dyd  issue  fourthe  of  his  gates,  was  takyn 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


prisoners.  They  dyd  nut  leve  one  house,  one  Border  chiefs,  assembled  an  army  of  3000 
stak  of  corne,  nor  one  shvef,  without  the  gate  riders,  with  which  they  penetrated  into  Nor- 
of  the  said  LorJ  Buclough  vnbryute,  and  thus  thiimberland,  and  laid  waste  the  country  as 
scrymaged  and  frayed,  .supposing  the  Lord  of  far  as  the  banks  of  Bramish.  They  baffled,  or 
Buclough  to  he  within  iii  or  liii  myles  to  have  defeated,  the  English  forces  opposed  to  them, 
trayned  hiir  to  the  bushnient ;  and  soo  in  the  and  returned  loaded  with  prey. — HnHerton's 
breykmg  of  the  day  dyd  the  forrey  and  the  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  318. 
bushnient  mete,  and  reculed  homeward,  mak- 
ing theyre  way  westward  from  theyre  invasion 
to  be  over  Lyddersdaill,  as  intending:  yf  the 
fray  frome  theyre  furst  entry  by  the  Scotls 
ainhes,  or  otherwyse  by  warnymg,  shuld 


haue  bene  gyven  to  Gedworth  and  the  coun- 
trey  of  Scotland  theyreal»outs  of  theyre  inva- 
sion: wbiche  Gedworth  is  from  the  Wheles 
Causay  vi  miles,  that  thereby  the  Scotts  shulde 
have  comen  further  vnto  theyme,  and  more 
out.  of  prdre ;  and  soo  upon  sundry  good  con- 
siderations, before  they  entered  Lyddersdaill, 
as  well  accounting  the  inhabitants  of  the  same 


Bards  Jong  shntt  tell. 

How  lord  Walter  fell.  —  ?.  16. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Buccleuch  succeeded  to 
his  grandfather,  Sir  David,  in  1492.  He  was 
a  brave  and  powerful  baron,  and  Warden  of 
the  West  Marches  of  Scotland.  His  death  was 
the  consequence  of  a  feud  lietwixt.  the  Scotts 


to  be  towards  your  highness,  aud  to  enforce  and  Kerre,  the  history  of  which  is  necessary, 
theyme  the  moie  thereby,  as  alsoo  to  put  an  :  to  explain  repeated  allusions  in  the  romance, 
occasion  of  suspect  to  the  Kinge  of  Scotts,  and  I  In  the  year  1.V26,  in  the  words  of  Pitscottie, 


his  counsaill,  to  be  taken  aiienst  theyme, 
amonges  theymeselves,  made  proclamacions, 
commanding,  vpon  payne  of  delhe.  assurance 
to  be  for  the  said  inhabitants  of  Lyddersdaill, 
without  any  prejudice  or  hurt  to  he  done  by 
any  Inglysman  vnto  theyme,  and  soo  in  good 
ordre  abowte  the  howre  of  ten  of  the  clot  be- 
fore none,  vnpon  Tewisday,  dyd  pass  through 
the  said  Lyddersdail,  when  dyd  come  diverse 
of  the  said  inhabitants  there  to  my  servauntes. 
under  the  said  assurance,  offering  theymselfs 
with  any  service  they  couthe  make  ;  and  thus, 
thanks  be  to  Godde,  your  hishnes'  subjects, 
abowte  the  howre  of  xii  of  the  clok  at  none 
the  same  daye,  came  into  this  your  highnes 
realme.  bringing  wt  theyme  above  xl  Scotts- 
meu  prisoners,  one  of  theyme  named  Scot,  of 
the  surname  and  kyn  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buc- 
lough,  and  of  his  howsehold ;  they  brought 
qlso  ccc  nowte,  and  al«>ve  Ix  hnrse  and  mares, 
keping  in  savetie  frome  losse  or  hurte  all  your 
said  highnes  subjects.  There  was  alsoo  a 
towne,  called  Newbvgpius,  by  diverse  fotmen 
of  Tyndaill  and  Kyddesdaill.  takyn  vp  of  the 
night,  and  spoyled,  when  was  slayne  ii  Scotts- 
men  of  the  said  towne,  and  many  Scotts  there 
hurte ;  your  highnes  subjects  was  xiii  myles 
within  the  grounde  of  Scotlande,  and  is  from 
my  house  at  Werworthe,  above  Ix  miles  of  the 
most  evil  passage,  where  great  snawes  doth 
lye;  heretofore  the  same  townes  now  brynt 
haith  not  at  am  tyme  in  the  mynd  of  man  in 
any  warrs  been  enterprised  unto  nowe ;  your 
subjects  were  thereto  more  encouraged  for 
the  better  advancement  of  your  highnes  ser- 
vice, the  said  Lord  of  Buclough  beyng  always 


"the  Karl  of  Angus,  and  the  rest  of  the  Dou- 
glasses, ruled  all  winch  they  liked,  and  no 
man  durst  say  the  contrary ;  wherefore  the 
King  (James  V.  then  a  minor)  was  heavily 
displeased,  and  would  fain  have  been  ont  of 
their  hands,  if  he  might  by  any  way  :  .And,  to 
that  effect,  wrote  a  quiet  and  secret  letter  with 
his  own  hand,  and  sent  it  to  the  Laird  of  Buc- 
cleuch. beseeching  him  that  he  would  come 
with  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  the  force  that 
he  might  he,  and  meet  Sum  at  .Melross,  at  his 
home  passing,  and  there  to  take  him  out  of  the 
Douglasses  hands,  and  to  put  him  to  liberty, 
to  une  himself  among  the  lave  (rest)  of  his 
lords,  as  he  thinks  expedient. 

"This  letter  was  quietly  directed,  and  sent 
by  one  of  the  King's  own  secret  servants,  which 
was  received  very  thankfully  by  the  Laird  of 
Buccleuch.  who  was  very  glad  thereof,  to  be 
put  to  such  charges  and  familiarity  with  his 
prince,  and  did  great  diligence  to  perform  the 
King's  writing,  and  to  bring  the  matter  to 
pass  as  the  King  desired  :  Aud,  to  that  effect, 
convened  all  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  that 
would  do  for  him  to,  ride  with  him  to  Melross, 
when  he  knew  of  the  king's  homecoming. 
And  so  he  brought  with  him  six  hundred 
spears,  of  Liddesdale,  and  Annandale,  and 
countrymen,  and  clans  thereabout,  and  held 
themselves  quiet  while  that  the  King  returned 
out  of  Jedburgh.  and  came  to  Melross,  to  re- 
main there  all  that  night, 

"But  when  the  Lord  Hume,  f'essfoord,  and 
Fernyhersl,  (the  chiefs  of  the  clan  of  Kerr,) 
took  their  leave  of  the  King,  and  returned 
home,  then  appeared  the  Lord  of  Buccleuch 


a  mortall  enemy  to  this  your  Graces  realme.  I  in  sight,  and  his  company  with  him,  in  an  ar- 
and  he  dyd  say,  within  xiii  days  before,  he  i  rayed  battle,  intending  to  have  fulfilled  the 
woulde  see  who  durst  lye  near  hym  ;  wt  many  !  King's  petition,  and  therefore  came  stoutly 
other  cruell  words,  the  knowledge  whereof  j  forward  on  the  back  side  of  Haliden  hill.  By 
was  certainly  haid  to  my  said  servaunts.  be- 1  that  the  Earl  of  Angus,  with  George  Douglas, 
fore  theyre  enterprire  maid  vpon  him;  most!  his  brother,  and  sundry  other  of  his  friends, 
humbly  beseeching;  your  majesty,  that  youre  seeing  this  army  coming,  they  marvelled  what 
highnes  thanks  may  concur  vnto  theyme,  |  the  matter  me;tnt:  while  at  tlie  last  they  knew 
wiiose  names  be  here  inclosed,  and  to  have  in  ]  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  with  a  certain  com- 
your  most  gracious  memory.  l'ie  paynefull  and  j  pany  of  the  thieves  of  Annandale  With  him 
diligentserviceot  my  poreservaunte  Wharton,  j  they  were  less  affearrd,  ami  made  them  man- 
and  thus,  as  I  am  most  bounden,  shall  dispose  ]  fully  to  the  field  contrary  them,  and  said  to 

wt  them  that  be  under  me  f ajmoy- 1  th,e  King  in  this  manner, 'Sir,  yon  is  Buccleuch, 

saunce  of  your  highnes  enemys."  In  resent-  j  and  thieves  of  Annandale  with  him,  to  utibe- 
ment  of  this  foray,  Buccleuch,  with  other  i  set  your  Grace  from  the  gate,'  (i.  e.  interrupt 


LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


45 


your  passage.)  '1  vow  to  God  they  shall 
either  fight  or  flee  ;  and  ye  s'lall  tarry  here  on 
tliis  know,  mid  my  brother  George  witli  you, 
with  any  other  company  you  please;  anil  [ 
shall  pass,  and  put  yon  thieves  off  the  ground, 
and  rid  the  gate  unto  your  Grace,  or  else  die 
for  it.'  '['lie  King  tarried  still,  as  was  devised  ; 
and  George  Douglas  with  him.  and  sundry 
other  lords,  such  as  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  and 
the  Lord  Erskine,  and  some  of  the  King's  own 
servants;  but  all  the  lave  (rest)  past  with  the 
Earl  of  Angus  to  the  field  against  the  Laird 
of  Buccleuch,  who  joyned  and  countered 
cruelly  both  the  said  parties  in  the  field  of 
Daruelinver.i  either  against  other,  with  un- 
certain victory.  But,  at  the  last,  the  Lord 
Hume,  hearing  word  of  that  matter  how  it 
stood,  returned  again  to  the  King  m  all  possible 
haste,  with  him  the  Lairds  of  Cessfoord  and 
Femyhirst,  to  the  number  of  fourscore  spears. 
and  set  freshly  on  the  lap  and  wing  of  the 
Laird  of  Buccleuch's  field,  arid  shortly  bare 
them  backward  to  the  ground  ;  which  caused 
the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  and  the  rest  of  his 
friends,  to  go  back  and  flee,  whom  they  fol- 
lowed and  chased  ;  and  especially  the  Lairds 
of  Cessfoord  and  Femyhirst  followed  furious 
lie.  till  at  the  foot  of  a  path  the  Laird  of  Cess- 
foord was  slain  by  the  stroke  of  a  spear  by  an 
Elliot,  who  was  then  servant  to  the  Laird  of 
Buccle.uch.  But  when  the  Laird  of  Cessfoord 
was  slain,  the  chase  ceased.  The  Earl  of 
Angus  returned  again  with  great  merriness 
and  victory,  and  thanked  God  that  he  saved 
him  from  that  chance,  and  passed  with  the 
King  to  Melross,  where  they  remained  all  that 
night.  On  I  he  mom  they  past  to  Edinburgh 
with  the  King,  who  was  very  sad  and  dolorous 
of  the  slaughter  of  the  Laird  of  Cessfoord,  and 
many  other  gentlemen  and  yeomen  slain  by 
the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  Containing  the  number 
of  fourscore  and  fifteen,  which  died  in  defence 
of  the  King,  and  at  the  command  of  his  writ- 
ing." 

I  am  not  the  first  who  has  attempted  to  ce- 
lebrate in  verse  the  renown  of  this  ancient 
baron,  and  his  hazardous  attempt  to  procure 
his  sovereign's  freedom  In  a  Scottish  Latin 
poet  we  find  the  following  verses  :— 


sub  JACOBO  V. 


Ubmmlom  aliiaaoliti  Iranscibrir  Kegis  : 
Subrfptam  Imnc  Ktvi  res  itn>sr  paraa; 

Si  vlncis,  quanta  o  succedmil  praemia  ilrx 
Sin  victus,  r.ilsaB  spes.iace,  pone  auima 

Alque  Ueciift.     Viiicel,  Rei^e  probiinte.  fid 


li,  Auctor 


In  consequence  of  the  battle  of  Melrose, 
there  ensued  a  deadly  feud  betwixt  the  names 
of  Scott  and  Kerr,  which,  m  spite  of  all  means 
used  to  bring  about  an  agreement,  raged  for 
many  years  upon  the  Borders.  Buccleuch  was 
imprisoned,  and  his  estates  forfeited,  m  the 
year  I5,in,  fir  levying  w;ir  against  the  Kerrs, 


[See  Ihe  Minstrelsy  of  Ihe  St. 


and  restored  by  act  of  Parliament,  dated  15th 
March.  1542,  during  the  regency  of  Mary  of 
Lorraine.  But  the  most  signal  act  of  violence 
to  which  this  quarrel  gave  rise,  was  the  mur- 
der of  Sir  Walter  himself,  who  was  slain  by 
the  Kerrs  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  in  1552. 
This  is  the  event  alluded  to  in  stanza  vii. ;  and 
the  poem  is  supposed  to  open  shortly  after  it 
had  taken  place. 

The  feud  between  these  two  families  was 
not  reconciled  in  1596.  when  both  chieftains 
paraded  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  with  their 
followers,  and  it  was  expected  their  first  meet- 
ing would  decide  their  quarrel.  But.  on  July 
Hth  of  the  same  year,  Colvil.  in  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Bacon,  informs  him,  "  that  ihere  was  great 
trouble  upon  the  Borders,  which  would  con- 
tinue til!  order  should  be  taken  by  the  Queen 
of  England  and  the  King,  by  reason  of  the  two 
young  Scots  chieftains,  Cesford  and  Baclugh. 
and  of  the  present  necessity  and  scarcity  of 
com  amongst  the  Scots  Borderers  and  riders. 
That  there  had  been  a  private  quarrel  betwixt 
those  two  lairds  on  the  Borders,  which  was 
like  to  have  turned  to  blood;  but  the  fear  of 
the  general  trouble  had  reconciled  them,  and 
the  injuries  which  they  thought  to  have  com- 
mitted against  each  other  were  now  trans- 
ferred upon  England  :  not  unlike  that  emula- 
tion in  France  between  the  Baron  de  Eiron  aw] 
Moris.  Jevewe,  who,  being  both  ambitious  ot 
honour,  undertook  more  hazardous  enterprises 
against  the  enemy  than  they  would  have  done 
if  they  had  been  at  concord  together."— Birch's 
Memorials,  vol.  ii.  p.  67. 


NOTE  F. 

White  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 
While  Etlnck  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 

The  slatujh/er'd  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar 

The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war. 
Shall  never,  never  be  forgot !  —  P.  16. 

Among  other  expedients  resorted  to  for 
stanching  the  feud  betwixt  the  Scotts  and  the 
Kerrs,  there  was  a  bond  executed  in  1529,  be- 
tween the  heads  of  each  clan,  binding  them- 
selves to  perform  reciprocally  the  four  princi- 
pal pilgrimages  of  Scotland,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  souls  of  those  of  the  opposite  name  who 
had  fallen  in  the  quarrel.  This  indenture  is 
printed  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border. 
vol.  i.  But  either  it  never  took  effect,  or  else 
the  feud  was  renewed  shortly  afterwards. 

Such  factions  were  not  uncommon  in  feudal 
times;  and.  as  might  he  expected,  they  were 
often,  as  in  the  present  case,  void  of  the  etfect 
desired.  When  Sir  Walter  Mauny,  the  re- 
nowned follower  of  Edward  III.,  had  taken 
the  town  of  Ryol  in  Gnscony,  he  remembered 
to  have  heard  that  his  faiher  lay  there  buried, 
and  offered  a  hundred  crowns  to  any  who 
could  show  him  his  grave.  A  very  old  man 
appeared  before  Sir  Walter,  and  informed  him 
of  the  manner  of  his  father's  death,  and  the 
place  of  his  sepulture.  It,  seems  the  Ixird  of 
Manny  had.  at  a  great  tournament,  unhorsed. 


46 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


and  wounded  to  the  death,  a  Gascon  knight, 
of  the  house  of  Mirepoix,  whose  kinsman  was 
Bishop  of  Camhray.  Fur  this  deed  lie  was 
held  at  fend  by  the  relations  of  the  knight, 
until  he  agreed"  to  undertake  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  shrine  of  St.  James  of  Compostellu,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  soul  of  the  deceased.  But  as 
he  relumed  through  the  town  of  Kyol.  after 
accomplishment  of  his  vow,  he  w:is  beset  and 
treacherously  slain,  by  the  kindred  of  the 
knight  whom  he  had  killed.  Sir  Walter,  guided 
by  the  old  man,  visited  the  lowly  tomb  of  his 
father;  and.  having  read  the  inscription,  which 
was  in  Latin,  he  caused  the  body  to  be  raised, 
and  transported  to  his  native  city  of  Valen- 
ciennes, where  masses  were,  in  the  days  of 
Froissart.  duly  said  for  the  soul  of  the  unfor- 
tunate pilgrim.— Clironycle  of  Froissart,  vol.  i. 
p.  123. 

NOTE  G. 

With  Can  in  arms  had  stood.  —  P.  17. 

The  family  of  Ker,  Kerr,  or  Carr,1  was  very 
powerful  on  the  Border.  Fynes  Morrison  re- 
marks, in  his  Travels,  that  their  influence 
extended  from  the  village  of  Preston-Grange, 
in  Lothian,  to  the  limits  of  England  Cessford 
Castle,  the  ancient  baronial  residence  of  I  lie 
family,  is  situated  near  the  village  of  More- 
battle,  within  two  or  three  miles  of  the  Cheviot 
Hills.  It  h»s  been  a  place  of  great  strength 
and  consequence,  but  is  now  ruinous.  Tradi- 
tion affirms  that  it  was  founded  by  Halbert.  or 
Habhy  Kerr,  a  gigantic  warrior,  concerning 
whom  many  stories  are  current  in  Roxburgh- 
shire. The  Duke  of  Koxburghe  represents 
Ker  of  Cessford.  A  distinct  and  powerful 
branch  of  the  same  name  own  the  Marquis  of 
Lothian  as  their  chief.  Hence  the  distinction 
betwixt  Kerrs  of  Cessford  and  Fairnihirst. 


NOTE  H. 

Lord  Cranitoun. —P.  17. 

The  Cranstouns,  Lord  Cranstonn,  are  an 
ancient  Border  fatuity,  whose  chief  seat  was 
at  Crailing,  in  TevioUlale.  They  were  at  this 
time  at  feud  with  the  clan  of  Scott ;  for  it  ap- 
pears that  the  Lady  of  Buccleuch,  in  1557. 
beset  the  Laird  of  Cranstoun.  seeking  his  life. 
Nevertheless,  the  same  Cranstoun,  or  perhaps 
his  son,  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  the  same 
lady. 

NOTE  I. 

Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie — P.  17. 

The  Bethunes  were  of  French  origin,  and 
derived  their  name  from  a  small  town  in  Artois. 
There  were  several  distinguished  families  of 
the  Eethunes  in  the  neighbouring  province  of 
Picardy :  they  numbered  among  their  descend- 
ants the  celebrated  Due  de  Sully ;  and  the 


1  Thr  name  i«  apell  diffi-n 
who  bear  II.  Carr  i»  atleclnl 
aa  the  most  poetical  reading. 


t  a*  the 


name  was  accounted  among  the  most  nob!e  in 
France,  while  aught  noble  remained  in  that 
coun'ry.i  The  family  of  Bethune,  or  Beatoun, 
111  Fife,  produced  three  learned  and  dignified 
prelates:  namely.  Cardinal  Beaton,  and  two 
successive  Archbishops  of  Glasgow,  all  of 
whom  nnnrishei]  about  the  date  of  the  ro- 
mance. Of  this  family  was  descended  Dame 
Janet  Beaton,  Lady  Buccleuch.  widow  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott  of  Branksome  She  was  a  wo- 
man of  masculine  spirit,  as  appeared  from  her 
riding  at  the  head  of  her  son's  clan,  after  her 
husband's  murder.  She  also  possessed  the 
hereditary  abilities  of  her  family  in  such  a 
degree  that  the  superstition  of  the  vulgar  im- 
puted them  to  supernatural  knowledge.  With 
this  was  mingled,  by  faction,  the  foul  accusa- 
tion of  her  having  influenced  Queen  Man-  to 
the  murder  of  her  husband.  One  of  the  pla- 
cards, preserved  in  Buchanan's  Detection, 
accuses  of  Darnley's  murder  ''the  Erie  of 
Bothwell.  Mr  James  Balfour,  the  persoun  of 
Fliske,  Mr.  David  Chalmers,  black  Mr.  John 
Spens,  who  was  principal  deviser  of  the  mur- 
der; and  the  Queue,  assenting  lhairlo.  throw 
the  persuasion  of  the  Erie  Bothwell,  and  the 
witchcraft  of  Lady  BucJileuch." 


NOTE  K. 

Ht  karn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name. 
In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea.  —  P.  17. 

Padua  was  long  supposed,  by  the  Scottish 
peasants,  to  be  the  principal  school  of  necro- 
,  mancy.  The  Earl  of  Gowrie.  slain  at  Perth, 
!  in  IfiOO,  prelended,  during  his  studies  in  Italy, 
I  to  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  ca- 
|  bala,  by  which,  he  said  he  could  charm  snakes, 
and  work  other  miracles  ;  and,  in  particular, 
could  produce  children  without  the  intercourse 
of  the  sexes. — See  the  examination  of  Wemyss 
of  Bogie  before  the  Privy  Council  concerning 
Gowrie's  Conspiracy. 


NOTE  L. 

His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 
Upon  the  sunny  wall !  —  P.  17. 

The  shadow  of  a  necromancer  is  independent 
of  the  sun.  Glycas  informs  us  that  Simon 
Magus  caused  Ins  shaduw  to  go  before  him. 
making  people  believe  it  was  an  attendant 
spirit.  — Hey  wood's  Hierarchie,  p.  475.  The 
vulgar  conceive,  that  when  a  class  of  students 
have  made  a  certain  progress  in  their  mystic, 
studies,  they  are  obliged  to  run  through  a 
subterraneous  hall,  where  the  devil  literally 
catches  the  hindmost  in  the  race,  unless  he 
crosses  the  hall  so  speedily  that  the  arch- 
enemy can  only  apprehend  his  shadow  In 
the  latter  case,  the  person  of  the  sage  never 
after  throws  any  shade  :  and  those,  who  have 
thus  lost  thrir  shallow,  always  prove  the  best 
magicians. 


*.  in  the  jr* 


LAY   OF   THE   LAST   MINSTREL. 


47 


NOTE  M. 

The  viewless  forms  of  air.  —  P.  17. 

The  Scottish  vulgar,  without  bavin?  any 
very  defined  notion  of  their  attributes,  believe 
in  the  existence  of  an  intermediate  class  of 
spirits,  residing  in  the  air,  or  in  the  waters;  to 
whose  agency  they  ascribe  flixxls,  storms,  and 
all  such  phenomena  as  their  own  philosophy 
cannot  readily  explain.  They  are  supposed  to 
interfere  in  the  atl'airs  of  mortals,  sometimes 
with  a  malevolent  purpose,  and  sometimes 
with  milder  views.  It  is  said,  for  example, 
that  a  gallant  baron,  having  returned  from  the 
Holy  Land  to  his  castle  of  Druinmelziar,  found 
his  fair  lady  nursing  a  healthy  child,  whose 
birth  did  not  by  any  means  correspond  to  the 
date  of  his  departure.  Such  an  occurrence, 
to  the  credit  of  the  dames  of  the  Crusaders  he 
it  spoken,  was  so  rare,  that  it  required  a  mira- 
culous solution.  The  lady,  therefore,  was  be- 
lieved, when  she  averred,  confidently,  that  the 
Spirit  of  the  Tweed  had  issued  from  the  river 
while  she  was  walking  upon  its  bank,  and  com- 
pelled her  to  submit  to  his  embraces  :  and  the 
name  of  Tweedie  was  bestowed  upon  the  child, 
who  afterwards  became  Uaron  of  Drummel- 
ziar, and  chief  of  a  powerful  clan.  To  those 
spirits  were  also  ascribed,  in  Scotland,  the 


When  the  workmen  were  engaged  in  erect- 
ing the  ancient  church  of  Old  Deer,  in  Aber- 
deenshire,  upon  a  small  hill  called  Bissau,  they 
were  surprised  to  find  that  the  work  was  im- 
peded by  supernatural  obstacles.  At  length, 
the  Spirit  of  the  Kiver  was  heard  to  say, 

"It  la  not  here,  it  i>  not  here, 
Ttat  ye  shall  build  lae  church  of  Deer; 
Bui  on  Taptillerjr, 
Where  mauy  a  corpse  shall  lie." 

The  site  of  the  edifice  was  accordingly  trans- 
ferred to  Taptillery.  an  eminence  at  some 
distance  from  the  place  where  the  building 
had  been  commenced  — Macfarlane's  MSS. 
1  mention  these  popular  fables,  because  the 
introduction  of  the  Hiverand  Mountain  Spirits 
may  not,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  accord  with  the 
general  tone  of  the  romance,  and  the  super- 
stitious of  the  country  where  the  scene  is  laid. 


NOTE  N. 

A  fancied  moss-trooper,  <fc.  —P.  17. 

Tliis  was  the  usual  appellation  of  the  ma- 
rauders upon  the  Borders ;  a  profession  dili- 
gently pursued  by  the  inhabitants  on  both 
sides,  and  by  none  more  actively  and  success- 
fully than  by  Buccleuch's  clan.  Long  after 
the  union  of  the  crowns  the  moss-troopers, 
although  sunk  in  reputation,  and  no  longer 
enjoying  the  pretext  of  national  hostility,  con- 
tinued to  pursue  their  calling. 

Fuller  includes,  among  the  wonders  of 
Cumberland,  "  The  moss-troopers :  so  strange 


in  the  condition  of  their  living,  if  considered 
in  their  Oriymal,  Increase,  Height,  Decay,  aud 
Ruins. 

"1.  Original.  I  conceive  them  the  same 
called  Borderers  in  Mr.  Caniden;  and  charac- 
terised by  him  to  be  a  wild  and  warlike  people. 
They  are  calif d  moss-troupers,  because  dwell- 
ing in  the  mosses,  and  riding  in  troops  together. 
They  dwell  in  the  bounds,  or  meeting,  of  the 
two  kingdoms,  but  obey  the  laws  of  neither. 
They  come  to  church  as  seldom  as  the  29th 
of  February  comes  into  the  kalendar. 

"2.  Increase.  When  England  and  Scotland 
were  united  m  Great  Britain,  they  that  formerly 
lived  l>y  hostile  incursions,  betook  themselves 
to  the  robbing  of  their  neighbours.  Their  sons 
are  free  of  the  trade  by  their  fathers' copy. 
They  are  like  to  Job,  not  in  piety  and  patienc'e, 
but  in  sudden  plenty  and  poverty;  sometimes 
having  flocks  and  herds  in  the  morning,  none 
at  night,  and  perchance  many  again  next  day. 
They  may  give  for  their  motto,  vivitiirex  raplo, 
stealing  from  their  honest,  neighbours  what 
they  sometimes  require.  They  are  a  nest  of 
hornets ;  strike  one,  and  stir  all  of  them 
about  your  ears  Indeed,  if  they  promise 
safely  to  conduct  a  traveller,  they  will  peif»rm 
it  with  the  fidelity  of  a  Turkish  janizary; 
otherwise,  woe  be  to  him  that  falleth  into  their 
quarters ! 

"3.  Height.  Amounting,  forty  years  since, 
to  some  thousands.  These  compelled  the 
vicinage  to  purchase  their  security,  by  paying 
a  constant  rent  to  them  When  in  their  great- 
est height,  they  had  two  great  enemies, — the 
Laws  of  Hie  Land,  and  tlie  Lord  William 
Howard  of  Naworth.  He  sent  many  of  them 
to  Carlisle,  to  that  place  where  the  officer  iloth 
always  his  work  by  uuyliyht.  Yet  these  moss- 
troopers, if  possibly  they  could  procure  the 
pardon  fur  a  condemned  person  of  their  com- 
pany, would  advance  great  sums  out  of  their 
common  stock,  who,  in  such  a  case,  cost  in 
their  lots  amongst  themselves,  and  all  have  one 
purse. 

"  4.  Decay.  Caused  by  the  wisdom,  valour, 
and  diligence  of  tha  Right  Honourable  Charles 
Lord  Howard,  Earl  of  Carlisle,  who  routed 
these  English  Tories  with  his  regiment.  His 
severity  unto  them  will  not  only  be  excused, 
but  commended,  by  the  judicious,  who  consider 
how  our  great  lawyer  doth  describe  such  per- 
sons, who  are  solemnly  outlawed.  Bracton, 
lib.  viii.  trac.  2.  cap.  11.— ' Ex  tune  gerunt  caput 
lupinum,  ila  quod  sine  judiciali  inquisitione  rite 
pereant,  et  secum  suiini  jud/cium  portent ;  et 
merito  sine  lege  pereunt.  qui  secundum  leoem 
vivere  recusarunt.'  —  'Thenceforward,  (after 
that  they  are  outlawed)  they  wear  a  wolfs 
head,  so  that  they  lawfully  may  be  destroyed, 
without  any  judicial  inquisition,  as  who  carry 
their  own  condemnation  about  them,  and  de- 
servedly die  without  law,  because  they  refused 
lo  live  according  to  law." 

"5  Ruinc.  Such  w;is  the  success  of  this 
worthy  lord's  severity,  that  he  made  a  thorough 
reformation  among  tiiem  ;  and  the  ring  leaders 
being  destroyed,  the  rest  are  reduced  to  legal 
obedience,  and  so,  I  trust,  will  continue."— 
Fuller's  Worthus  of  England,  p.  216. 

The  last  public  mention  of  moss-troopers 
occurs  during  the  civil  wars  ofthe  seventeenth 
century,  when  many  ordinances  of  Parliament 
were  directed  against  them. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


NOTE  0. 

iame  the  Cnicorn's  pride. 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star.  —  P.  18 


I  vyllaynes  of  Auvergiie  and  of  Lymosyn  dayljr 
prcivyileil  unil  brought  to  our  castell  whete 

I  niele.  good  wyucs.  beffes,  and  fatte  motions, 
pullayne,  and  wilde  foule :  We  were  ever  fur- 
lyshed  as  iho  we  had  been  kings.  When 


NOTE  P. 

William  of  Deloraine.  —  P.  18. 

The  lands  of  Deloraine  are  joined  to  those 
of  Buccleuch  in  Ettrick  Forest.  They  were 
immeinorially  possessed  by  the  Bucc'.euch  fa- 
roily,  under  the  strong  title  of  occupancy,  al- 
though no  charter  was  obtained  from  the  crown 


pliyn  :  I  kept  it  nat  past  fyve  days, 

ceyved  for  it,  on  a  feyre  table,  fyve  thousande 
frankes,  and  forgave  one  thousande  for  the 
love  of  the  Erl  Dolphin's  children.  By  my 
fayth.  this  was  a  fayre  and  a  good  lyfe  !  where- 
fore I  repute  niysell'e  sore  ileceyved,  in  that 
I  have  rendered  up  the  fortress  of  Aloys;  for 
it  wolde  have  kept  fro  alle  the  world*,  and 
the  daye  that  I  gave  it  up,  it  was  foumyshed 
with  vytalles,  to  have  been  kept  seven  yere 
without  any  re-vytalliuge.  This  £rl  of  Army- 
nake  hath  deceyved  me :  Olyve  Barbe,  and 


until  1545.    Like  other  possessions,  the  lands  !  Perot  le  Bernoys,  shewed  to  me  how  1  shulde 

repente  myselfe ;  certayne  I  sore  repente  my- 
seife  of  wiat  I  have  done.' " — Fruis&art,  vol.  li. 


of  Deloraine  were  occasionally  granted  by 
them  to  vassals,  or  kinsmen,  for  Border  ser- 
vice. Satchells  mentions,  among  the  twenty- 
fourgeutlemen-pensionersof  the  family, "  Wil- 
liam Scott,  commonly  called  Cul-at-lhe-Jtlark, 
who  had  the  lands  of  Nether  Deloraine  for  his 
service."  And  again,  ••  This  William  of  Delo- 
raine, commonly  called  Cut-al-the- Black,  was 
a  brother  of  the  ancient  house  of  Hauling, 
which  house  of  Haimng  is  descended  from  the 
ancient  house  of  llassendean  "  The  lands  of 
nn's  title  to  the  de- 


p. 195. 


NOTE  Q. 


ity  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 

had  baffled  Percy's  best  blood-houndt.—P.  18. 

The  kings  and  heroes  of  Scotland,  as  well 
as  the  Border-riders,  were  sometimes  obliged 
to  study  how  to  evade  the  pursuit  of  blood- 
Robert 


to  maynteyne  and  sustayiie  the  iieasable."  As 
a  contrast  to  my  Marchman,  1  beg  leave  to 
transcribe,  from  the  same  author,  the  speech 
of  Amergot  Marcell,  a  captain  of  the  Adventu- 
rous Companions,  a  robber,  and  a  pillaaer  of 
the  country  of  Auvergne,  who  had  been  bribed 
to  sell  his  strongholds,  and  to  assu 


3  the  burn  thai  passyt  ware, 
rulh-tiiii.il  maiif  glinting  [bar, 
-ryr  lau£  lym«ta  and  fra, 
u  cenaiu  pair  roulh  ga  ; 
:  la*t  lhal  John  of  Lome 
the  build  ibc  sleuth  bad  l^rne.** 

The  Brua,  Book  Tii. 


.  honourable  military  life  under  the  banners  ol  ,  A  sure  wav  of  slopplne  the  do?  was  to  spill 
the  Lar  ot  Armagnac  But  -  when  he  reine.n  ,,lood  Upon  ' the  track,  which  destroyed  the 
bered  alle  this,  he  was  sorrowf.il ;  his  tresonr  dacrimimitaw  fineness  of  his  K-ent.  '  A  cap- 
he  thought  he  wolde  not  mynysshe ;  he  was  Uve  wajj  ^^^^  sarrlficed  on  such  occa- 
wonte  dayly  to  serche  for  new  pyllages,  wher-  SJOI)S  H  lhe  Minstre|  ,elis  a  roman,ic 
bye  encresed  his  profyle,  and  then  he  sawe  st  of  uin..^  Iullmjed  on  this  circum- 
that  alle  was  closed  tro' him.  1  hen  he  sayde  ,tance:-The  hero's  little  band  had  been 
and  imaayned,  that  to  pyli  and  to  robbe  (all  •  j(,Iuet,  b  an  iris|,nian.  named  Fawdoun.  or 
thynse  considered)  WW  a  good  lyfe,  and  so  JFadzean,  a  dark,  s-avaae.  and  suspicious  ctn- 
repenled  him  of  his  g.Hxl  doing.  On  a  tyme,  rac[er  After  a  sll!lr  skirillish  at  Black-Erne 
he  said  to  his  old  companyons  •  Sirs,  there  is  Slde  Wallace  was  forced  to  retreat  with  only 


»orl8 


rte  nor  glory  in  tins  worifle  amunse  men    s,      •     f0n,,Wers     The  English  pursued  with 
iire.  but  lo  use  suche    yle  as  we  have       Banter  staak-liratcli,  or  blood-  hound, 
in  tyme  past.     What  a  joy  was  it  to  us 


no  sporte  nor  glory  in  this 

of  w 

done 

when  we  rode  forth  at  adventure,  and  somtyme 

found  by  the  wav  a  riohe  pnour  or  merchaunt, ' 

or  a  route  of  mu'lettes  of  Mountpellyer, of  Nar- 1 

bonne,  of  Lymens.  of  Fonu-:nis,  of  Besyers,  of  • 

Tholous,  or  of  Carcasoune.  laden  with  cloth       __-___. 

of  Brussels,  or  peltre  ware  comynge  fro  the    to  be  so,  would  go  no  farther.    Wallace,  Having 

fayres,  or  laden  wuh  spyceo"  ir»  Bruges,  fro    in  vain  arsned  xvith  him.  in  hasty  aimer  struck 

L'amas,  (>    fro  AlysaunJre:   whatsoever    we    off  his  head,  and  continued  the  reireat.     vvhen 

met,  all  was  ours',  or  els  ransoumed  at  our    lhe  English  came  up,  their  hound  slaved  upon 

pleasures ;  dayly  we  gate  new  money,  and  the  .the  dead  body  : — 


"  In  Oriderlaad  Iherr  wan  that  braubet  bred, 
Siker  of  i>rel>l,  to  follow  them  that  flnl  ; 
So  was  hi-  u«u!  in  K-ike  ai.il  I.idde«lail, 
White  (i.  e.  till)  Bb-  gut  blood  no  fleeing  might 

111  the  retreat,  Fawdoun.  tired,  or  affeoling 


LAY  OF   THE   LAST   MINSTREL. 


49 


The  story  concludes  with  a  fine-  Gothic  scene 
of  terror  Wallace  took  refuse  in  the  Mihtaiy 
tower  of  Gask  Here  he  was  disturbed  ui 
midnight  by  the  blast  of  a  horn.  He  sent  out 
his  attendants  by  two  and  two,  but  no  one  re- 
turned  with  tidings.  At  length,  when  he  was 
left  alone,  the  sound  was  heard  still  louder. 
The  champion  descended,  sword  in  hand ; 
and.  at  the  gate  of  the  tower,  was  encountered 
by  the  headless  spectre  of  Fawdoun.whom  he 
had  slain  so  rashly.  Wallace,  in  great  terror, 
fled  up  into  the  tower,  tore  open  tiie  hoards  of 
a  window,  leapt  down  fifteen  feet  in  height, 
and  continued  his  flight  up  the  river.  Looking 
hack  to  Gask.  he  discovered  the  tower  on  fire, 
and  the  form  of  Fawdoun  upou  the  battle- 
ments, dilated  loan  immense  size,  and  holding 
in  his  hand  a  blazing  rafter.  The  Minstrel 
concludes, 


Kuppos 


•yirht  wele,  that  all  this  be  pooth  indeed, 
a  it  to  be  ao  point  of  the  creed." 

The  Wallace,  Book  v. 


Mr.  Ellis  has  extracted  this  tale  as  a  sample 
of  Henry's  poetry. — Specimens  of  Eiiylisk  fo- 
etry,  vol.  i.  p.  351. 

NOTE  R. 

the  Moat-hilTs  mound, 

Where  Druid's  shades  still  Jlitted  round.—?.  18. 

This  is  a  round  artificial  mount  near  Hawick, 
which,  from  its  name,  (^Hat.  Ana.  Sax  Con- 
cilium, Conafn/iis.}  was  probably  used  RS  a 
place  for  assembling  a  national  council  of  the 
adjacent  tribes  There  are  many  such  mounds 
in  Scotland,  and  they  are  sometimes,  but  rarely, 
of  a  square  form. 


NOTE  S. 

the  tower  of  Haztldean—P.  18. 

The  estate  of  Hazeldean.  corruptly  Hassen- 
dean.  belonged  formerly  to  a  family  of  Scotts, 
thus  commemorated  by  Satchells : — 

The  Bitcieotest  LouBe  among  them  all.1* 


NOTE  T. 

On  Minlo-crays  the  moon-beams  glint.  —  P.  18. 

A  romantic  assemblage  of  cliffs,  which  rise 
suddenly  above  the  vale  of  Teviot,  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  the  familv-scat.from  which 
Lord  Min'o  takes  his  title  'A  small  platform. 
on  a  projecting  era?,  corn  iriandinsr  a  most  beau- 
tiful prospect,  is  termed  Bnrnhilts'  Bid.  This 
Baruiiills  is  said  to  have  been  a  robber,  or  out- 
law. There  are  remains  of  a  strong  tower 
beneath  the  rocks,  where  he  is  supposed  to 
have  dwelt,  and  from  which  he  derived  his 
name.  On  the  summit  of  the  crags  are  the 
frngmanti  bf  another  ancient  tower,  in  a  pio- 
tnrtsque  situation.  Among  the  houses  cast 
by  the  Karl  of  Hartforde,  in  15)5.  occur  the 
towers  of  Easter  EarnhilJs,  and  of  Mnflo  crag, 


wji.li  Minlo  town  and  place.  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot, 
father  to  the  present  Lord  Minto.i  was  I  he 
author  of  a  beautiful  pastoral  song,  of  which 
the  following  is  a  more  correct  copy  than  is 
usually  published.  The  poetical  mantle  of 
Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  has  descended  to  his  family. 

"  My  «heep  I  negleried.  I  broke  my  cheep-hook, 
AnU  all  Ihe  «uy  h:iuiit»  of  my  youth  I  forsook  : 

But  what  had  ray  youth  with  ambition  to  do  1 
Why  left  I  Ainyula  I  why  broke  I  my  TOW  ! 

"Through  regions  remote  in  vain  do  T  rove, 

And  bid  Ihe  wide  worM  necnre  me  from  tore. 
Ah,  fool,  to  imieiue  thai  aught  could  sub-lue 
A  love  so  well  founded,  a  passion  so  true  ! 
Ah,  Ktye  nu-  ray  sbet'p,  and  my  sheep-hook  restore ! 
And  I'll  wander  from  love  aad  AuiyuU  no  more ! 

"  Alan  !  'tis  too  late  al  thy  fate  to  repine  ! 
Poor  >hepherd.  Amynta  no  more  can  be  thine  ! 
Thy  team  are  all  fruitless,  thy  wishes  are  vain, 


NOTE  U. 

Ancient  Riddell's  fair  domain.  —  P.  18. 

The  family  of  Riddell  have  been  very  long 
in  possession  of  the  barony  called  Riddell,  or 
Ryedale.  part  of  which  still  bears  the  latter 
name.  Tradition  carries  their  antiquity  to  a 
point  extremely  remote ;  and  is,  in  some  de- 
gree, sanctioned  by  the  discovery  of  two  stone 
coffins,  one  containing  an  earthen  pot  filled 
with  ashes  and  arms,  bearing  a  legible  date, 
A.  D.  727 ;  the  other  dated  936,  and  filled  with 
the  bones  of  a  man  of  gigantic  size.  These 
coffins  were  discovered  in  the  foundations  of 
what  was,  but  has  long  ceased  to  be,  the  chapel 
of  Kiddell ;  and  as  it  was  argued,  with  plausi- 
bility, that  they  contained  the  remains  of  some 
anceslors  of  the  family,  they  were  deposited  in 
the  modern  place  of  sepulture,  comparatively 
so  termed,  though  built  in  1110.  But  the  fol- 
lowing curious  and  authentic  documents  war- 
rant most  conclusivelv  the  epithet  of  "ancient 
Riddell :"  1st.  A  Charter  by  David  I.  to  Walter 
Rydule,  Sheriff  of  Roxburgh,  confirming  all  the 
isiaii  s  of  Liliesclive,  <tc..  of  which  his  father, 
Gei  vasjus  de  Rydale,  died  possessed.  2dly,  A 
bull  of  Pope  Adrian  IV.,  confirming  the  will 
of  Walter  de  Ridale,  knight,  in  favour  of  his 
broiher  Anschiuil  de  Ridale,  dated  8th  April, 
1155.  3dly,  A  bull  of  Pope  Alexander  III.,  con- 
firming the  said  will  of  Waller  de  Ridale.  be- 
queathing to  his  brother  Ansehittil  the  lands 
of  Liliesclive,  Whettunes,  &.c  ,  and  ratifying 
the  bargain  betwixt  Ansehittil  anil  Huctreilus, 
concerning  the  church  of  Liliesclive,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  mediation  of  Malcolm  II.,  and 
confirmed  by  a  charter  from  that  monarch. 
This  bull  is  dated  17th  June,  llfiO.  4thly,  A 
bull  of  the  same  Pope,  confirming  the  will  of 
Sir  Anschitlel  de  Ridale,  in  favour  of  his  sou 
Walter,  conveying  the  saiii  hinds  of  Liliesclive 
and  others, dined  10;h  March.  1120.  It  is  re- 
markahlu.  that  Liliesclive,  otherwise  Rydale, 
or  Riddell, and  Mie  Whjttunes,  have  descended, 
through  a  long  train  of  ancestors,  without  ever 


1  Grandfather  to  the  present  Earl.     1819. 


50 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


passing  into  a  collateral  line,  to  the  persun  of  Iville.  in  his  Paranesis.  or  Admonition,  states, 


Sir  John  Buchanan  Ridded,  Bart,  of  Riddell. 
the  lineal  descendant  anil  representative  of  Sir 
Ansrhittel.  —  These  circumstances  appeared 
worthy  of  notice  m  a  Border  work.' 


NOTE  V. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reached  'ttaas  silence  all ; 
He  meftly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall. 
And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall. — P.  19. 
The  ancient  and  beautiful  monastery  of  Mel- 
rose  was  founded  by  King  David  I.  Its  ruins 
afford  the  finest  specimen  of  Gothic  architec- 
ture and  Gothic  sculpture  which  Scotland  can 
boast.  The  stone  of  which  it  is  built,  though 
it  lias  resisted  the  weather  for  so  many  ages, 
retains  perfect  sharpness,  so  that  even  the 
most  minute  ornaments  seem  as  entire  as 
when  newly  wrought.  In  some  of  the  clois- 
ters, as  is  hinted  in  the  next  Canto,  there  are 
representations  of  flowers,  vegetables,  ic., 
ranred  in  stone,  with  accuracy  and  precision 
so  delicate,  that  we  almost  distrust  our  senses 
when  we  consider  the  difficulty  of  subjecting 
so  hard  a  substance  to  such  intricate  and  ex- 
quisite modulation  This  superb  convent  was 
uedicated  to  St.  Maiy,  and  the  monks  were  of 
the  Cistertian  order.  At  the  time  of  the  Re- 
formation, they  shared  the  general  reproach 
of  sensuality  and  irregularity,  thrown  U;M>II  the 
Roman  churchmen.  The  old  words  of  Gaia- 
shieLs,  a  favourite  Scotch  air,  ran  thus: — 
O  Ibe  rnouks  of  Melroae  made  f  ude  kale,  '1 

On  Fn<!ay»  »lit-n  the;  tasird. 
They  wauled  neither  beef  nor  ale, 
As  long  as  their  neighbour*'  Usled. 


NOTE  W. 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebony  and  ivory  ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery. 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die. 

Thai  mew  St.  David's  ruin'd  pile.— P.  19. 
The  buttresses  ranged  along  the  sides  of  the 
ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey,  are,  according  to  the 


that  the  reformed  divines  were  so  far  from  un- 
dertaking distant  journeys  to  convert  the  Hea- 
then, ''as  I  wold  wis  at  God  that  ye  wold  only 
go  hot  to  the  Hielands  and  Borders  of  our  own 
realm,  to  gain  our  awm  countreymen.  who, 
fur  Jaok  of  preching  and  ministration  of  the 
sacraments,  must,  with  tyme,  becum  either 
mtidells.  or  atheists."  But  we  learn,  fiom 
Lesley,  that,  however  deficient  in  real  religion, 
they  regularly  told  their  beads,  and  never  with 
more  zeal  than  when  going  on  a  plundering 
expedition. 


NOTE  Y. 

So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start : 

Sudden  the  flying  jenntt  whttl. 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart.  —  P.  20. 

"By  myfayth,"  sayd  the  Duke  of  Lancaster, 
(to  a  Portuguese  squire.)  "of  all  the  feates  of 
armes  that  the  Castellyans,  and  they  of  your 
countrey  doth  use,  the  castynge  of  their  dertes 
best  pleaseth  me,  and  gladly  1  wolde  se  it ;  for, 
as  I  hear  say,  if  they  strike  one  aryghte,  with- 
out he  be  well  armed,  the  dart  will  pierce  him 
thrnghe." — "  By  my  fayth,  sir,"  sayd  the  squver, 
"ye  say  Irouth" ;  for  I  have  seen  many  a  giete 
stroke  given  with  them,  which  at  one  time  cost 
us  derely,  and  was  to  us  great  displeasure ;  for, 
at  the  said  skyrmishe.  Sir  John  Lawrence  of 
Coygne  was  striken  with  a  dart  in  such  wise, 
that  the  head  perced  all  the  plates  of  his  cote, 
of  rnayle,  and  a  sacke  stopped  with  sylke, 
and  passed  Ihrughe  his  body,  so  that  he  fell 
down  dead." — Froissart,vo].  ii  ch.  41.  —  This 
mode  of  lighting  with  darts  was  imitated  in  the 
military  game  called  Jeugo  de  las  canos,  which 
the  Spaniards  borrowed  from  their  Moorish  in- 
vaders. A  Saracen  champion  is  thus  described 
by  Froissart:  "Among the  Sarazyns.  there  was 
a  yonge  knight  called  .Airadinger  Dolyferne ;  he 
was  always  wel  mounted  on  a  redy  and  a  lyght 
horse  ;  it  seemed,  when  the  horse  ratine,  that 
he  did  fly  in  the  ayre.  The  knighte  seemed  to 
be  a  good  man  of  "armes  by  his  dedes ;  he  bare 


always  of  usage  three 


by  IDS  i 
t  if  then 


•etl  dartes,  and 


Gothic  style,  richly  carved  :.nd  fretted,  con-  rychte  well  he  could  handle  them ;  and.  ac- 
taining  niches  for  the  statues  of  saints,  and  cording  to  their  custmne,  he  was  clene  armed, 
labelled  with  scrolls,  tearing  appropriate  texts  ;  with  a  long  white  towell  about  his  head 


of  Scripture.    Most  of  these  s'.atues  have  been 
demolished. 

David  I.  of  Scotland  purchased  the  reputa- 
tion of  sanctity,  by  founding,  and  liberally  en- 


I  lis  apparel!  was  blacke,  and  his  own  colour 
browue,  and  a  good  horseman.  The  Crysten 
men  say,  they  tlioughte  he  dyd  such  deeds  of 
armes  for  the  love  of  some  yonge  ladye  of  hir 


dowing.  not  on'lv  the  monastery  of  Melrose,  but  j  countrey.  And  true  it  was,  that  he  loved  en- 
those  of  Kelso!  Jedburgh,  and  many  others;  i  tirely  the  King  of  Thunes  daughter,  named 
winch  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  the  Lady  A/ala;  she  was  mherytor  to  the 
his  successor,  that  he  was  a  sore  saint  for  the  realuie  of  Thune,  alter  the  discease  of  the 

kyng,  her  father.  This  Agadmrer  was  soiie 
to  the  Duke  of  Olyferue.  I  can  nut  telle  :f 
they  were  married  together  after  or  nat;  but 
it  was  shewed  me,  that  this  knyght.  for  love 
of  the  sayd  Indye,  during  the  s:ege,  did  many 
feates  of  armes.  The  kuyghtes  of  l->ance  wold 
fayne  have  taken  hym ;  but  they  colde  never 
LtJxape  nor  inclose  him;  his  horse  was  so 


NOTE  X. 

For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry, 
Sfve  to  patter  an  A  ve  Mary, 
When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray.  —  P.  20. 
The  Borderers  were,  as  may  be  supposed, 


•yft,  and  so  redy  to  his  huud,  that  alwaies 
very  ignorant  about  religious  matters.     Col-    he  escaped  "—Vol.  ii.  ch.  71. 


t  parted  with  all  the 


-      ,' 


LAY   OF   THE   LAST    MINSTREL. 


51 


NOTK    Z. 

And  there  the  dying  lamps  rial  burn. 

Before  thy  loio  mid  lomly  urn, 

O  yalUmt  Chief  of  Ollerburne  !  —  P.  20. 

The  famous  and  desperate  battle  of  Otter- 
burue  was  fought  15th  August.  1388.  betwixt 
Henry  Percy,  railed  Hotspur,  and  James,  Earl 
of  Douglas.  Both  these  renowned  champkuus 
were  at  the  head  of  a  chosen  liody  of  troops, 
and  they  were  rivals  in  military  fame ;  so  thai 
Froissart  affirms,  -'Of  all  the  battayles  and 
encounterynss  that  I  have  made  mencion  of 
here  before  in  all  this  hystory,  great  or  smalle, 
this  battayle  that  I  treat  of  nowe  was  one  ol 
the  sorest  and  best  foughten,  without  cow- 
ardes  or  faynte  hertes :  for  there  was  neyther 
knyshte  nor  sqtiyer  but  that  dyde  his  devoyre, 
and  foughte  hamle  to  hands.  This  batayle  was 
lyke  the  batayle  of  Becherell,  the  which  was 
valiauntly  fought  and  endured  "  The  issue  of 
the  conflict  is  well  known :  1'ercy  was  made 
prisoner,  and  the  Scots  won  the  day.  dearly 
purchased  by  the  death  of  their  gallant  gene- 
ral, the  Karl  of  Douglas,  who  was  slain  in  the 
action.  He  was  buried  at  Melrose,  beneath 
the  high  altar.  "  His  obsequye  was  done  reve- 
rently, and  on  his  Ixxiye  layde  a  tombe  of 
stone,  and  his  baner  hangyiig  over  hym."— 
Froissart,  vol.  li.  p.  165. 


NOTE  2  A. 

Dark  Kniyht  of  Liddesdale.  —  P.  20. 

William  Douglas,  called  the  Knight  of  Lid- 
desdale, flourished  during  the  reign  of  David 
II.,  and  was  so  distinguished  by  his  valour, 
that  he  was  called  the  Flower  of  Chivalry. 
Nevertheless,  he  tarnished  his  renown  by  the 
cruel  murder  of  Sir  Alexander  Ramsay  ol  Dal- 
housie,  originally  his  friend  and  brother  in 
arms.  The  King  l:ad  conferred  upon  Ramsay 
the  sheriffdom  of  Teviotdale,  to  which  Douglas 
pretended  some  claim.  In  revenge  of  this  pre- 
ference, the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  came  down 
upon  Ramsay,  while  he  was  administering  jus- 
tice at  Hawick,  seized  and  carried  him  otf  to 
his  remote  and  inaccessible  castle  of  Hermit- 
age, where  he  threw  his  unfortunate  prisoner, 
horse  and  man,  into  a  dungeon,  and  left  him 
to  perish  of  hunger.  It  is  said,  the  miserable 
captive  prolonged  his  existence  for  several 
days  by  the  corn  which  fell  from  a  granary 
above  the  vault  in  which  he  was  confined.' 
So  weak  was  the  royal  authority,  that  David, 
although  highly  incensed  at  this  atrocious 
murder,  found  himself  obliged  to  appoint  the 
Knight  of  Liddcsdale  successor  to  his  victim, 
as  Sheriff  of  'I  eviotdaic.  But  he  was  soon 
after  slain,  while  hunting  in  Ettrick  Forest,  by 
his  own  godson  and  chieftain,  V\  illiam.  Earl 

if  gallant  Ramsay,  to  the  general  Morrow  which  it  excited  : 


•T 


'II  you  (here  of  the  mane 
It  is  bot  narrow  for  til  here  ; 
He  we»  the  gretust  inenyd  m 
That  ony  cowlh  have  thowcht 
Of  his  male,  or  or  mare  be  fa 
All  menyt  him,  bath  beltyr  an 


of  Douglas,  in  revenge,  according  to  some  au- 
thors, of  Knmsay's  murder;  although  a  popular 
tradition,  preserved  in  a  ballad  quoted  by  Gods- 
croft,  and  some  parts  of  which  are  still  pre- 
served, ascribes  the  resentment  of  the  Earl  to 
ji-alonsy.  The  place  where  the  Knight  of  Lid- 
desdale  was  killed,  is  called,  from  his  name, 
William-Cross,  upon  the  ridge  of  a  hill  called 
William-hope,  betwixt  Tweed  and  Yarrow. 
His  body,  according  to  Gcjdscroft,  was  carried 
to  Lindean  church  the  first  night  after  his 
death,  and  thence  to  Melrose,  where  he  was 
interred  with  great  pomp,  and  where  his  tomb 
is  still  shown. 


NOTE  2B. 

The  mean  on  the  east  oriel  sfione.  —  P.  20. 
It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  beautiful 
specimen  of  the  lightness  and  elegance  of 
Gothic  architecture,  when  in  its  purity,  than 
the  eastern  window  of  Melrose  Abbey.  Sir 
James  Hall  of  Dunglas,  Bart.,  has,  with  great 
ingenuity  and  plausibility,  traced  the  Gothic 
order  through  its  various  forms  and  seemingly 
eccentric  ornaments,  to  an  architectural  imi- 
tation of  wicker  work  ;  of  which,  as  we  learn 
from  some  of  the  legends,  the  earliest  Christian 
churehes  were  consiructed.  In  such  an  edi- 
fice, the  original  of  the  clustered  pillars  is 
traced  to  a  set  of  round  posts,  begirt  with 
slender  rods  of  willow,  whose  loose  summits 
were  brought  to  meet  from  all  quarters,  and 
hound  together  artificially,  so  as  to  produce 
the  frame- work  of  the  roof:  and  the  tracery 
of  our  Gothic  windows  is  displayed  in  the 
meeting  and  interlacing  of  rods  and  hoops, 
affording  an  inexhaustible  variety  of  beautiful 
forms  of  open  work.  This  ingenious  system  is 
alluded  to  in  the  romance.  Sir  James  Hall's 
Essay  on  Gothic  Architecture  is  published  in 
The  Edinburgh  Philosophical  Transactions. 


NOTE  2C. 

The  wondrous  Michael  Scott.  —  P.  20. 

Sir  Michael  Scott  of  Balwearie  flourished 
during  the  13th  century,  and  was  one  of  the 
ambassadors  sent  to  bring  the  Maid  of  Norway 
.o  Scotland  upou  the  death  of  Alexander  III. 
By  a  poetical  anachronism,  he  is  here  placed 
»'  a  later  era.  He  was  a  man  of  much  leani- 
ng, chiefly  acquired  in  foreign  countries.  He 
wrote  a  commentary  upon  Aristotle,  printed  at 
Venice  in  1496;  and  several  treatises  upon 
natural  philosophy,  from  which  he  appears  to 
lave  been  addicted  to  the  abstruse  studies  of 
udicial  astrology,  alchymy,  physiognomy,  and 
chiromancy  Hence  he  passeu  among  his  con- 
emporaries  for  a  skilful  magician  Dempster 
uforms  us,  that  he  remembers  to  have  heard 


For  of  bin  dede  we»  mekil  »kaln." 

jantity  of  chaft  some  bourn,  and  piece*  of  iron;  amongst 
hers,  the  curb  of  an  ancient  bridle,  which  the  author  has 

hat  it  possjbly  may  b<-  a  rrhc  of  tin' brave  ancestor.  The 
worthy  clergyman  of  the  parish  ha*  mentioned  this  disco- 
Tery  in  hit  Statistical  Account  of  CasUetown. 


52 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


in  his  youth,  that  the  magic  hooks  of  Michael 
Scotl  were  still  in  existence,  but  could  not  he 
opened  without  danger,  on  account  of  the 
malignant  fiends  who  were  thereby  invoked. 
Dempsteri  Histona  Ecclesiaslica.  162".',  lib.  xii. 
p.  495.  Lesly  characlerises  Michael  Scolt  as 
"  sinyu'ane  philosophic?,  astronomies,  ac  rrvdi- 
cituz,  laude  prestans ;  diobatur  pcnitissimos  ma- 
gicc  recessus  indnaissf."  Dante  also  mentions 
him  as  a  renowned  wizard  — 

"  Qo'-n  altro  che  lie*  fianchi  e  roei  poco, 
Michele  Scotlo  fu,  die  vi-ramcnte 
Delle  magicae  frotle  wrpe  il  giuoco.** 

A  personage,  thus  spoken  of  by  biographers 
and  historians,  loses  little  of  his  mystical  fame 
in  vulgar  tradition.  Accordingly,  ihe  memory 
of  Sir  Michael  Scott  survives  in  many  a  legend ; 
r.nd  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  any  work  of  great 
labour  and  antiquity,  is  ascribed,  cither  to  Ihe 
agency  of  Auld  Miaiati,  of  Sir  William  Wal- 
lace, or  of  the  devil.  Tradition  varies  con- 
cerning the  place  of  his  burial :  some  contend 
for  Home  Coltrame,  in  Cumberland  ;  others  for 
Melrose  Abbey.  But  all  ;igree.  I  hat  his  hooks 
of  magic  were  interred  in  his  grave,  or  pre- 
served in  the  convent  wlinre  he  died  Satch- 
ells,  wishing  to  give  some  authority  for  his 
account  of  the  origin  of  the  name  of  Scott, 

eretends.  that,  in  1629.  he  chanced  to  be  at 
urgh  under  Bow-ness,  in  Cumberland,  where 
a  person,  named  Lancelot  Soitt,  showed  him 
an  extract  from  Michael  Scott's  works,  con- 
taining: that  story : — 

"  He  .aid  Ihe  book  which  he  (t»»e  me 
Was  of  Sir  Michael  Scott's  hiatorie  : 
Which  history  was  never  jrd  read  through, 

From  the  contents,  that  dare  no!  rrad  witbia. 

Or  hardened  metal,  like  steel,  orarcumie; 

A>  Ihe  Book  or  Martyrs  and  Turks  historic.. 

Then  ID  the  rliurch  he  lei  me  see 

A  stone  where  Mr.  Michael  Scot!  die:  lie  ; 

I  asketl  at  him  how  that  couk]  appear, 

Mr.  Michael  had  been  dead  nbove  five  hundred  year} 

He  »hew'd  me  iioi.e  durst  bury  under  thai  ktotie, 

More  than  he  had  been  dead  a  few  yean,  agnoe ; 

ior  Mr.  Michael's  name  .loes  terrify  each  oue." 

lite  Ktfht  HawuraUt  Xante  of  Scad. 


NOTE  2D. 

Salamanca's  cave. — P.  20. 
Spain,  from  the  relics,  doubtless,  of  Arabian 
learning  and  superstition,  was  accounted  a 
favourite  residence  of  magicians.  Pope  Syl- 
vester, who  actually  imported  from  Spain  the 
use  of  the  Arabian  numerals,  was  supposed  to 
have  learned  there  the  magic,  for  which  he 
was  stigmatized  by  the  ignorance  of  his  age. — 
William  at  Malmsttury.  lib.  ii.  cap.  10.  There 
were  public  schools,  where  magic,  or  rather 
the  sciences  supposed  to  involve  its  mysteries, 
were  leeularly  taught,  at  Toledo,  Seville, 
and  Salamanca.  In  the  latter  city,  they  were 
held  in  a  deep  cavern;  the  mouth  of  which 
was  walled  up  by  Queen  Isabella,  wife  of  King 
Ferdinand.  —  D'Aulon  on  Learned  Incredulity, 
p.  45.  These  Spanish  schools  of  magic  are 
celebrated  also  by  the  Italian  poets  of  ro- 
mance : — 


I  di  Tolleto  solir 


IlMargaaU  Maeeio't,  Canto  nv.  St.  MO. 

The  celebrated  magician  Maugis,  cousin  to 
Rinaldo  of  Monlalban.  called,  bv  Ariosto.  Jla- 
lagigi.  studied  the  black  art  at  Toledo,  as  we 
learn  from  L'Hisloire  de  Maugis  D'Agyremont. 
He  even  held  a  professor's  chair  in  the  necro- 
mantic university  ;  for  1  interpret  the  passage, 
"qu'on  tous  les  sejit  ars  d'enrJiantement.  des 
cttarmes  tl  conjuration*,  il  n'y  avoit  meiliieur 
maistre  aue  lui ;  ft  en  1(1  renom  qu'on  If  laissoit 
en  chaise,  et  I'ojtpelloit  on  maistre  Mauuis." 
This  Salamancan  Domdaniel  is  said  to  have 
been  founded  by  Hercules.  If  the  classic 
reader  inquires  where  Hercules  himself  learn- 
ed magic,  he  may  consult  "  Les  faicts  et  pro- 
cesses Ju  noble  et  vaM'int  Jhrcutes,''  where  he 
will  leant,  that  the  fable  of  his  aiding  Ailas  to 
support  the  heavens,  arose  from  the  said  Atlas 
having  taught  Hercules,  the  noble  knighl-errant, 
the  seven  liberal  sciences,  and  in  particular, 
that  of  judicial  astrology.  Such,  according  to 
the  idea  of  the  middle  ages,  were  the  studies, 
"maximus  qua  duciiit  Atlas."  —  In  a  romantic 
history  of  Koderic,  the  last  Gothic  King  of 
Spain,  he  is  snid  to  have  entered  one  of  those 
enchanted  caverns.  It  was  situated  beneath 
an  ancient  tower  near  Toledo ;  and  when  the 
iron  gates,  which  secured  the  entrance,  were 
unfolded,  there  rushed  forth  so  dreadful  a 
whirlwind,  that  hitherto  no  one  had  dared 
to  penetrate  into  its  recesses.  But  Roderic, 
threatened  with  an  invasion  of  the  Moors,  re- 
solved to  enter  the  cavern,  where  he  expected 
to  find  some  prophetic  intimation  of  the  event 
of  the  war.  Accordingly,  his  train  being  fur- 
nished with  torches,  so  artificially  composed 
thai  Ihe  tempest  could  not  extinguish  them, 
the  King,  with  great  difficulty,  penetrated  into 
a  square  hall,  inscribed  all  over  with  Arabian 
characters.  In  the  midst  stood  a  colossal  sta- 
tue of  brass,  representing  a  Saracen  wielding 
a  Moorish  mace,  with  which  it  discharged  fu- 
rious blows  mi  H'I!  sides,  and  seemed  thus  to 
excite  the  tempest  which  raged  around.  Being 
conjured  by  Roderic,  it  ceased  from  striking, 
until  he  read,  inscribed  on  the  right  hand, 
"Wretched  Monarch,  for  thy  eril  hast  thou  come 
hither;"  on  the  left  hand."7'/jou  shall  be  dis- 
possessed by  a  strange  ptople  ;"  on  one  shoulder. 
"7  invoke  the  sons  of  hayar ;"  on  the  other.  "/ 
do  mine  office."  When  the  King  had  deciphered 
these  ominous  inscriptions,  the  st  at  tie  r<>  turned 
to  its  exercise,  the  tempest  commenced  anew, 
and  Rodenc  retired,  to  mourn  over  -MB  \>  e- 
dicted  evils  which  approached  his  throne  He 
caused  the  gates  of  the  cavein  to  be  locked 
and  barricaded:  but,  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  the  tower  fell  with  a  tremendous  noise, 
and  under  its  ruins  concealed  for  ever  the 
entrance  to  the  mystic  cavern.  The  conquest 
oi'Sp:>:n  by  t!ie  Saracens,  and  the  death  of  the 
unfortunate  Don  Koderic. fulfilled  the  prophecy 
of  the  brazen  slalue.  tiisioiia  vtrdadira  del 
Rry  Don  Rndrigo  par  el  Sabto  Alcalde  Abulca- 
cim,  Iraduzeda  de  la  lenyua  Arabiya  par  Miguel 
de  Luna,  1654.  cap.  vi. 


LA.Y   OF   THE   LAST   MINSTREL. 


53 


NOTE  2E. 

The  bells  would  ring  m  hotre  Datne.  —  P.  20. 

"  Taniamne  rem  tarn  ntgligentrr }"  says  Tvr- 
whitt,  of  his  predecessor  Speight ;  who.  111  his 
commentary  on  Chaucer,  had  omitted,  as 
trivial  ami  fabulous,  the  story  of  Wade  and 
his  Iniiit  Guingeliit.  to  the  great  prejudice  of 
posterity,  the  memory  of  the  hero  iijid  the  boat 
belli?  now  entirely  lost.  That  future  antiqua- 
ries may  lay  no  such  omission  to  my  charge,  1 
have  noted  one  or  two  of  the  most  current 
traditions  concerning  Michael  Scott.  He  WHS 
chosen.it  is  said,  to  x»  upon  an  embassy,  to 
obtain  from  the  Kins?  of  France  satisfaction  for 
certain  piracies  committed  by  his  subjects  upon 
those  of  Scotland.  Instead  of  preparing  a  new 
equipage  and  splendid  retinue,  the  ambassador 
retreated  to  his  study,  opened  his  book,  and 
evoked  a  tiend  in  the  shape  of  a  base  black 
horse,  mounted  upon  h:s  back,  ami  forced  him 
to  fly  through  the  air  towards  France.  As  they 
crossed  the  sea.  the  devil  insidiously  asked  his 
rider,  What  it  was  the  old  women  of  Scotland 
muttered  at  bed-time  ?  A  less  experienced 
wizard  might  have  answered  that  it  was  the 
Paler  Noster,  which  would  have  licensed  the 
devil  to  precipitate  him  from  his  hack.  But 
Michael  sternly  replied,  "What  is  that  to 
thee?— Mount.  Diabolus.  and  fly!"  When  he 
arrived  at  Paris,  he  tied  his  horse  to  the  Kate 
of  the  palace,  entered,  and  boldly  delivered 
his  message.  An  ambassador,  with  so  little  of 
the  pomp  and  circums'ance  of  diplomacy,  was 
not  received  with  much  respect,  and  the  King 
was  about  to  return  a  contemptuous  refusal 
to  his  demand,  when  Michael  besought  him  to 
suspend  his  resolution  till  he  had  seen  his  horse 
stamp  three  times.  The  first  stamp  shook 
every  steeple  in  Paris,  and  caused  all  the  bells 
to  mi?;  the  second  threw  down  three  of  the 
towers  of  the  palace  ;  and  the  infernal  steed 
had  lifted  his  hoof  to  give  the  third  stamp, 
when  the  King  rather  chose  to  dismiss  Mi- 
chael, vvitli  the  most  ample  concessions,  than 
to  stand  to  the  probable  consequences.  Another 
time.it  is  said,  that,  when  residing  at  the  Tower 
of  (Jakwood.  upon  the  Ettrick,  about  three 
miles  above  Selkirk,  he  heard  of  the  f.ime  of  a 
sorceress,  called  the  Witch  of  Falsehope.  who 
lived  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  r.ver.  Michael 
went  one  morning  to  put  her  skill  to  the  test, 
but  was  disappointed,  by  her  denying  positively 
any  knowledge  of  the  necromantic  art.  In  his 
discourse  with  her,  he  laid  his  wand  inadvert- 
ently on  the  table,  which  the  hag  ol»ervmg, 
suddenly  snatched  it  up,  and  struck  him  with 
it.  Feeling  the  lorce  of  the  charm,  he  rushed 
out  of  the  house:  but,  as  it  had  conferred  on 
him  the  external  appearance  of  a  hare,  his 
servant,  who  waited  without,  halloo'd  upon 
the  discomfited  wizard  his  own  prevhounds, 
and  pursued  him  so  close,  that,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain a  moment's  breathing  to  reverse  the 
chai  m  Michael,  after  a  very  fatiguing  course, 
was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  his  own  jaw>iole(An- 
glicf,  common  sewer).  In  order  to  revenge 
himself  of  the  witch  of  Falseliojie.  Michael. 
one  morning  in  the  ensuing  harvest,  went  to 
the  hill  above  the  house  with  his  dogs,  and 
sent  down  his  servant  to  ask  a  bit  of  bread 
from  the  good  wife  for  his  greyhounds,  with 


instructions  what  to  do  if  he  met  with  a  de- 
nial Accordingly,  when  the  witch  had  refused 
the  boon  with  contumely,  the  servant,  as  his 
master  had  directed,  laid  above  the  door  a 
paper  which  lie  had  given  him.  containing, 
amongst  many  cabalistical  words,  the  well- 
known  rhyme, — 


Immediately  the  good  old  woman,  instead 
of  pursuing  her  domestic  occupation,  which 
was  baking  bread  for  the  rea|iers,  began  to 
dance  round  the  fire,  repeating  the  rhyme,  and 
continued  this  exercise  till  her  husband  sent 
the  reaper*  to  the  house,  one  after  another,  to 
see  what  had  delayed  their  provision  ;  but  the 
charm  caught  each  as  they  entered,  and,  losing 
all  idea  of  returning,  they  joined  in  the  dance 
and  chorus.  At  length  the  old  man  himself 
went  to  the  house ;  but  as  Ins  wife's  frolic 
with  Mr.  Michael,  whom  he  had  seen*  on  the 
hill,  made  him  a  li;tle  cautious,  he  contented 
himself  with  looking  in  at  the  window,  and 
saw  the  reapers  at  their  involuntary  exercise, 
dragging  his  wife,  now  completely  exhausted, 
sometimes  round,  and  sometimes  through,  the 
tire,  which  was,  as  usual,  in  the  midst  of  the 
house.  Instead  of  entering,  he  saddled  a  horse, 
and  rode  up  the  hill,  to  humble  himself  before 
Michael,  and  beg  a  cessation  of  the  spell ; 
which  the  good-natured  warlock  immediaiely 
granted,  directing  him  to  enter  the  house 
backwards,  and  with  his  left  hand  take  the 
spell  from  above  the  door;  which  accordingly 
ended  the  supernatural  dance. — This  tale  was 
told  less  particularly  in  former  editions,  and  I 
have  l>een  censured  for  inaccuracy  in  doing 
so. — A  similar  charm  occurs  in  Huon  de  Bour- 
demix,  and  m  the  ingenious  Oriental  tale,  culled 
the  Caliph  Valhe/c. 

Notwithstanding  his  victory  over  the  witch 
of  Falsehope,  Michael  Scott,  like  his  predeces- 
sor, Merlin,  fell  at.  hist  a  victim  to  female  art. 
His  wife,  or  concubine,  elicited  from  him  the 
secret,  that  his  art  could  ward  off  any  danger 
except  the  poisonous  qualities  of  broth,  made 
of  the  flesh  of  a  breme  sow.  Such  a  mess  she 
accordingly  administered  to  the  wizard,  who 
died  in  consequence  of  eating  it;  surviving, 
however,  long  enough  to  put  to  death  his 
treacherous  confidant. 


NOTE  2F. 

The  notes  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three.— P.  20. 

Michael  Scott  was,  once  upon  a  time,  much 
embarrassed  by  a  spirit,  for  whom  he  was  under 
the  necessity  of  tinding  constant  employment. 
He  commanded  him  to  build  a  cauld,  or  dam- 
head,  across  the  Tweed  at  Kelso ;  it  was  ac- 
complished in  one  night,  and  still  does  honour 
to  the  infernal  arclutect  Michael  next  ordered, 
that  Kildon  lull,  which  was  then  a  uniform 
cone,  should  be  divided  into  three.  Another 
night  was  sufficient  to  part  its  summit  into 
the  three  picturesque  peaks  which  it  now 
hears.  At  length  the  enchanter  conquered 
this  indefaiigable  demon,  by  employing  him  in 
the  hopeless  and  endless  task  ot  making  ropes 
out  of  sea-saud. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


NOTE  2G. 

That  lamp  thall  burn  unquenchably. 
Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be.  — P.  21. 

Buptista  Porta.  and  other  authors  who  treat 
of  natural  maein,  talk  much  (if  eternal  lamps, 
pretended  to  have  been  found  burning  in  an- 
cient sepulchres.  Fortunius  Licetus  investi- 
gates tlie  subject  in  a  treatise.  De  Lucernis 
Antiquonim  Reromiitis,  published  at  Venice, 
1621.  One  of  these  perpetual  lamps  is  said  to 
have  been  discovered  in  the  tomb  of  Tulliola, 
the  daughter  of  Cicero.  The  wick  wus  sup- 
posed to  be  composed  of  asl>estos.  Kirr.her 
enumerates  three  different  reci|>es  for  con- 
structing such  lamps ;  and  wisely  concludes, 
that  the  thing  is  nevertheless  impossible. — 
Mundia  Sublerranncus,  p.  72.  Delrio  imputes 
the  fabrication  of  such  lights  to  magical  skill. 
— Disquisitionrs  Mcunccc.  p.  58  In  a  very  rare 
romance,  which  ••  treatelh  of  the  life  of  Vir- 
gilius, and  of  his  deth.  and  many  marvayles 
that  he  dyd  ill  his  lyfe-time,  by  wychcrafte  and 
nygramancve,  throughe  the  helpe  of  the  de- 
vyls  of  hell,"  mention  is  made  of  a  very  extra- 
ordinary process,  in  which  one  of  these  mys- 
tical lamps  was  employed  It  seems  that 
Virgil,  as  he  advanced  in  years,  became  de- 
sirous of  renovating  his  youth  by  musical  art 
For  this  purpose  he  constructed  a  solitary 
tower,  having  only  one  narrow  portal,  in  which 
he  placed  twenty-four  copper  figures,  armed 
with  iron  flails,  twelve  on  each  side  of  the 
porch.  These  enchanted  statues  struck  with 
their  flails  incessantly,  and  rendered  all  en- 
trance impossible,  unless  when  Virgil  touched 
the  spring,  which  slopped  (heir  motion.  To 
this  tower  he  repaired  privaiely.  attended  by 
one  trusty  servant,  to  whom  he  cummuiiicated 
the  secret  of  the  entrance,  and  hither  they 
conveyed  all  the  musician's  treasure.  "Then 
sayde  Virgihus.  my  dere  beloved  frende.  and 
be  that  I  above  al!e  men  iruste  and  knowe 
mooste  of  my  secret  ;"  and  then  he  led  the 
man  into  a  cellar,  where  he  made  afaytr  lamp 
at  all  stasons  burnynge.  "And  then  said  Vir- 
gilius  to  the  man,  •  Se  you  the  barrel  that 
standeth  here  ?'  and  he  sayd,  yea  :  '  Therein 
must  thoii  put  me  :  fyrst  ye  must  slee  me, and 
hewe  me  siiial*e  to  pieces,  and  cut  my  hed  in 
im  pieces,  and  salte  the  heed  under  in  the  bot- 
tom, and  then  the  pieces  there  after,  and  my 
herte  in  the  myddel,  and  then  set  the  barrel 
under  the  lampe,  that  nyghle  and  day  the  fat 
therein  may  droppe  and  Jeake ;  and  ye  shall  ix 
dayes  long,  ones  in  the  day.fyll  the  lampe.  and 
fayle  nat.  And  when  this  is  all  done,  then 
shall  1  be  reneued,  and  made  yonge  agen." 
At  this  extraordinary  proposal,  the  confidant 
was  sore  abashed,  and  made  some  scruple  of 
obeying  his  master's  commands.  At  length, 
however,  he  complied,  and  Virgil  was  slain, 
pickled,  and  barrelled  up,  in  all  respects  ac- 
cording to  his  own  direction.  The  servant 
then  left  the  tower,  taking  care  to  put  the 
copper  thrashers  in  motion  at  his  departure. 
He  continued  daily  to  visit  the  tower  with  the 
same  precaution.  Meanwhile,  the  emperor, 
with  whom  Virgil  was  a  great  favourite,  missed 
him  from  the  Oiurt,  and  demanded  of  his  ser- 
vant where  he  was  The  domestic  pretended 
ignoniKW,  till  the  emperor  threatened  him 
with  death,  when  at  length  lie  conveyed  him 


to  the  enchanted  tower  The  same  threat 
extorted  a  discovery  of  the  mode  of  stopping 
the  statues  from  wielding  their  flails.  "And 
then  the  emperour  entered  into  the  castle  with 
all  his  folke,  and  sought  all  aboute  in  every 
corner  after  Virailius:  and  at  the  laste  they 
sought  so  louse,  that,  they  came  into  the  seller, 
where  they  sawe  the  lampe  hang  over  the 
barrell,  where  Vireihus  lay  in  deed.  Then 
asked  the  emperour  the  man,  who  had  made 
hym  so  herdy  to  put  his  m;iyster  Vireihus  KO  to 
dethe :  and  the  man  answered  no  worde  to  the 
emperour.  And  then  the  emperour.  with  great 
anger,  drewe  out  his  sworde,  and  slewe  he 
there  Virgilius'  man.  And  when  all  this  was 
done,  then  sawe  the  emptfronr,  and  all  his 
folke,  a  naked  child  iii  tymes  rennynge  about 
the  barrell.  saynge  these  worries,  •  Cursed  he 
the  tyme  that  ye  ever  came  here  '  And  with 
those  words  vanyshed  the  chylde  awaye.  and 
was  never  sene  aeeyn ;  and  thus  abyd  Virgilius 
in  the  barrell  deed." — VirgUms.\A.  let., printed 
at  Antwerpe  by  John  Doesborcke.  This  curi- 
ous volume  is  in  the  valuable  library  of  Mr. 
Douce :  and  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation 
from  the  French,  printed  in  Flanders  for  the 
English  market.  See  Goujft  BiMiolh.  Franc. 
ix.  225.  Catajoqut  de.  la  Bibliothrque  Rationale, 
torn.  11.  p.  5.  De  Bare,  No.  3857. 


NOTE  2  H. 

Then  Deloroine,  in  terror,  lock 
From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Book, 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  froum'd. 
—  P.  21. 

William  of  Deloraine  might  be  strengthened 
in  this  belief  by  the  well-known  story  of  the 
Cid  Rny  Diaz.  When  the  bo<iy  of  that  famous 
Christian  champion  was  sitting  in  state  by  the 
high  altar  of  the  cathedral  church  of  Toledo, 
where  it  remained  for  ten  years,  a  certain 
malicious  Jew  attempted  to  pull  him  by  the 
beard  ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  touched  the  for- 
midable whiskers,  than  the  corpse  started  up, 
and  half  unsheathed  his  sword.  The  Israelite 
fled :  and  so  permanent  was  the  effect  of  his 
terror,  that  he  became  Christian.  — Heyvxod's 
Hierarchic,  p.  480,  quoted  from  Stbastian  Cobar- 
mvias  Crozte. 


NOTE  2  I. 

The  Baron's  Dicnrf  his  courser  held.  —P.  22. 

The  idea  of  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin  Page  is 
taken  from  a  being  called  Gilpm  Homer,  who 
appeared,  and  made  some  stay,  at  a  farm-house 
among  the  Border-mount  ams.  A  gentleman 
of  that  country  has  noted  down  the  following 
particulars  concerning  his  appearance  :  — 

"The  only  certain,  at  least  most  probable 
account,  lha't  ever  1  heard  of  Gilpin  Horner, 
was  from  an  old  man.  of  the  name  of  Anderson, 
who  was  lorn,  and  lived  all  his  life  atTodshaw- 
hill,  in  F-skedale-muir,  the  place  where  Giipm 
appeared  and  staid  for  some  time,  tic  said 
there  were  two  men.  late  in  the  evening,  whoa 
it  was  growing  dark,  employed  in  fastening  the 
i-ciii  the  iiitennost  part  of  their  ground. 


LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


55 


(that  is,  tying  their  forefeet  together,  to  hinder 
them  from  travelling  far  in  the  nialit.)  when 
they  heard  a  voice,  at  some  distance,  cmng. 
'Tint!  Tint!  Tintl'i  One  of  the  men,  named 
Mnffat.  called  out,  'What  deil  has  lint,  you? 
Come  here  '  Immediately  a  creature,  of  some- 
thing like  a  human  form,  appeared  It  was 
surprisingly  little,  distorted  in  features,  and 
misshapen  in  limbs.  As  soon  as  the  two  men 
could  see  it  plainly,  they  ran  home  in  a  great 
fright,  imagining  they  had  met  with  some  gob- 
lin. By  the  way.  Moffat  fell,  and  it  ran  over 
him,  and  was  home  at  the  house  as  soon  as 
either  of  them,  and  staid  there  a  long  time ; 
but  I  cannot  say  how  long  It  was  real  flesh 
and  blood,  and  ale  and  drank,  was  fond  of 
cream,  and,  when  it  could  get  at  it,  would 
destroy  a  great  deal.  It  seemed  a  mischievous 
creature ;  and  any  of  the  children  whom  it 
could  master,  it  would  bent  and  scratch  with- 
out mercy.  It  w;is  once  abusing  a  child  be- 
longing to  the  same  Moffat,  who  had  been  so 
frightened  by  its  first  appearance;  and  he.  in 
a  passion,  struck  it  so  violent  a  blow  upon  the 
side  of  the  head,  that  it  tumbled  upon  the 
ground ;  but  it  was  not  stunned  ;  for  it  set  up 
its  head  directly,  and  exclaimed,  'Ah.  hah. 
Will  o'  Mofifat,  you  strike  sair!'  (viz  sore) 
After  it  had  staid  there  long,  one  evening,  when 
the  women  were  milking  tiie  cows  in  the  loan, 
it  was  playing  among  the  children  near  by 
them,  when  suddenly  they  heard  a  loud  shrill 
voice  cry  three  times,  '  Gilpin  Homer!1  It 
started,  and  swd.'Ttint  is  me.  I  must  away,'  and 
instantly  disappeared,  and  was  never  heard  of 
more.  Old  Anderson  did  not  remember  it.  but 
said,  he  had  often  heard  his  father,  and  other 
old  men  in  the  place,  who  were  there  at  the 
time,  speak  about  it ;  and  in  my  younger  years 
I  have  often  heard  it  mentioned,  and  never  met 
with  any  who  had  the  remotest  doubt  as  to  the 
truth  of  the  story;  although,  I  must  own,  I 
cannot  help  thinking  there  must  be  some  mis- 
representation in  it."  —  To  this  account,  I  have 
to  add  the  following  particulars  from  the  most 
respectable  authority.  Besides  constantly  re- 
peating the  word  tint!  tint!  Gilpin  Hornerwas 
often  heard  to  call  upon  Peter  Bertram,  or 
Be-te-ram,  as  he  pronounced  the  word ;  and 
when  the  shrill  voice  called  Gilpin  Homer,  he 
immediately  acknowledged  it  was  the  sum- 
mons of  the  said  Peter  Bertram :  who  seems 
therefore  to  have  been  the  devil  who  had  tint, 
or  lost,  the  little  imp.  As  much  has  been 
objected  to  Gilpin  Horner.  on  account  of  his 
being  supposed  rather  a  device  of  the  author 
than  a  popular  superstition.  lean  only  say,  that 
no  legend  which  1  ever  heard  seemed  to  be 
more  universally  credited ;  and  that  many 
persons  of  very  good  rank,  and  considerable 
information, are  well  known  to  repose  absolute 
faith  in  the  tradition. 


NOTE  2K. 

But  the  I/idyr.  of  BranJtsome  gather'd  a  band 
Of  toe  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command. — P.23. 
"  Upon  25th  June.  1557,  Dame  Janet  Beatonne 
Lady  Buccleuch,  and  a  great  number  of  the 
nan'  of  Scott,  dclaitit  (accused)  for  coming  to 


the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  to  the  num- 
ber of  iwo  hundred  persons  bodin  in  feire  of 
weire.  (arrayed  in  armour,)  and  breaking  open 
the  door  of  the  said  kirk,  in  order  to  apprehend 
the  I.aird  of  Craiistoime  for  his  destruction  " 
On  the  201  h  July,  a  warrant  from  the  Queen 
is  presented,  discharging  the  justice  to  proceed 
against  the  Lady  Bnccleuch  while  new  calling. 
— Abridgment  of  Books  of  Adjournal,  in  Advo- 
cates' Library  —  The  following  proceedings 
upon  this  case  appear  on  the  record  of  the 
Court  of  Justiciary  :  On  the  25th  of  June,  1557, 
Robert  Scott,  in  Bowhill  parish,  priest  of  the 
kirk  of  St.  Mary's,  accused  of  the  convocation 
of  the  Queen's  lieges,  to  the  number  of  two 
hundred  persons,  in  warlike  array,  with  jacks, 
helmets,  and  other  weapons,  anil  marching  to 
the  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  I-owes,  for  the 
slaughter  of  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  out  of  ancient 
feud  and  malice  prepense,  and  of  breaking  the 
doors  of  the  said  kirk,  is  repledged  by  the 
Archbishop  of  Glasgow.  The  bail  given  by 
Robert  Scott  of  Allanhaugh,  Adam  Scott  of 
Burntute,  Robert  Scott  m  Howfurde,  Walter 
Scoit  in  Todshawhangh,  Walter  Scott  younger 
of  Synton,  Thomas  Scott  of  Hayning,  Robert 
Scott,  William  Scott,  and  James  Scott,  brothers 
of  the  said  Walter  Scott,  Walter  Scott  in  the 
Woll.  and  Walter  Scott,  son  of  William  Scott 
of  Harden,  and  James  Wemyss  in  Eckford,  all 
accused  of  the  same  crime,  is  declared  to  be 
forfeited.  On  the  same  day.  Walter  Scott  of 
Synton,  and  Walter  Chisholme  of  Chisholme, 
and  William  Scott  of  Harden,  became  bound, 
jointly  and  severally,  that.  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun, 
and  his  kindred  and  servants,  should  receive 
no  injury  from  them  in  future.  At  the  same 
time.  Patrick  Murray  of  Fallohill,  Alexander 
Stuart,  uncle  to  the  Laird  of  Trakwhare.  John 
Murray  of  Newhall,  John  Fairlye.  residing  in 
Selkirk.  George  Tail,  younger  of  Pirn,  John 
Pennycuke  of  Pennycuke,  James  Ramsay  of 
Cokpen.  the  Laird  of  Fassyde,  and  the  Laird 
of  Henderstoune,  were  all  severally  fined  for 
not  attending  as  jurors;  being  probably  either 
in  alliance  with  the  accused  parties,  or  dread- 
ing their  vengeance.  Upon  the  20th  of  July 
following,  Scott  of  Synton,  Chisholme  of  Chis- 
holme, Scott  of  Harden,  Scott  of  Howpaslie, 
Scott  of  Burnfute.  with  many  others,  are  or- 
dered to  appear  at  next  calling,  under  the 
pains  of  treason.  But,  no  farther  procedure 
seems  to  have  taken  place.  It  is  said,  that, 
upon  this  rising,  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  was  burnt 
by  the  Scotts. 


NOTE  2L. 

Like  a  book-bosom'd  priest.  —  P.  21. 

"At  Unthank,  two  miles  N.  E.  from  the 
church  (of  Ewes),  there  are  the  ruins  of  a 
chapel  lor  divine  service,  in  time  of  Popery. 
There  is  a  tradition,  that  friars  were  wont  to 
come  from  Melrose  or  Jedburgh,  to  baptise  and 
marry  in  this  parish  ;  and  from  being  in  use  to 
carry  the  mass  book  in  t  heir  bosoms,  they  were 
called  by  the  inhabitants,  Book-a- Bosomes. 
There  is  a  man  yet  alive,  who  knew  old  men 
who  had  been  baptised  by  these  Book-a-Bo- 
somes.  and  who  says  one  of  them,  called  Hair, 
used  this  parish  for'avery  longtime."— Account 
of  Parish  of  Ewes,  aputi  Macfarlane's  MSS. 


56 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


NOTE  2  M. 

All  wot  delusion,  navyht  tras  truth.  — f.  24. 

Glamour,  in  the  legends  of  Scottish  super- 
stition, means  the  magic  power  of  imposing  on 
the  eyesight  of  the  spectators.  »o  that  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  object  shall  he  totally  different 
from  the  realiiy.  The  transformation  of  Mi- 
chael Scott  by  the  witch  of  Falsehope,  already 
mentioned,  was  a  genuine  operation  of  gla- 
mour. To  a  similar  charm  the  ballad  of 
Johnny  Fa'  imputes  the  fascination  of  the 
lovely  Countess,  who  eloped  wilh  that  gipsy 
leader:— 


It  was  formerly  used  even  in  war.  Tn  1381, 
when  the  Duke  of  Anjou  lay  before  a  strong 
castle. upon  the  coast  of  N;i,nles.  a  necromancer 
offered  to  ••  make  the  ayre  so  thycke.  that  they 
within  shall  thynke  that  there  is  a  bridge  on 
the  see  (by  which  the  castle  was  surrounded) 
for  ten  men  to  go  a  front;  and  whan  they 
within  the  castle  se  this  bridge,  they  will  be 
so  alrayde,  that  they  shall  yelde  them  to  your 
mercy.  The  Duke  demanded, — •  Fayre  Master, 
on  this  bridge  that  ye  spene  of.  may  oar  people 
assuredly  go  thereon  to  the  casteli,  to  assayle 
it  ?'— •  Syr,'  quod  the  enchantour, '  I  dare  not 
assure  you  that;  for  if  any  that  passeth  on 
the  bridge  make  the  sign*  of  the  crosse  on 
hym,  all  shall  go  to  noughte,  and  they  that  be 
on  the  bridge  shall  tall  into  the  see.'  Then 
the  Duke  began  to  laugh  :  and  a  certain  of 
young  knightes,  that  were  there  present,  said, 
'  Syr,  for  godsake,  let  the  mayster  assey  his 
cunning :  we  shall  leve  making  of  any  signe 
of  the  crosse  on  us  for  that  tyme. ' "  The  Earl 
of  Savoy,  shortly  after,  entered  the  tent,  and 
recognised  in  the  enchanter  the  tame  person 
who  had  put  the  castle  into  the  power  of  Sir 
Charles  de  la  Payx.  who  then  held  it,  by  per- 
suading the  garrison  of  the  Queen  of  Naples, 
through  magical  deception,  that  the  sea  was 
coming  over  the  walls.  The  sage  avowed  the 
feat,  and  added,  that  he  was  the  man  in  the 
world  most  dreaded  by  Sir  Charles  tie  la  Payx. 
"  '  By  my  fayth,'  quod  the  Earl  of  Savoy,  'ye 
say  well:  and  I  will  that  Syr  Charles  de  la 
Payx  shall  know  that  he  hath  gret  wronge  to 
fear  you.  But  I  shall  assure  hym  of  you ;  for 
ye  shall  never  do  enchantment  to  deceyve 
hym,  nor  yet  none  other.  I  wolde  not  that  in 
tyme  to  come  we  shulde  be  reproached  that 
in  so  high  an  enterprise  as  we  be  in,  wherein 
there  tie  so  many  noble  knvghtes  and  sqnyres 
assembled,  that  we  shulde  do  any  thing  be 
enchantment,  nor  that  we  shulde  wyn  our 
enemys  be  suche  crafte.'  Then  he  called  to 
him  a  servaunt,  and  said, '  Go, and  get  a  hang- 
man, and  let  him  stryke  off  this  mayster's  hetd 
without  delay:'  and  as  soone  as  the  Erie  had 
commanded  it,  incontynent  it  was  done,  for 
his  heed  was  s'ryken  of  before  the  Erie's 
tent."—  Kroissart,  vol.  i.  ch.  391.  392. 

The  art  of  glamour,  or  other  fascination,  was 
anciently  a  principal  part  of  the  skill  of  the 
jongleur,  or  juggler,  whose  tricks  formed  much 
of  the  amusement  of  a  Gothic  castle.  Some 
instances  of  this  art  m;iybe  found  in  the  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Sordtr,  vol.  iv.  p.  106. 
In  a  strange  allegorical  poem,  called  the 


Houlat.  written  by  a  dependent  of  the  house 
of  Douglas,  about  1452-3,  the  jay,  in  an  assem- 
bly of  birds,  plays  the  part  of  the  juggler. 
His  feats  of  glamour  are  thus  described  : — 

Hunting  at  herili>  in  hollii  «o  hair; 

Hernia  nauallaml  on  bunt  brim  an  a  bare; 
Be  eoukle  carre  the  coup  of  Ike  jtiugm  de* 
Syne  lere  in  Ike  »tnlr, 
blatk  bnuwede  ; 


ould  of  a  be 


i  hcde 


"  He  fart  thr  Emproore  trow,  and  trewlre  bchald, 

Thai  tbe  cvrncraik,  Ine  puttier-  at  hai.d. 
Had  (fOyndit  all  hi»  prts  hors  in  a  poyud  fald, 

Because  thai  etr  of  the  corn  in  Ihe  kirkland. 
Be  roul-1  wirk  windari.,  qubat  war  'hat  he  waM. 

Mak  a  eray  jus  a  go'd  (tailand, 
A  lam  "prrc  of  a  butile,  for  a  berne  bald, 

Nobili*  of  nutarhelle*.  and  silver  of  Hand. 
Tbua  joukil  with  juxl  ett  the  jaoglane  ^a, 

F.ir  ladyeo  IB  ringia, 

Knyrhtia  in  raralyi,gi«, 

It  •emyt  an  aa." 


NOTE  2  N. 

Now,  if  yon  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

J  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  thrive ; 

11  wai  not  given  by  man  alive.  —  P.  24. 

Dr.  Henry  More,  in  a  letter  prefixed  to 
Glanville's  Saducismus  Tnumphatux,  mentions 
a  similar  phenomenon. 

"I  remember  an  old  gentleman  in  the 
country,  of  my  acquaintance  an  excellent 
justice  of  peace,  and  a  piece  of  a  mathema- 
tician ;  but  what  kind  of  a  philosopher  he  was, 
you  may  understand  from  a  rhyme  of  his  own 
making,  which  he  commended  to  me  at  my 

I  taking  horse   in   his  yard,   which    rhyme    is 

i  this:— 

'  Ens  i«  nothing  till  sense  find*  oat : 

|  Which  rhyme  of  his  was  so  rapturous  to  him- 
self, that,  on  the  reciting  of  the  second  verse, 
the  old  man  turned  himself  about  upon  his 
toe  as  nimbly  as  one  m;iv  observe  a  dry  leaf 
whisked  round  the  corner  of  an  orchard-walk 
hv  some  little  whirlwind  With  this  philoso- 
pher I  have  had  many  discourses  concerning 
the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  its  distinction ; 
when  1  have  run  him  quire  down  by  reason, 
he  would  hut  laugh  at  me.  and  sav  this  is 
logic,  H  (calling  me  by  my  Christian  name,) 
to  which  I  replied,  this  is  reason,  father  L  (for 
so  I  used  and  some  others  to  call  him  ;)  but  it 
seems  you  are  for  the  new  lights,  and  imme- 
diate inspiration,  which  I  confess  he  was  as 
little  for  as  for  the  other ;  but  I  said  so  only 
in  the  way  of  drollery  to  him  in  those  times, 
but  truth  is,  nothing  but  palpable  experience 
would  move  him  :  and  being  a  bold  man,  and 
fearing  nothing,  he  told  me  had  used  all  the 
magical  ceremonies  of  conjuration  he  could, 
to  raise  the  devil  or  a  spirit,  and  had  a  most 
earnest  desire  to  meet  with  one,  but  never 
could  do  it.  But  this  he  told  me.  when  he 
did  not  so  much  as  think  of  it,  while  his  servant 
was  pulling  off  his  boots  in  the  hall,  some  in- 
visible hand  gave  him  such  a  clap  upon  the 
hack,  that  it  made  all  ring  again;  'so,'  thought 
he  now,  •!  am  invited  to  the  converse  of  my 


LAY   OF   THE   LAST    MINSTREL. 


57 


spirit,"  and  therefore,  so  soon  as  his  hoots  were 
off,  and  his  shoes  on,  oui  lie  goes  MHO  ih«  yard 
and  uejct  tield,  lo  find  out  the  spirit  that  had 
piven  him  this  familiar  clap  on  the  back,  but 
found  none  neither  iu  the  yard  nor  field  next 
to  it. 

••  But  though  he  did  not  feel  this  stroke,  al- 
beit he  thought  it  afterwards  (finding  nothing 
came  of  it)  a  mere  delusion ;  yet  not  long  l>e- 
I  fore  his  death,  it  had  more  force  with  him  than 
all  the  philosophical  argument*  I  could  use  to 
him,  though  I  could  wind  him  and  nonplus  him 
as  I  pleased ;  but  yet  all  my  arguments,  how 
solid  soever,  made  no  impression  upon  him ; 
wherefore,  after  several  reasonings  (if  this 
nature,  whereby  I  would  prove  to  him  the 
soul's  distinction  from  the  body,  and  its  iiu- 
inortiility,  when  nothing  of  such  subtile  consi- 
deration did  any  more  execution  on  his  mind 
than  some  lightning  is  said  to  do.  though  it 
melts  the  sword,  on  the  fuzzy  consistency  of 
the  scabbard,— '  Well,'  said  I,  'lather  L,  .though 
none  of  these  things  move  yon,  I  have  some- 
thing still  behind,  and  what  yourself  has  ac- 
knowledged to  be  true,  that  may  do  the  busi- 
ness:—Do  you  remember  the  clap  on  your 
bark  when  your  servant  was  pulling  off  your 
boots  in  the  hall  ?  Assure  yourself,  says  I, 
father  L.,  that  goblin  will  be  the  first  to  bid 
you  welcome  into  the  other  world.'  Upon  that 
his  countenance  chanced  most  sensibly,  and 
he  was  more  confounded  with  this  rubbing  up 
his  memory,  than  with  all  the  rational  or  phi- 
losophical argumentations  that  1  could  pro- 
duce." 


NOTE  2  0. 

The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell.  —  P.  21. 

It  is  a  firm  article  of  popular  faith,  that  no 
enchantment  can  subsist  in  a  living  stream. 
Nav,  if  you  can  interpose  a  brook  belwm  you 
and  witches,  spectres,  or  even  fiends,  you  are 
in  perfect  safety.  Burns's  inimitable  Tarn  o' 
Sfianter  turns  entirely  upon  such  a  circum- 
stance. The  belief  seems  to  be  of  antiquity. 
Brompton  informs  us.  that  certain  Irish  wizards 
could,  by  spells,  convert  earthen  clods,  or 
stones,  into  fat  pigs,  which  they  sold  in  the 
market,  but  which  always  reassumed  their 
proper  form  when  driven  by  the  deceived 

ejrchaser    across   a    running   stream.      But 
rompton  is  severe  on  the  Irish  for  a  very 
good  reason.    "Gens  ista  spurcissima  nonsol- 
vunt  decimas. " — Chronicon  Johannis  Brompton 
apud  decent  Scriptorts,  p.  1076. 


NOTE  2  P. 

lie  never  counted  him  a  man, 

Would  strike  below  the  knee.  —  P.  25. 

Imitated  from  Drayton's  account  of  Robin 
Hood  and  his  followers: — 


Pi 


A  short  swor.1  at  their  bflr,  a  bncktor  «cnrre  a  «pin. 

Ail  made  of  Span. all  yi-w,  their  hows  were  w.mdroun  ntroof, 
Th  y  ii.. I  an  arrow  dirw  hut  w.js  a  I'lotri-yard  long. 
Of  mrrliery  they  had  !he  vt- ry  perfect  craft, 


To  wound  an  antagonist  in  the  thigh,  or  leg, 
was  reckoned  contrary  to  the  law  of  arms.  In 
:i  tilt  lietwixt  Ga-.vain  Michael,  an  English 
squire,  and  Joachim  Cathore.  a  Frenchman, 
'•  they  met  at,  the  speare  poyntes  rudely;  the 
French  squyer  justed  right  pleasantly :  the 
Knglislimun  run  too  lowe,  for  he  strak  the 
Frenchman  depe  into  the  thigh.  Wherewith 
the  Erie  of  Buckingham  was  right  sore  dis- 
pieased,  and  so  were  all  the  other  lords,  and 
sayde  how  it  was  shamefully  done."— Froissart, 
vol.  i.  chap  366.  Upon  a  similar  occasion, 
"  the  two  knyghts  came  a  fote  eche  against 
other  rudely,  with  their  speares  low  couched, 
to  stryke  eche  other  within  the  foure  quarters. 
Julian  of  Castell-Moraiit  strake  the  English 
squyer  on  the  brest  in  such  wyse,  that  Svr 
Wyllyam  Fermetone  stombled  and  bowed,  for 
his  fote  a  lyttel  fayled  him.  He  helde  his 
speare  lowe  with  both  his  handes,  and  coude 
nat  amende  it,  and  strake  Syr  Johan  of  the 
Caste]  l-Morant  in  the  thighe.sothat  the  speare 
went  clene  throughe,  that  the  heed  was  sene 
a  handful!  on  the  other  syde.  And  Syr  Johan 
with  the  stroke  reled,  but  he  fell  nat.  Than 
the  Englyshe  knyghtes  and  squyers  were  ryghte 
sore  displeased,  and  sayde  how  it  was  a  foule 
stroke.  Syr  Wylhtm  Fermeton  excused  him- 
selfe,  and  sayde  how  he  was  sorie  of  that  ad- 
venture, and  howe  that  yf  he  had  knowen  that 
it  shuttle  have  bene  so,  he  wolde  never  have 
begon  it ;  sayenge  how  he  could  nat  amende 
it,  by  cause  of  glaunsing  of  his  fote  by  con- 
straynt  of  the  great  stroke  that  Syr  Johan  of 
the  Castell-Moraut  had  given  him."— Froissart, 
vol.  i.  chap.  373. 


NOTE  2  Q. 


Ill  t-la 


iiuled  born  not  on<-  of  ihrtn  hut  knew. 
When  siting  to  their  lip«  their  bugle,  shrill, 
Tire  warbling  etho<:s  waked  from  every  djle  and  hill ; 
Their  bauklhrs  net  with  »lud«  athwart  thrir  shoulders  a 
To  which  under  Ilieir  arms  ttieir  sheaf,  were  buckled  fa: 


She  drew  the  splinter  from  the  wound. 
And  with  a  charm  she  stanch' d  the  blood. —P.  25. 

See  several  charms  for  this  purpose  in  Regi- 
nald Scott's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  p.  Z"f3. 

But  yet  he  was  a  dtH-tor  good ; 

He  bound  bin  handkerchief  on  the  wound, 

And  with  some  kind*  of  word,  he  stanched  the  blood." 

fix*  ufAnnml  Pifttlar  foary.  Lend.  1781,  p.  1IL 


NOTE  2R. 

But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance. 
Anil  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore. 
And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er.— P.  26. 

Sir  Kenelm  Dishy,  in  a  discourse  upon  the 
cure  by  sympathy,  pronounced  at  Montpelier 
before  an  assembly  of  nobles  and  learned  men, 
translated  into  English  by  R.  White,  gentle- 
man, and  published  in  1658,  gives  us  the  fol- 
lowing curious  surgical  case  :  — 

"Mr.  James  llowel  (well  known  in  France 
for  Ins  public  works,  and  particularly  for  his 
Dfndroloijit,  translated  into  trench  by  Mons. 
Bandouin)  coming  by  chance,  as  two  of  hi» 


58 


APPENDIX  TO   THE 


best  friends  were  fightinz  in  duel,  he  did  his 
endeavour  to  part  them:  and.  putiing  him-t-lfe 
between  them,  seized,  wi'h  his  left  hand.  U[MHI 
I  he  hilt  of  the  sword  of  one  of  the  combatants. 
while  with  his  right  hand,  he  laid  hold  of  the 
blade  of  the  other.  They,  being  transported 
with  fury  one  against  the  other,  struggled  to 
rid  themselves  of  the  hinderance  their  friend 
made,  that  they  should  not  kill  one  another; 
and  one  of  them  roughly  drawing  the  blade 
of  his  sword,  cuts  to  the  very  bone  the  nerves 
ami  muscles  of  Mr.  Howel's  hand ;  and  then 
the  other  disengaged  his  hilts,  and  gave  a 
crosse  Blow  on  his  adversary's  head,  which 
glanced  towards  his  friend,  who  heaving  up 
his  sore  hand  to  save  the  blow,  he  was  wounded 
on  the  back  of  his  hand  as  he  had  been  before 
within.  It  seems  some  strange  constellation 
reigned  then  against  him,  that  he  should  lose 
a>  much  bloud  by  parting  two  such  dearfriends, 
who.  had  they  been  themselves,  would  have 
hazarded  both  their  lives  to  have  preserved 
his;  but  this  involuntary  effusion  of  bloud  by 
them,  prevented  that  which  they  sholde  have 
drawn  one  from  the  other.  For  they,  seeing 
Mr.  Howel's  face  besmeared  with  blond,  by 
heaving  up  his  wounded  hand,  they  both  ran 
to  embrace  him  ;  and,  having  searched  his 
hurts,  they  bound  up  his  hand  with  one  of  his 
garters,  to  close  the  veins  which  were  cm,  anil 
bled  abundantly.  They  brought  him  home, 
and  sent  for  a  surgeon.  But  this  being  heard 
at  court,  the  King  sent  one  of  his  own  sur- 
geons; for  his  majesty  much,  affected  the  said 
Mr.  Howel. 

"  It  was  mv  chance  to  be  lodged  hard  by 
him  :  and  foiir  or  rive  days  after,  as  1  was 
making  myself  ready,  he  came  to  my  house, 
and  prayed  me  to  view  his  wounds ;  •  for  I 
understand.' said  he. 'that  you  have  extraor- 
dinary remedies  on  such  occasions,  and  my 
surgeons  apprehend  some  fear  that  it  may 
grow  to  a  gangrene,  and  so  the  hand  must  be 
cut  off.'  In  effect,  his  countenance  discovered 
that  he  was  in  much  pain,  which  he  said  was 
insupportable,  in  regard  of  the  extreme  in- 
flammation. I  told  him  I  would  willingly  serve 
him;  but  if  haply  he  knew  the  manner  how  I 
would  cure  him  without  touching  or  seeing 
him,  it  may  be  he  would  not  expose  himself  to 
my  manner  of  curing,  liecausn  he  would  think 
it,  peradventure,  either  inellectual  or  super- 
stitious. He  replied,  'the  wonderful  things 
which  many  have  related  unto  me  of  your  way 
of  medicament,  makes  me  nothing  doubt  at  all 
of  its  efficacy  ;  and  all  that  I  have  to  say  unto 
you  is  comprehended  in  the  Spanish  proverb, 
Hayase  el  imiagro  y  hagaio  Mahoma  —  Let  the 
miracle  be  done,  though  Mahomet,  do  it.' 

"  I  asked  him  then  for  any  thing  that  had  the 
blood  upon  it ;  so  he  presently  sent  for  his 
garter,  wherewith  his  hand  was  first  bound: 
and  as  I  called  for  a  bason  of  water,  as  it  1 
would  wash  my  hands.  1  took  a  handful  of 
powder  of  vitriol,  which  I  had  in  my  study. 
and  presently  dissolved  it.  As  soon  as  the 
bloudy  garter  was  brought  me,  I  put  it  within 
the  b  son.  observing,  in  the  interim,  what  Mr 
Howel  did.  who  stood  talking  with  a  gentle- 
man in  a  corner  of  my  chamber,  not  regarding 
at  all  what  I  was  doing;  but  he  started  sud- 
denly, as  if  he  had  found  some  .strange  altera- 
tion in  himself.  I  asked  him  what. he  ailed? 
•1  know  not  what  ailes  me;  but  I  finde  thai  1 


feel  no  more  pain.  Methinks  that  a  pleasing 
kmde  of  freshiifFse.  as  it  were  a  wet  cold 
napkin,  uid  spread  over  my  hand,  which  hath 
taken  away  the  inflammation  that  tormented 
me  before? — I  replied.  'Since  then  that  vou 
feel  already  so  good  effect  of  my  medicament, 
I  advise  you  to  cast  away  all  your  playsters  ; 
only  keep  the  wound  clean,  and  in  a  moderate 
temper  l*twixt  heat  and  cold.'  This  was 
iroently  leported  to  the  Duke  of  Buckmg- 
lam,  and  a  little  after  to  the  King,  who  were 
both  very  curious  to  know  the  circumstance 
of  the  husinesse.  which  was,  that  after  dinner 
I  took  the  garter  out  of  the  water,  and  put  it 
to  dry  before  a  great  fire.  It  was  scarce  dry, 
but  Mr.  Howel's  servant  came  running,  that 
his  master  felt  as  much  burning  as  ever  he  had 
done,  if  not  more ;  for  the  heat  was  such  as  if 
his  hand  were  "twist  coles  of  tire.  1  answered, 
although  that  had  happened  at  present,  vet  he 
should  find  ease  in  a  short  time  ;  for  I  knew 
the  reason  of  this  new  accident,  and  would 
provide  accordingly;  for  his  master  should  he 
free  from  that  inflammation,  it  may  be  before 
he  could  possibly  return  to  him ;  but  in  case 
he  found  no  ease,  1  wished  him  to  come  pre- 
sently back  again;  if  not,  he  might  forl>ear 
coming.  Thereupon  he  went ;  and  at  the  in- 
siant  I  did  put  again  the  garter  into  the  water, 
thereupon  he  found  his  master  without  any 
pain  at  all.  To  be  brief,  there  was  no  sense 
of  pain  afterward  ;  but  within  five  or  six  dayes 
the  wounds  were  cicatrized,  and  entirely 
healed  " — I'age  6. 

The  King  (James  VI.)  obtained  from  Sir 
Kenelm  the  discovery  of  his  secret,  which  he 
pretended  had  been  taught  him  by  a  Carmelite 
friar,  who  had  learned  it  in  Armenia,  or  Persia. 
Let  not  the  age  of  animal  magnetism  and  me- 
tallic tractors  smile  at  the  sympathetic  powder 
of  Sir  Kenelm  Disby.  Reginald  Scott  men- 
tions the  same  mode  of  cure  in  these  terms  : — 

'•And  that  which  is  more  strange 

they  can  remedie  anie  stranger  with  that  verie 
sword  wherewith  they  are  wounded.  Yea, 
and  that  which  is  beyond  all  admiration,  if 
they  stroke  the  sword  upward  with  their 
lingers,  the  partie  shall  feele  no  pain  ;  where- 
as, if  they  draw  their  fingers  downwards, 
thereupon  the  partie  wounded  shall  feele  in- 
tolerable pain."  I  presume  that  the  success 
ascribed  to  the  sympathetic  mode  of  treatment 
might  arise  from  the  pains  bestowed  in  wash- 
ing the  wound,  and  excluding  the  air,  thus 
bringing  on  a  cure  by  the  first  intention.  It  is 
introduced  by  Uryileu  in  the  Enclutiitid  Island, 
a  (very  unnecessary)  alteration  of  the  Ttm- 
pcst  : — 

"Aria.  Anoint  lh«  aworrf  which  pierced  him  with  lhi> 
Wrapon'-aalvr,  and  wrap  il  close  from  air. 
Till  1  have  lime  to  Tint  him  again.— Act  i.  K.  1. 

Again,  in  scene  4th,  Miranda  enters  wilh 
Hippohto's  sword  wrapt  up ; — 

"Hip.  O  my  wound  paint  me ! 

Mir.   1  am  come  to  ea»r  yon.       [SA«  anirrapj  ttu  Sverd. 

Mir.   Doe*  il  slill  cri'-vt-  you  1         \Sht  uip't  and  tnurinU 

the  Ssccrd.] 

Hip.  Now,  meihink*..  ihereS  some  h  ng  laid  just  upon  it, 
Mir.   Do  ynu  ni.d  no  ea»e  ! 
H.p.  Y«-!>.  ye*  ;  upon  ihe  sudden  atl  thin  pain 
la  leaving  me.     Swrel  feeavi-D,  bow  I  am  eai~d  '" 


LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


59 


NOTE  2  S. 

On  Fenchryst  glows  a  bale  of  fire.  —  P.  26. 

Half,  beacon  -fagot.  The  Border  beacons, 
from  their  number  and  position,  formed  a  sort 
of  telegraphic  communication  with  Edinburgh, 
— The  act  of  Parliament  1155,  c.  48,  directs, 
that  one  hale  or  fagot  shall  be  warning  of  the 
approach  of  the  English  in  any  manner;  two 
bales  that  they  are  coming  indeed ;  four  hales, 
blazing  beside  each  other,  that  the  enemy  are 
in  great  force  "The  same  taikeriings  to  be 
watched  and  maid  at  Eggerhope  (Eggerstand) 
Castell,  fra  they  se  the  tire  of  Hume,  that  they 
fire  right  swa  And  in  like  manner  on  Sowtra 
Edge,  sail  se  the  fire  of  Eggerhope  Castell, and 
mak  taikening  in  like  manner:  And  then  may 
all  Louthmne  he  warned,  and  in  special  the 
Castell  of  Edinburgh :  and  their  four  fires  to 
be  made  in  like  manner,  that  they  in  Fife,  and 
fra  Sniveling  east,  and  the  east  part  of  lx>n- 
thaine,  and  to  Dunhar,  all  may  se  them,  and 
come  to  the  defence  of  the  realme."  These 
beacons  (at  least  in  latter  times)  were  a  "  long 
and  strong  tree  set  up,  with  a  long  iron  pole 
across  the  head  of  it.  and  an  iron  hrander  fixed 
on  a  stalk  in  the  middle  of  it,  for  holding  a  tar- 
barrel." — Stevenson's  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  701. 


NOTE  2T. 

Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends  to  raise.  —  P.  26. 

The  speed  with  which  the  Borderers  col- 
lected great  bodies  of  horse,  may  be  judged  of 
from  the  following  extract,  when  the  subject 
of  the  rising  was  much  less  important  than 
that  supposed  in  the  romance.  It  is  taken 
from  Carey's  Memoirs:  — 

"  Upon  the  death  of  the  old  lord  Scroop,  the 
Queen  gave  the  west  wardenry  to  his  son,  that 
had  married  my  sister.  He  having  received 
that  office,  came  to  me  with  great  earnestness, 
and  desired  me  to  be  his  deputy,  offering  me 
that  I  should  live  with  him  in  his  house;  that 
he  would  allow  me  half  a  dozen  men,  and  as 
many  horses,  to  be  kept  at  his  charge ;  and  his 
fee  being  11X10  merks  yearly,  he  would  part  it 
with  me.  and  I  should  have  the  half.  This  his 
noble  offer  I  accepted  of,  and  went  with  him 
to  Carlisle;  where  I  was  no  sooner  come,  hut 
I  entered  into  my  office.  We  had  a  stirring 
time  of  it:  and  few  days  past  over  my  head 
but  I  was  on  horseback,  either  to  prevent  mis- 
chief, or  take  malefactors,  and  to  bring  the 
Borderin  hetterquid  than  it  had  been  in  times 
past.  One  memorable  thing  of  God's  mercy 
shewed  unto  me,  was  sucii  as  1  have  good 
cause  still  to  remember  it. 

"I  had  private  intelligence  given  me,  that 
there  were  two  Scottishnien  that  hail  killed  a 
churchman  in  Scotland,  and  were  by  one  of 
the  Grames  relieved.  This  Grame  dwelt 
within  five  miles  of  Carlisle.  He  had  a  pretty 
house,  and  close  hy  it  a  strong  tower,  for  his 
own  defence  in  time  of  need.  —  About  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  took  horse  in  Carlisle, 
and  not  above  twenty-live  in  my  company, 
thinking  to  surprise  the  house  on  a  sudden. 
Before  I  couid  surround  the  house,  tin;  two 
Scots  were  gotten  in  the  strong  tower,  and  1 


could  see  a  hoy  riding  from  the  house  as  fast 
as  his  horse  could  carry  him;  I  little  su>pect- 
in.g  what  it  meant.  But  Thomas  Carleton 
came  to  me  presently,  and  told  me,  that  if  I 
did  not  presently  prevent  it,  both  myself  and 
all  my  company  would  be  either  shun  or  taken 
prisoners.  It  was  strange  to  me  to  hear  this 
language  He  then  said  to  me, '  Do  you  see 
that  boy  that  ridetli  away  so  fast  ?  He  will  he 
in  Scotland  within  this  half  hour;  and  he  is 
gone  to  let  them  know  that  you  are  here,  and 
to  what  end  you  are  come,  and  the  small  num- 
ber you  have  with  you;  and  that  if  they  will 
make  haste,  on  a  sudden  they  may  surprise  us, 
and  do  with  us  what  they  please.'  Hereupon 
we  took  advice  what  was  best  to  te  done. 
We  sent  notice  presently  to  all  parts  to  raise 
the  country,  and  to  come  to  us  with  all  the 
speed  they  could  ;  and  withall  we  sent  to  Car- 
lisle to  raise  the  townsmen  ;  for  without  foot 
we  could  do  no  good  against  the  tower.  There 
we  staid  some  hours,  expecting  rm>re  company: 
and  within  short  lime  after  the  country  came 
in  on  all  sides,  so  that  we  were  quickly  be- 
tween three  and  four  hundred  horse  :  and, 
after  some  longer  stay,  the  foot  of  Carlisle 
came  to  us.  to  the  number  of  three  or  four 
hundred  men ;  whom  we  presently  set  to  work 
to  get  to  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  to  uncover 
the  roof;  and  then  some  twenty  of  them  to 
fall  down  together,  and  by  that  means  to  win 
the  tower.  —  The  Scots,  seeing  their  present 
danger,  offered  to  parley,  and  yielded  them- 
selves to  my  mercy.  They  had  no  sooner 
opened  the  iron  gate,  and  yielded  themselves 
my  prisoners,  hut  we  might  see  400  horse 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  coming  to  their 
rescue,  and  to  surprise  me  and  my  small  com- 
pany ;  but  of  a  sudden  they  stayed,  and  .stixxl 
at  gaze.  Then  had  I  more  to  do  than  ever; 
tor  all  our  Borderers  came  crying,  with  full 
mouths, ' Sir,  give  us  leave  to  set  upon  them ; 
for  lliese  are  they  that  have  killed  our  fathers, 
our  hrol  hers,  and  uncles,  and  our  cousins;  and 
they  are  coming,  thinking  to  surprise  you,  upon 
weak  grass  nags,  such  as  they  could  get  on  a 
sudden:  and  God  hath  put  them  into  your 
hands,  that  we  may  take  revenge  of  them  for 
much  blood  that  they  have  spilt  of  ours.'  I 
desired  they  would  be  patient  a  while,  and 
bethought  myself,  if  I  should  give  them  their 
will,  there  would  he  few  or  none  of  the  Scots 
that  would  escape  unkilled;  (there  was  so 
many  deadly  feuds  among  them  ;)  and  there- 
fore I  resolved  with  myself  to  give  them  a  fair 
answer,  but  not  to  give  them  their  desir£  So 
1  told  them,  that  if  1  were  not  there  myself, 
they  might  then  do  what  they  pleased  them- 
selves ;  but  being  present,  if  I  should  give  th«m 
leave,  the  blood  that  should  be  spilt  that  day 
would  lie  very  hard  upon  my  conscience.  And 
therefore  1  desired  them,  for  my  sa"ke,  to  for- 
bear; and,  if  the  Scots  did  not.  presently  make 
away  with  all  the  speed  they  could,  upon  my 
sending  to  them,  they  should  then  have  their 
wills  to  do  what  they  pleased  They  were  ill 
satisfied  with  my  answer,  but  durst  notdisohey 
I  sent  with  speed  to  the  Scots,  and  bade  them 
pack  away  with  all  the  speed  they  could ;  for 
if  they  stayed  the  messenger's  return,  they 
should  few  of  them  return  to  their  own  home. 
They  made  no  stay ;  but  thev  were  returned 
homewards  before  the  messenger  hail  made 
an  end  of  Ills  message.  Thus,  by  God's  mercy. 


60 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


I  escaped  a  great  danger;  and,  by  my  means, 
there  were  a  great  many  men's  lives  saved 
that  day." 


NOTE  2  U. 

On  many  a  cairn's  grey  pyramid, 

Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid  —  P.  26. 

The  cairns,  or  piles  of  loose  stones,  which 
crown  the  summit  of  most  of  our  Scottish  hills, 
and  are  found  in  other  remarkable  situations, 
seem  usually,  though  not  universally,  to  have 
been  sepulchral  monuments.  Sue  flat  stones 
are  commonly  found  in  the  centre,  forming  a 
cavity  of  greater  or  smaller  dimensions,  in 
which  an  urn  is  often  placed.  The  author  is 
possessed  of  one,  discovered  beneath  an  im- 
mense cairn  at  Roughlee,  in  Liddesdale.  It  is 
of  the  most  barbarous  construction :  the  mid- 
dle of  the  substance  alone  having  been  sub- 
jected to  the  fire,  over  which,  when  hardened, 
the  artist  had  laid  an  inner  and  outer  coat  of 
unbaked  clay,  etched  with  some  very  rude 
ornaments;  his  skill  apparently  being  inade- 
quate to  baking  the  vase,  when  completely 
finished.  The  contents  were  bones  and  ashes, 
and  a  quantity  of  beads  made  of  coal.  This 
seems  to  have  been  a  barbarous  imitation  of 
the  Roman  fashion  of  sepulture. 


XOTB  2V. 

For  pathless  marsh  anil  mountain  cell, 
The  peasant  left  fas  lowly  shtd.  —  P.  27. 
The  morasses  were  the  usual  refuge  of  the 
Border  herdsmen,  on  the  approach  of  an  Eiiu'- 
lisli  army.  —  (Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border, 
vol.  i.  p.  393.)  Caves,  hewed  in  the  most  dan- 
gerous and  inaccessible  places,  also  afforded 
an  occasional  retreat.  Such  r.avenn  may  l>e 
seen  in  the  precipitous  banks  of  the  Teviot  at 
Sunlaws,  upon  the  Ale  at  Ancrarn,  upon  the 
Jed  at  Himdalee,  and  in  many  other  places 
upon  the  Border.  The  banks  of  the  Eske.  at 
Gorton  and  Hawtbornden,  are  hollowed  into 
similar  recesses.  But  even  these  drear)'  dens 
were  not  always  secure  places  of  conceal  ineiit. 
"In  the  way  as  we  came,  not  far  from  this 
place,  (Long  Niddry,)  George  Ferres,  a  gentle- 
man of  my  Lord  Protector's 

happened  upon  a  cave  in  the  grounds,  the 
mouth  whereof  was  so  worne  with  the  fresh 
prmte  of  steps,  that  he  seemed  to  be  certayne 
thear  wear  some  folke  within ;  and  gone  doune 
to  trie,  he  was  readily  receyved  with  a  iiake- 
hut  or  two.  He  left  them  riot  yet,  till  he  had 
known  wheyther  thei  wolde  be  content  to 
yield  and  come  out ;  which  they  fondly  refus- 
ing, he  went  to  my  lord's  grace,  and  upon  ut- 
terance of  the  thynge,  gat  licence  to  deale  with 
them  as  he  coulde;  and  so  returned  to  them, 
witli  a  skore  or  two  of  pinners.  Three  ventes 
had  their  cave,  that  we  wear  ware  of,  whereof 
he  first  stopl  up  on;  anoother  he  fiil'd  full  of 
slrawe.  and  set  it  a  fyer.  whereat  they  wiihm 
cast  water  apace;  but  it  was  so  wel  inayii- 
teyned  without,  that  the  fyer  prevaylcd.  and 
thei  within  fayn  to  get  them  bclyke  into  anoo- 
ther pjirler.  Then  devysed  we  (for  I  hapt  to 
be  with  him)  to  stop  the  same  up,  whereby  we 


should  eythersinootherthem.orfynd  out  their 
ventes,  if  thei  hadde  any  moe ;  as  this  was 
done  at  another  issue,  al.oul  xii  score  of,  we 
mouzhte  see  the  fume  of  their  smoke  to  rome 
out :  the  which  continued  wilh  so  great  a  force, 
and  so  long  a  while,  that  we  could  not  but 
think*!  they  must  needs  get  them  out.  or  smoo- 
ther within :  and  forasmuch  as  we  found  not 
that  they  dyd  the  tone,  we  thought  it  for  cer- 
tain thei  wear  sure  of  the  toother." —  Patten's 
Account  of  Somerset's  Expedition  into  ScuUaiut, 
apud  Dalyeli's  fragments. 


NOTE  2W. 

Show'd  southern  ravage  teas  begun  —  P.  27. 
From  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  from 
the  Earl  of  Northumlierland  to  King  Henry 
VIII.,  preserved  among  the  Cotton  MSS.  Calig. 
B.  vii.  179,  the  reader  may  estimate  the  nature 
of  the  dreadful  war  which  was  occasionally 
waged  upon  the  Borders,  sharpened  by  mutual 
cruelties,  and  the  personal  hatred  of  "the  war- 
dens, or  leaders. 

Some  Scottish  Barons,  says  the  Earl,  had 
threatened  to  come  within  three  miles  of  my 
pore  house  of  Werkworth.  where  I  lye,  and 
gif  me  light  to  put  on  my  clothes  at  mydnight ; 
and  alsoo  the  said  Marke  Carr  said  there 
opynly,  that,  seyng  they  had  a  governor  in  the 
Marches  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  they  had  in 
Itigland.  he  shulde  kepe  your  highness  instruc- 
tions, gyffyn  unto  your  garyson,  for  making  of 
any  day-lorrey ;  for  he  and  his  friends  wolde 
hurue  enough  on  the  nyght,  letiyugyourcouu- 
saill  here  defyne  a  notable  acte  at  theyre  plea- 
sures. Upon  whiche,  in  your  highnes  name, 
1  comaundet  dewe  ua:che  to  be  kepte  on  your 
Marchies,  for  comyng  in  of  any  Scotts. — Neuer- 
theles,  upon  Thursday  at  night  last,  came 
thyrty  light  horsemen  into  a  htil  village  of 
myne,  called  Whitell,  having  not  past  sex 
houses,  lying  towards  Ryddisdnill,  upon  Shil- 
bi)i ell  .More,  and  there  wold  have  tyred  the 
sani  houses,  but  ther  was  nofyre  to  get  there, 
and  they  Ibrgale  to  brynge  any  withe  theyme ; 
and  tooK  a  wyf  being  great  w,th  cliylde,  in  the 
said  towne.  and  said  to  hyr,  Wher  we  can  not 
gyve  the  lard  lyght,  yet  we  shall  iloo  this  in 
spyte  of  him  ;  aiid  gyve  her  iii  mortall  wounds 
upon  the  heid,  and  another  in  the  r.gh!  side, 
with  a  dagger;  whereupon  the  said  wyf  is 
deede,  and  the  childe  in  her  bely  is  loste. 
Beseeching  your  most  gracious  highness  to 
reduce  unto  your  gracious  memory  this  wylful 
and  shamefull  murder,  done  within  this  your 
highnes  rr.aime.  notwithstanding  all  the  inha- 
bitants thereabout  rose  unto  the  said  fray,  and 
gave  warnynge  by  becons  inio  the  couulrey 
afore  theyme,  and  yet  the  Scottsmen  djde 
escape.  And  uppon  certeyne  knowledge  to 
my  brother  Clyllbrl  he.  and  me.  had  by  credible 
1  persons  of  Scotland,  this  abomynable  act  not 
j  only  to  he  done  hy  dy  verse  of  tiie  Mershe,  but 
!  also  the  afore  named  persons  of  Tyvidaill,  and 
consented  to.  as  by  appearance,  by  the  Erie 
;  of  Murev,  uimu  Friday  at  night  last,  let  slyp  C 
of  the  best  horsemen  of  Glendaiil,  wi:h  a  parte 
|  of  your  highnes  subjects  of  Berwyke,  together 
i  with  George.  Dowglas,  whoo  came  into  Ingland 
!  auayne,  in  the  dawning  of  Hie  day,;  but  afore 
they re  retorne,  limy  uyd  mar  the  Earl  ot'Mur- 


LAY   OF   THE   LAST   MINSTREL. - 


61 


reis  provisions  at  Coldmgh  i:n  i  fur  they  did 
uiit  ouly  burue  the  --.IH\  town  of  Cutdiofrhaiii, 
witli  all  the  come  thereunto  belonging,  wliich 
is  esteemed  won.hu  en  m:irk«  sterling;  hill, 
alsoo  burned  twa  luwnes  uye  udjoining  there- 
unto, called  Braoerdergaat  and  tlie  Black  Hill, 
ail  1  to.»r  xx;u  persons,  Ix  horse,  witli  no  lied 
of  raiaill,  wliich,  nowe.  as  I  am  informed, 
liathe  no',  only  teen  a  staye  of  the  said  Erie 
of  Murreis  not  coming  to  ihe  Bordure  as  yet, 
lur  alsoo.  that  none  inlande  man  will  adven- 
ture theyr  self  uppon  the  Marches.  And  ;is 
for  ihe  tax  that  slinlde  have  been  grauuiyd  for 
fmdingof  the  said  iii  hundred  men,  is  ulterly 
denyed.  Upon  which  tlie  Kins;  of  Scotland 
departed  from  Kdyuburgh  to  Stirling,  and  as 
yet  there  doth  rumayn.  And  also  I.  by  the 
advice  of  my  brother  Clyfforth.  have  devysed, 
that  within  this  iii  nyghls,  Godde  willing,  Kel- 
sey,  in  like  case,  sliall  be  brent,  with  all  the 
corn  in  the  said  town ;  and  tlien  they  shall 
have  noo  place  to  lye  any  garyson  in  nygh  unto 
the  Borders.  And  as  I  shall  atteigne  further 
knowledge,  I  shall  not  fail!  to  satisfye  your 
highnes,  according  to  my  most  hounden  dutie. 
And  for  this  huruyng  of  Kelsey  is  devysed  to 
be  done  secretly,  by  Tyndaill  and  KyddisJale. 
And  thus  the  holy  Tiynite  and  *  *  *  your 
most  royal  estate,  with  long  'yf,  and  as  much 
increase  of  honour  as  your  most  noble  heart 
can  desire.  At  Wer/tieort/i  the  xxiid  day  of  Oc- 
tober." (1522.) 

NOTE  2X. 

Watt  Tinlinn.  —  P.  27. 
This  person  wns.  in  my  younger  days,  the 
theme  of  many  a  fireside  tale.  He  w;is  a  re- 
tainer of  the  Buccleuch  family,  and  held  for 
his  Border  service  a  small  tower  on  the  fron- 
tiers of  Liddesdale.  Watt  was,  by  profession. 
a  sutor,  but,  by  inclination  and  prao.tice,  an 
archer  and  warrior  Upon  one  occasion,  the 
captain  of  Bewcastle,  military  governor  of  that 
wild  district  of  Cumberland,  is  said  to  have 
made  an  incursion  into  Scotland,  in  which  he 
was  defeated,  and  rbrred  to  fly.  Watt  Tinlinn 
pursued  him  closely  through  a  dangerous  in 
rass;  the  captain,  however,  gained  the  firm 
ground ;  and  seeing  Tinliun  dismounted,  and 
floundering  in  the  bog,  used  these  words  of 
insult :  —  "  Sutor  Watt,  ye  cannot  sew  your 
boots ;  the  heels  risp,  and  the  seams  rive.."  1  — 
"If  I  cannot  sew,"  retorted  Tinlinn,  discharg- 
ing a  shaft,  which  nailed  the  captain's  thigh  tc 
his  saddle, — "  if  I  cannot  sew,  I  can  yerk."  * 


NOTE  2Y. 

SillhopeStay.  —  P.yr. 
There  is  an  old  rhyme,  which  thus  cele- 
brates the  places  in  Liddesdale  remarkable 
for  game : 

"  Billhope  brafs  for  bucks  a-id  ran. 

And  Canthaugh  for  swine, 
And  Tarran  for  the  Food  bull-trout, 

Tlie  bucks  and  roes,  as  well  as  the  old  swine 


re   now  exlinct;   but  the  good  bull-trout  is 
still  famous. 


NOTE  2  Z. 

EMed  Will  Howard.  —  P.  27. 
Lord  William  Howard,  third  son  of  Thomas, 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  suoceedi-d  to  Naworth  Cas- 
tle, and  a  large  domain  annexed  to  it,  111  right 
of  his  wife  Elizabeth,  SISUT  of  George  Lord 
Dacre,  who  died  without  heirs  male,  in  the 
llth  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  By  a  poetical  ana- 
chronism, lie  is  introduced  into  the  romance  a 
few  years  earlier  than  he  actually  flourished. 
He  was  warden  of  the  Western  Marches;  and. 
from  the  rigour  with  which  he  repressed  the 
Border  excesses,  the  name  of  Belted  Will 
Howard  is  still  famous  in  our  traditions.  In 
the  castle  of  Naworth.  his  apartments,  con- 
taining a  bedroom,  oratory,  and  library,  are 
still  shown  They  impress  us  with  an  un- 
pleasing  idea  of  the  life  of  a  lord  warden  of  the 
Marches.  Three  or  four  strong  doors,  separat- 
ing these  rooms  from  the  rest  of  the  castle, 
indicate  the  apprehensions  of  treachery  from 
his  garrison ;  and  the  secret  winding  passages, 
through  which  he  could  privately  descend- into 
the  guardroom,  or  even  into  the  dungeons, 
imply  the  necessity  of  no  small  degree  of  secret 
superintendence  on  the  part  of  the  governor. 
As  the  ancient  books  and  furniture  have  re- 
mained undisturbed,  the  venerable  appearance 
of  these  apartments,  and  the  armour  scattered 
around  the  chamber,  almost  lead  us  to  expect 
the  arrival  of  the  warden  in  person.  Naworth 
Castle  is  situated  near  Brampton,  in  Cumber- 
land. Lord  William  Howard  is  ancestor  of 
the  Earls  of  Carlisle. 


1  ROT,  creak  —One,  tear. 

9  Yfrk,  to  twitch,  as  •hoemakm  do,  in   •ecuring  th 
•tiurlies  of    their  work. 


NOTE  8  A. 

Lord  Dacrt.  —  P.  27. 

The  well-known  name  of  Dacre  is  derived 
from  the  exploits  of  one  of  their  ancestors  at 
the  siege  of  Acre,  or  Ptolemais,  under  Kichard 
Cceur  de  Lion.  There  were  two  powerful 
branches  of  I  hat  name.  The  first  family.called 
Lord  Dacres  of  the  South,  held  Ihe  castle  of 
tlie  same  name,  and  are  ancestors  to  the  pre- 
sent Lord  Dacre.  The  other  family,  descended 
from  the  sume  stock,  were  called  Lord  Dacres 
of  the  North,  and  were  barons  of  Gilsland  and 
Graystock.  A  chieftain  of  the  latter  branch 
was  warden  of  the  West  Marches  during  the 
reign  of  Edward  VI.  He  was  a  man  of  a  hot 
and  obstinate  character,  as  appears  from  some 
particulars  of  Lord  Surrey's  letter  to  Henry 
Vlll. .giving  an  account  of  his  behaviour  at  the 
siege  and  storm  of  Jedhurglt.  it  is  printed  in 
the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish.  Border,  Appendix 
to  the  Introduction. 


NOTE  3B. 

The  German  hackbut-men.  —  P.  27. 

In  the  wars  .with  Scotland.  Henry  Vlll.  and 

his  successors  employed  numerous  bands  of 

mercenary  troops     At  the  battle  of  Pinky, 

there  were  in  the  English  army  six  hundred 


62 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


liaekhutters  on  foot,  and  two  hundred  on 
horseb  ick.  compoBmLchiefirof  foreigners.  On 
the  27th  of  Sep'einl>er.  1M9,  tl.e  Duke  of  So- 
merset, Lord  Protector,  writes  to  tlie  Lord 
Dacre.  warden  of  the  West  Marches  :  — '-The 
Aim  mis.  in  number  two  thousand,  very  valiant 
soldiers,  shall  be  sent  to  you  shortly  from 
Newcastle,  together  with  Sir  Thomas  Hol- 
eroft,  and  with  the  force  of  your  wardeiiry, 
(which  we  would  were  advanced  to  the  mo>t 
strength  of  horsemen  that  might  be,)  shall 
make  the  attempt  to  Loughmahen,  being  of 
no  such  strength  but  that  it  may  be  skailed 
with  ladders,  whereof,  beforehand,  we  would 
you  caused  secretly  some  numl>er  to  lie  pro- 
vided ;  or  else  undermined  with  the  pyke-axe, 
and  so  taken :  either  to  lie  kept  for  the  King's 
Majesty,  or  otherwise  to  be  defaced,  and  taken 
from  the  profits  of  the  enemy.  And  in  like 
manner  the  house  of  Carlaverock  to  be  used  " 
Repeated  mention  occurs  of  the  Almains,  in 
the  subsequent  correspondence;  and  the  en- 
terprise seems  finally  to  have  been  abandoned, 
from  the  difficulty  of  providing  these  strangers 
with  the  necessary  "  victuals  and  carriages  in 
so  poor  a  country  as  Dumfries  shire."—  History 
of  Cumberland,  vol  i  Introd  p  Ixi.  From  the 
battle-pieces  of  the  ancient  Flemish  painters, 
we  learn,  that  the  law  Country  and  German 
soldiers  marched  to  an  assault  with  their  right 
knees  bared.  And  we  may  also  observe,  in 
such  pictures,  the  extravagance  to  which  they 
carried  the  fashion  of  ornamenting  their  dress 
with  knots  of  ribbon.  This  custom  of  the 
Germans  is  alluded  to  izi  the  Mirrovr  for  Ma- 
gistrates, p.  121 : 

"Their  pleited  garment!  therewith  well  arconJ, 
All  JmJe  iu.il  Iroiuut,  will)  divert  colours  deck!." 


NOTE  3C. 

"Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field.  —  P.  28. 
Sir  John  Scott  of  Thirlestane  flourished  in 
the  reign  of  James  V,  and  possessed  the  es- 
tates of  Thirlestane,  Gamescleuch,  ic..  lying 
upon  the  river  of  Ettrick,  and  extending  to  St. 
Mary's  Loch,  at  the  head  of  Yarrow.  It  ap- 
pears, that  when  James  had  assembled  his 
nobility,  and  their  feudal  followers,  at  Fala. 
with  the  purpose  of  invading  England,  and 
was,  as  is  well  known,  disappointed  by  the 
ol>stinate  refusal  of  his  peers,  this  haron  alone 
declared  himself  ready  to  follow  the  King 
wherever  he  should  lead.  In  memory  of  his 
fidelity,  James  granted  to  his  family  a  charter 
of  arms,  emitting  them  to  bear  a  border  of 
fleurs-de-luce,  similar  to  the  tressure  in  the 
royal  arms,  with  a  bundle  of  spears  for  the 
crest;  motto.  Ready,  aye  ready.  Tlie  charter 
itself  is  printed  by  .Nisbet ;  but  his  work  being 
scarce.  I  insert  the  following  accurate  trans- 
cript from  tlie  original,  m  the  possession  of  the 
Right  Honourable  Lord  Napier,  the  represent- 
ative of  John  of  Thirlestane. 

"  JAMES  Rex. 

We  James,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of 
Scottis.  considerand  the  ffailii  and  gnid  servis 
of  of  of  right  tr.ust  friemi  John  Scott  of  Thir- 
lestane, quna  cummand  to  our  hoste  at  Sou- 


1  Sir  In  orij. 


traedge,  with  three  score  and  ten  lanncieres 
on  horseback  of  his  friends  and  followers,  and 
beam!  willing  to  eang  with  ws  into  England, 
when  all  our  nobles  and  others  refused,  he 
W;LS  ready  to  stake  at  all  our  bidding :  ffor  the 
quhilk  cause,  it  is  our  will,  and  we  doe  strait- 
lie  command  and  charr  our  lion  herauld  and 
his  deputies  for  the  time  beand.  to  give  and  to 
graunt  to  the  said  John  Scott,  ane  Border  of 
ffleure  de  hses  about  his  coaite  of  armes.  sik 
as  is  on  our  royal  banner,  and  alsua  ane  bun- 
dell  of  launces  above  his  helmet,  with  thir 
words.  Readdy,  ay  Readdy.  that  he  and  all  his 
aftercnmmers  may  bruik  the  samine  as  a  pledge 
and  taiken  of  our  guid  will  and  kyndnes  for 
his  true  worthines;  and  thir  our  letters  seen, 
ye  nae  waes  failzie  to  doe.  Given  at  Ffalla 
Muire,  under  our  hand  and  privy  cashet,  the 
xxvn  day  of  July,  m  c  and  xxxii  zeires.  By  the 
King's  graces  speciall  ordinance 

"Jo.  ARSKINE." 

On  the  back  of  the  charter  is  written, 
"  Edin.  14  January,  1713.  Registred.  conform 
to  the  act  of  parliament  made  aiient  probative 
writs,  per  M'Kaile.  pror.  and  produced  hy 
Alexander  Borthwick,  servant  to  Sir  William 
Scott  of  Thirlestane.  M.  L.  J." 


NOTE  3  D. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  iteel'd. 

With  many  a  moss-trooper  came  on ; 
And  azure  in  a  pottlrn  field. 
The  stars  and  citscfnt  yraced  his  shield, 

Without  the  bend  of  Murdteston  —  P.  28. 
The  family  of  Harden  are  descended  from  a 
younger  son  of  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  who 
flourished  before  the  estate  of  Murdiest on  was 
acquired  by  the  marriage  of  one  of  those  chief- 
tains with  the  heiress,  in  1296.  Hence  they 
bear  the  cognizance  of  the  Scotts  upon  the 
field ;  whereas  those  of  the  Buccleuch  are 
disposed  upon  a  bend  dexter,  assumed  in  con- 
sequence of  that,  marriage.  —  See  Gladstaine 

I  of  White/note's  MSS.,  and   Scott  of  Slokot'f 

'  Ptriigree,  Newcastle,  1783. 

Walter  Scott  of  Harden,  who  flourished  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Queen  Mary,  was  a  renowned 
Border  freebooter,  concerning  whom  tradition 
has  preserved  a  variety  of  anecdotes,  some  of 
which  have  teen  published  in  the  Minstrelsy 
of  the  &oltish  Border;  others  in  Leiden's 
Scrnes  of  Infancy;  and  others,  more  lately,  m 
Tilt  Miiuntnin  Bard,  a  collection  of  Border 
ballads  by  Mr.  James  Hogg.  The  bugle-horn, 
said  to  have  been  used  by  tins  formidable 
leader,  is  preserved  by  his  descendant,  the 
present  Mr  Scott  of  Harden  His  casiie  was 
situated  upon  the  very  brink  of  a  dark  and 
precipitous  dell,  through  which  a  scanty  rivu- 

•  let  steals  to  meet  the  Borthwick.  In  the 
recess  of  this  glen  he  is  said  to  have  kept  his 
sp.iil.  which  served  for  the  daily  maintenance 
of  his  retainers,  until  the  production  of  a  pair 
of  clean  spurs,  in  a  covered  dish,  announced 
to  the  hungry  hand  that  they  must  ride  for  a 
supplvof  provisions.  He  was  married  to  Mary 

:  Scott;  daughter  of  Philip  Scott  of  Dryhope,  anil 
called  in  song  the  Flower  of  Yarrow.  He 
possessed  a  very  extensive  estate,  which  was 
divided  among  his  rive  sons  There  are  nu- 


LAY   OF   THE   LAST   MINSTREL. 


63 


merous  descendants  of  this  old  marauding 
Baron.  The  following  beautiful  passage  of 
Leyden's  Scents  of  Infancy  is  founded  on  a 

tradition  respecting  an  infant  captive,  wtiom 
Walter  of  Harden  carried  off  m  a  predatory 
incursion,  and  who  is  said  to  have  In-come  the 
author 'of  some  of  our  most  beautiful  pastoral 
songs : 

"  Where  Bortha  hoarse,  that  loads  the  mewls  with  land, 
Rolls  her  ml  tide  lo  TeviotN  western  strand, 
Through  slaty  hills,  whose  Bides  are  *haf.'g'd  wilh  thorn. 
Where  springs,  in  scaiu-i-'d  tufu.  the  dark-green  com, 
Towers  wood-girt  Harden,  far  above  ihe  vale, 
And  clouds  of  ravens  o'er  the  turrets  sail. 

The  Seat,  to  rival  realms  a  mighty  bar. 

And  rich  the  KOi),  h.ul  purple  heath  been  grain; 
But  what  the  niggard  ground  of  wealth  denied. 
From  fields  more  bless'U  his  fearless  arm  supplied. 

"The  waning  harvest-moon  shone  cold  and  bright ; 
The  warder's  horn  wa«  heard  at  dead  of  night ; 

What  fair,  haff-veil'd,  leaiiK  from  her  latticed  hall, 
Where  ml  the  wavering  gleams  of  torchlight  fall  ? 
Ti«  Yarrow's  fairest  Hower,  who,  through  the  gloom, 
Looks,  wistful,  for  her  lover's  dancing  plume. 

Her  ear.  all  anxious  caught  a  wailing  sound  ; 

"  Sram!  at  the  light,  his  little  hands  he  flung 

While  beauteous' Mary  soothed,  in  accetits  mild. 
His  Buttering  soul,  and  clnsp'd  her  footer-child. 
Of  milder  mood  the  eenile  captive  grew, 
Nor  loved  the  scenes  that  scared  his  infant  view) 

He  shunnM  the'fearf'il  shuddering  joy  of  war; 
Or  wake  to  fame  the  harp's  heroic  string.  ' 

"  His  are  the  strains,  whose  wandering  echoea  thrill 
The  shepherd,  lingering  on  the  twilight  hill. 
When  evening  brings  the  merry  folding  hours, 
And  sun-eyed  daisies  close  their  winking  Qowerfc. 
He  lived  o'er  Yarrow's  Flower  to  shed  the  tear. 
To  strew  the  holly  leaves  o'er  Harden',  bier  ; 

Saved  other  Dame*,  and  left  bw  own  unsung." 


NOTE  3E. 

Scotts  of  Esfcdale,  a  stalwart  band.  —  P.  28. 

In  this  and  the  following  stanzas,  some  an- 
count  is  given  of  the  inude  in  which  the  pro- 
perty in  the  valley  of  Esk  was  transferred 
from  the  Beattisons,  its  ancient  possessors,  to 
the  name  of  Scott.  It  is  needless  to  repeat  the 
circumstances,  which  are  riven  in  the  poem 
literally  a<  they  have  been  preserved  by  trndi- 
tinn.  Lord  Maxwell,  in  the  latter  pn rt,  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  took  upon  himself  the  title 
of  Earl  of  Morton.  The  descendants  of  Beat- 
tison  of  Woodkerrick,  who  aided  the  Earl  to 
escape  from  his  disobedient  vassals,  continued 
to  hold  these  lands  within  the  memory  of  HMD, 
and  were  the  only  Beattisons  who  had  property 
in  the  dale.  The  old  people  give  locality  to 
the  story,  by  showing  the  Galliard's  Hangh, 
the  place  where  Buccleuch's  men  were  con- 
cealed, &c. 


NOTE  3  F. 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellcnden.  —  P.  29. 

Bellenden  is  situated  near  the  head  of  Borth- 
wick  water,  and  being  in  the  centre  of  the 
possessions  of  the  Scotts.  was  frequently  used 
as  their  place  of  rendezvous  and  fathering 
word.  —  Survfy  of  Selkirkshire,  in  Martarlanf's 
MSS.,  Advocates'  Library  Hence  Salchells 
calls  one  part  of  his  genealogical  account  of 
the  families  of  that  clan,  his  Bellundeu. 


NOTE  3G. 

The  camp  their  home,  their  laio  the  sword. 
They  knew  no  country,  ount'd  no  lord.  —  P.  29. 

The  mercenary  adventurers  whom,  in  1380, 
the  Earl  of  Cambridge  carried  to  the  assistance 
of  the  King  of  Portugal  against  the  Spaniards, 
mutinied  for  want  of  regular  pay.  At  an  as- 
sembly of  their  leaders,  Sir  John  Soliier,  a 
natural  son  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  thus 
addressed  them  :  "•  1  connsayle,  let  us  be  alle 
of  one  alliance,  and  of  one  accorde,  and  let  us 
among  ourselves  reyse  up  the  banner  of  St. 
George,  and  let  us  be  frendes  to  God,  and  ene- 
myes  to  alle  the  worlde ;  for  without  we  make 
ourselfe  to  be  feared,  we  gete  nothynge.' 

"'By  my  fayth,"  quod  Sir  William  Helmon, 
'ye  saye  right  well,  and  so  let  us  do.'  They 
all  agreed  with  one  voyce,  and  so  regarded 
among  them  who  shulde  be  their  capitayne. 
Then  they  advysed  in  the  case  how  theycoude 
nat  have  a  better  capitayne  than  Sir  John  Sol- 
tier.  For  they  sulde  than  have  good  leyser  to 
do  yvel,  and  they  thought  he  was  more  metel- 
yer  thereto  than  any  other.  Then  they  raised 
up  the  penon  of  St.'George,  and  cried,  'A  Sol- 
tier  !  a  Soltier !  the  valyaunt  bastarde !  freudes 
to  God,  and  enemies  to  all  the  worlde!'"  — 
Froissart,  vol.  i.  cli.  393. 


NOTE  3H. 

That  he  may  suffer  march- treason  pain.  —  P.  30. 

Several  species  of  offences,  peculiar  to  the 
Border,  constituted  what  was  called  march- 
treason.  Among  others,  was  the  crime  of 
riding,  or  causing  to  ride,  against  the  opposite 
country  during  the  time  of  iruce.  Thus  in  an 
indenture  made  at  the  water  of  Eske,  beside 
Snlom.  on  the  25th  day  of  March.  1331.  betwixt 
noble  lords  and  miehty.  Sirs  Henry  Percy,  Earl 
of  Northumberland,  and  Archibald  Douglas, 
Lord  of  Galloway,  a  truce  is  agreed  upon  until 
the  1st  day  of  July:  and  it  is  expressly  ac- 
corded. "  Gif  ony  stellis  authir  on  the  ta  part, 
or  on  the  tothyr,  that  he  shall  be  hanget  or 
heofdit;  and  gif  ony  company  stellis  any  gudes 
within  the  trieux  beforesayd,  ane  of  that  com- 
pany sail  be  hanget  or  heofdit.  and  the  rem- 
nant sail  restore  the  gudys  stolen  in  the  dub- 
ble."-  History  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland, 
Introd.  p.  xxxix. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


NOTE  3  I. 

Will  cleanse  him.  by  oath,  of  march-treason 

stain.  —  P.  30 

In  dubious  cases,  the  innocence  of  Border 
criminals  was  occasionally  referred  to  their 
own  oath.  The  form  of  excusing  lulls,  or  in- 
dictments, by  Border-oath,  ran  thus:  "You 
shall  swear  by  heaven  above  you,  hell  beneath 
you,  by  your  part  of  Paradise,  by  all  that  God 
made  in  six  days  and  seven  night*,  and  by  God 
himself,  you  are  whart  out  saokless  of  art, 
part,  way,  witting,  ridd,  kenning,  having,  or 
recetting  of  any  of  the  poods  and  catties 
named  in  this  bill.  So  help  you  God." — His- 
tory of  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  rxv. 


NOTE  3  K. 

Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword.  —  P.  30. 

The  dignity  of  knighthood,  according  to  the 
original  institution,  had  this  peculiarity,  that 
it  did  not  flow  from  the  monarch,  but  could  be 
conferred  by  one  who  himself  possessed  it, 
upon  any  squire  who,  after  due  probation,  was 
found  to  merit  the  honour  of  chivalry.  Lat- 
terly, this  power  was  confined  to  generals,  who 
were  wont  to  create  knights  bannerets  after  or 
before  an  engagement  Even  so  late  ns  the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Essex  highly  offend- 
ed his  jealous  sovereign  by  the  indiscriminate 
exertion  of  this  privilege.  Among  others,  he 
knighted  the  witty  Sir  John  Harrington,  whose 
favour  at  court  was  by  no  means  enhanced  by 
his  new  honours. — See  the  Nuga  Antique. 
edited  by  Mr.  Park  Hut  probably  the  latest 
instance  of  knighthood,  conferred  by  a  subject, 
was  in  the  rase  of  Thomas  Ker.  knighted  by 
the  Earl  of  Huntly.afler  the  defeat  of  the  Earl 
of  Argyle  in  the  battle  of  Belrinnes  The  fact 
is  attested,  both  by  a  poetical  and  prose  ac- 
count of  the  engagement,  contained  in  an 
ancient  MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  and 
edited  by  Mr.  Dal  veil,  in  Godly  Songs  and  Bal- 
lets, Edin.  1802. 


NOTE  3L. 

When  English  blood  saell'd  Ancram's  ford.  — 

P.  30. 

The  battle  of  Ancram  Moor,  or  Penielheuch 
was  fought  A.  D.  1545.  The  English,  com- 
manded by  Sir  Ralph  Evers,  and  Sir  Brian 
Latoun,  were  totally  routed,  and  both  their 
leaders  slam  in  the  action  The  Scottish  army 
was  commanded  by  Archibald  Douglas.  Earl 
of  Angus,  assisted  by  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch 
and  Norman  Lesley. 


NOTE  3  M. 

For  who,  infield  or  foray  stack. 
Sate  the  blanche  lion  e'er. fall  back?— P.  31 
This  was  the  cognizance  of  the  noble  house 
of  Howard  in  all  its  branches.    The  crest,  or 
bearing,  of  a  warrior,  was  often  used  as  a 


nommr  ilf  iflierre.  Thus  Richard  III.  acquired 
his  well-known  epithet,  The  Bnar  of  Yurk. 
lu  the  violent  satire  on  Cardinal  Wolsey,  writ- 
ten by  Roy,  cnmniouiy.  but  erroneously,  im- 
puted to  Dr.  Bull,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  is 
called  the  Beautiful  Swan,  and  the  fluke  of 
Norfolk,  or  Earl  ol"  Surrey,  the  White  Lion. 
As  the  book  is  extremely  rare,  and  the  whole 
passage  relates  to  the  emblematical  interpre- 
tation of  heraldry,  it  shall  be  here  given  at 
length. 

*  TA*  Description  of  tJit  Armet. 
"  Of  the  proud  Cardinal  thi.  ,.  the  .tielde. 
The  MX  hloiidy  axes  in  a  onre  felde, 

Which  halh  derotired'th.-  R-autilul'swin, 
Mortal  enemy  unto  the  Whyte  Liou, 

The  six  hullo  heilde*  in  a  ft- Me  l.lacke, 

Wherefore,  ibe  eodly  lyeht  to  put  abaeke, 
He  bryi:2eih  in  his  dyvh.h  darcnesa  ; 
The  bamtae.  in  the  middi-*  doth  expreftse 

Onawynee  with  hi*  teth  a  kmtes  erowne. 

The  gloublw?  nirnifieth  rUyne  hi*  tiranny, 

HoTered  over  with  a  Cardinall-s  halt. 

Wherein  shall  be  fulfilled  the  prophecy, 

Aryiie  up.  Jacke,  and  vut  on  thy  «;,latt. 

For  the  tyme  in  coin-  of  !  aggr  ai.d  wilatt. 

The  temporal!  cheYalry  thus  thrown  dounp, 

Wherelor,  prent,  take  hede,  and  beware  thy  erowne." 

There  were  two  copies  of  this  very  scarce 
satire  in  the  library  of  the  late  John,  Duke  of 
Koxburghe.  See  an  account  of  it  also  in  Sir 
Egerttm  Brydges'  curious  miscellany,  the 
Centura  Lileraria. 


NOTE  3  N. 

Jjtl  Musyravt  meet  fierce  Deloraine 
In  sinyle  fight. P.  31. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed,  that  trial  by  single 
Combat,  so  peculiar  to  the  feudal  system,  was 
common  on  the  Borders  In  1558,  the  well- 
known  Kirkaldy  of  Grange  fought  a  duel  with 
Ralph  Evre,  brother  to  the  then  Lord  Evre.  in 
consequence  of  a  dispute  about  a  prisoner 
said  to  have  been  ill  treated  by  the  Lord  Evre 
Pitscottie  gives  the  following  account  of  the 
affair:  —  "The  Lord  of  Ivers  his  brother  pro- 
voked William  Kircaldy  of  Grange  to  fight 
with  him.  in  singular  combat,  on  horseback, 
with  spears;  who,  keeping  the  appointment, 
accompanied  with  Monsieurd'Ossel. lieutenant 
to  the  French  King,  and  the  garrison  of  Hay- 
mouth,  and  Mr.  Ivers,  accompanied  with  the 
governor  and  garrison  of  Berwick,  it  was  dis- 
charged, under  the  pain  of  treason,  that  any 
man  should  come  near  the  champions  within 
a  flight-shot,  except  one  man  for  either  of 
them,  to  bear  their  spears,  two  trumpets,  and 
two  lords  to  be  judges.  When  they  wer«  in 
readiness,  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  heranUls 
cried,  and  the  judges,  let  them  go.  They  then 
encountered  very  fiercely  ;  but  Grange  struck 
his  spear  through  his  adversary's  shoulder,  and 
hare  him  off  his  horse,  being  sore  wounded  : 
But  whether  he  died,  or  not,  it  is  uncertain." — 
P.  ya. 

The  following  indenture  will  show  at  how 
late  a  period  the  trial  by  combat  was  resorted 


LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


65 


to  on  the  Border,  as  a  proof  of  guilt  or  inno- 
cence : — 

"  It  is  agreed  between  Thomas  Musgrave 
and  Launcelot  rarleton.  for  Ihe  true  trial  of 
such  controversies  as  are  betwixt  them,  to 
have  it  openly  tried  by  way  of  combat,  before 
God  anil  the  face  of  the  world,  to  try  it  in  Ca- 
mmbyhnline,  before  England  and  Scotland, 
upon  Thursday  in  Easter-week,  being  the 
eighth  day  of  April  next  ensuing,  A.  D.  1602, 
betwixt  nine  of  the  clock,  and  one  of  the  same 
day,  to  fight  on  foot,  to  be  armed  with  jack, 
steel  cap,  plaite  sleeves,  plaite  breaches,  plaite 
sockes,  two  basleaid  swords,  the  blades  to  be 
one  yard  and  half  a  quarter  in  length,  two 
Scotch  daggers,  or  dorks,  at  their  girdles,  and 
either  of  them  to  provide  armour  and  weapons 
for  themselves,  according  to  this  indenture. 
Two  gentlemen  to  be  appointed,  on  the  field, 
to  view  both  the  parties,  to  see  that  they  both 
be  equal  in  arms  and  weapons,  according  to 
this  indenture ;  and  being  so  viewed  by  the 
gentlemen,  the  gentlemen  to  ride  to  the  rest 
of  the  company,  and  to  leave  them  but  two 
boys,  viewed  by  the  gentlemen,  to  l)e  under 
sixteen  years  of  age,  to  hold  their  horses.  In 
testimony  of  this  our  agreement,  we  have  both 
set  our  hands  to  this  indenture,  of  intent  all 
matters  shall  be  made  so  plain,  as  there  shall 
be  no  question  to  stick  upon  that  day.  Which 
indenture,  as  a  witness,  shall  be  delivered  to 
two  gentlemen  And  for  that  it  is  convenient 
the  world  should  be  privy  to  every  particular 
of  the  grounds  of  the  quarrel,  we  have  agreed 
to  set  it  down  in  this  indenture  betwixt  us. 
that,  knowing  the  quarrel,  their  eyes  may  be 
witness  of  the  trial. 

THB  GROUNDS  OF  THE  QUARREL. 

"  1.  Lancelot  Carleton  did  charge  Thomas 
Musgrave  before  the  Lords  of  her  Majesty's 
Privy  Council,  that  Lancelot  Carleton  was  told 
by  a  gentleman,  one  of  her  Majesty's  sworn 
servants,  that  Thomas  Musgrave  had  offered 
to  deliver  her  Majesty's  Castle  of  Bewcastle 
to  the  King  of  Scots :  and  to  witness  the  same. 
Lancelot  Carleton  had  a  letter  under  the  gen- 
tleman's own  hand  for  his  discharge. 

'•2.  He  chargeth  him,  that  whereas  her  Ma- 
jesty doth  yearly  bestow  a  great  fee  upon  him, 
as  captain  of  Bewcastle,  to  aid  and  defend  her 
Majesty's  subjects  therein:  Thomas  Musgrave 
hath  neglected  his  duty,  for  that  her  Majesty's 
Castle  of  Bewcastle  was  by  him  made  a  den 
of  thieves,  and  an  harbour  anil  receipt  for 
murderers,  felons,  and  all  sorts  of  misdemean- 
ors. The  precedent  was  Quinlin  Whitehead 
and  Runion  Black burne. 

"  3.  He  chargeth  him.  that  his  office  of  Bew- 
castle is  open  for  the  Scotch  to  ride  in  and 
through,  and  small  resistance  made  by  him  to 
the  country. 

'•Thomas  Musgrave  doth  deny  all  this 
charge :  and  saith  that  he  will  prove  that 
Lancelot  Carleton  doth  falsely  bely  him.  and 
will  prove  the  same  by  way  of  combat,  ac- 
cording to  this  indenture.  Lancelot  Carleton 
hath  entertained  the  challenge;  and  so.  by 
God's  permission,  will  prove  it.  true  as  before, 
and  hath  set  his  hand  to  the  same. 

(Signed)          "  THOMAS  MUSGRAVE. 

"LANCELOT  CARLETON." 


NOTE  3  0. 

He,  the  jovial  harper.  —  P.  31. 

The  person  here  alluded  to.  is  one  of  our 
ancient  Border  minstrels,  called  Rattling  Roar- 
ing Willie.  This  soiibriqutt  was  probably  de- 
rived from  his  bullying  disposition;  being.it 
would  seem,  such  a  roaring  boy,  as  is  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  old  plays.  While  drink- 
ing at  Newmill.  upon  Teviot.  about  five  miles 
above  Hawick,  Willie  chanced  to  quarrel  with 
one  of  his  own  profession,  who  was  usually 
distinguished  by  the  odd  name  of  Sweet  Milk, 
from  a  place  on  Rule  Water  so  called.  They 
retired  to  a  meadow  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Teviot,  to  decide  the  contest  with  their 
swords,  and  Sweet  Milk  was  killed  on  the 
spot.  A  thorn-tree  marks  the  scene  of  the 
murder,  which  is  still  called  Sweet  Milk 
Thorn.  Willie  was  taken  and  executed  at 
Jedburgh.  bequeathing  his  name  to  the  beau- 
tiful Scotch  air,  called  "Rattling  Roaring 
Willie."  Ramsay,  who  set  no  value  on  tradi- 
tionary lore,  published  a  few  verses  of  this 
song  in  the  Tea-Table  Miscellany,  carefully 
suppressing  all  which  had  any  connexion  with 
the  history  of  the  author  and  origin  of  the 
piece.  In  this  case,  however,  honest  Allan  is 
in  some  degree  justified,  by  the  extreme 
worthlessness  of  the  poetry.  A  verse  or  two 
may  be  taken,  as  illustrative  of  the  history  of 
Roaring  Willie,  alluded  to  in  the  text : — 

"How  Willie's  gane  to  Jeddart, 

And  he's  for  the  rood-day  ;  1 
But  Stobs  anil  young  FaliiHsh  3 

They  fulinw'il  him  a'  Ihe  way; 
They  followM  him  a'  Ihe  way. 

They  sought  him  up  and  down, 
In  Ihe  links  of  Ousenam  water 

Tliey  fund  him  .leepiug  sound. 
"  Stobi  light  aff  hi.  horse. 

And  never  a  word  he  spak» 
Till  he  tied  Willie'.  band. 

Fu'  fast  behind  his  back; 
Fu'  fast  behind  his  back. 

And  down  In-nealh  hia  knee, 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk  S  gar»  him  dii. 
"  Ah  wae  light  on  ye,  Slobs ! 

An  ill  death  mot  ye  die  ; 

-  laid  hands  on  me; 


Tha 


nd  ha 


And  look  my  I 
Wae  to  you.  Sir  Gilbert  Klliot ! 

»  The  la-oe.  of  Ousenam  water 

Are  rugging  and  riving  their  hair. 
And  a'  for  Ihe  sake  of  Willie, 

His  beauty  wa.no  fair: 
Hi!  beauty  was  so  fair. 

And  comely  for  to  see. 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk  gars  him  die." 


NOTE  3  P. 

He  knew  each  ordinance  aid  clause 
Of  Bl^ick  Lord  Archibald's  battte-laws, 
In  the  Old  Douglas'  day.— P.  31. 

The  title  to  the  most  ancient  collection  of 
Border  regulations  runs  thus:— "Be  it   re- 


1  The  day  of  the  Rood-fai 

1  Sir  Gilbert  Kll.ot  of  Slo 
8  A  wretrhed  pun  on  hi*  i 


at  Jedlmrgh. 
s.  and  Scott  of  Falnaah. 


66 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 


membered,  that,  on  the  ISUi  day  of  December 
]468,  Earl  William  Douy/oa  assembled  the 
whole  lords,  freeholders,  ami  eldest  Borderers, 
that  best  knowledge  hud.  at  the  college  of 
Lmcloudtn;  and  there  UK  caused  ti)ese  lords 
and  Borderers  bodily  to  be  sworn,  the  Holy 
Gospel  touched,  that  they,  justly  and  truly, 
after  their  cunning,  Should  decrete,  decern, 
deliver,  ami  put  m  order  ami  writing,  the  sta- 
tutes, ordinances,  mid  uses  of  man-he,  that 
were  ordained  in  Block  Archibald  of  Douglas's 
days,  and  Archibald  his  son's  days,  in  time  of 
warfare  :  and  they  came  asain  to  him  advisedly 
with  these  statutes  and  ordinances,  which 
were  iu  time  of  warfare  before.  The  said  Karl 
William,  seeing  the  statutes  in  writing  decreed 
and  delivered  by  the  said  lords  and  Borderers, 
thought  them  right  speedful  and  profitable  to 
the  Borders ;  the  which  statutes,  ordinances, 
and  points  of  warfare,  he  took,  and  the  whole 
lords  and  Borderers  he  caused  bodily  to  he 
sworn,  that  they  should  maintain  and  supply 
him  at  their  Kcxnlly  power,  to  do  the  law  upon 
those  that  should  break  the  statutes  under- 
written Also,  the  said  £arl  William,  and 
lords,  and  eldest  Borderers,  made  certain 
points  to  be  treason  m  tune  of  warfare  to  be 
used,  which  were  no  treason  before  his  time, 
but  to  be  treason  in  tus  lime,  and  in  all  time 
coming." 


NOTE  3Q. 

The  Bloody  Heart  Mazed  in  the  van, 
Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name.  —  P.  32. 
The  chief  of  this  potent  race  of  heroes,  about 
the  date  of  the  poem,  was  Archibald  Douglas, 
seventh  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man  of  great  courage 
and  activity.    The  Bloody  Heart  was  the  well- 
known  cognizance  of  the  House  of  Douglas, 
assumed  from  the  time  of  good  Lord  James,  to 
whose  care  Robert  Bruce  committed  his  heart, 
to  be  carried  to  the  Holy  Laud. 


NOTE  3R. 

And  Swinton  laid  his  lance  in  rest. 
That  tamal  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 
Of  Clarence's  Plantaaenet.  —  P.  32. 
At  the  battle  of  Beange,  in  l-'rance,  Thomas, 
Duke  of  Clarence,  brother  to  Henry  V.,  was 
unhorsed  by  Sir  John  Swinton  of  Swinton,  who 
distinguished  him  by  a  coronet  set  with  pre- 
cious stones,  which  he  wore  around  his  helmet 
The   family  of  Swinton  is  one  of  the  most 
ancient  in  Scotland,  and  produced  many  cele- 
brated warriors.* 


NOTE  3  S. 

And  shouting  still,  A  Home !  A  Hnrne .'— P.  33 
The  Earls  of  Home,  as  descendants  of  the 
Dnnban. ancient  Kails  of  March. carried  a  lion 
rampant,  argent;  but.  as  a  difference,  changed 
the  colour  of  the  shield  from  gules  to  vert,  in 
allusion  to  Greenlaw,  their  ancient  possession. 


The  slogan,  or  war  cry,  of  this  powerfnl  family, 
wns.  "A  Home!  a  Home!"  It  was  anciently 
placed  in  an  t-scrol  above  the  crest.  The  hei- 
is  armed  with  a  lion's  head  erased  gales, 
with  a  cap  of  state  gules,  turned  up  ermine. 

The  Hepburns,  a  powerful  family  m  Kast 
Lothian,  were  usually  m  cluse  alliance  with 
he  Homes.  The  chief  of  this  clan  was  Hep- 
jum.  Lord  of  Hailes:  a  family  which  termi- 
nated iu  the  too  famous  Karl  of  BothwelL 


NOTE  3T. 

And  tome,  vrith  many  a  merry  shout, 
In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout, 

Pursued  the  fool-bait  play.  —  P.  33. 
The  foot-ball  was  anciently  a  very  favourite 
port  all  through  Scotland,  but  especially  upon 
tiie  Borders.  Sir  John  Carnnchael  of  Carmi- 
ihael,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches,  was 
tilled  in  16(10  by  a  band  of  the  Armstrongs, 
returning  from  a  loot-hall  match.  Sir  Robert 
Sarey,  iu  his  Memoirs,  mentions  a  great  meet- 
ing, appointed  by  the  Scutch  riders  to  be  held 
at  Kelso  for  the  purpose  of  playing  at  foot-bull, 
:iut  which  terminated  in  an  incursion  upon 
England.  At  present,  the  foot-hall  is  often 
played  by  the  inhabitants  of  adjacent  parishes, 
or  of  tiie  opposite  banks  of  a  stream.  The 
victory  is  contested  with  the  utmost  fury,  and 
very  serious  accidents  have  sometimes  taken 
place  in  the  struggle. 


NOTE  3U. 

'Twixt  truce  and  war,  svch  sudden  change 
Wan  not  infreqnetil ,  nor  held  slrntiye, 
In  the  old  Border  day.  —  P.  33. 

Notwithstanding  the  constant  wars  upon  the 
Borders,  and  the  occasional  cruelties  winch 
marked  the  mutual  inroads,  the  inhabitants 
on  either  side  do  not  appear  to  have  regarded 
each  other  with  that  violent  and  personal  ani- 
mosity which  might  have  been  expected.  On 
the  contrary,  like  the  outposts  of  hostile  armies, 
they  often  carried  on  something  resembling 
friendly  intercourse,  even  iu  the  middle  of  hos- 
tilities"; and  it  is  evident,  from  various  ordi- 
nances against  trade  and  intermarriages,  be- 
tween English  and  Scottish  Borderers,  that  the 
governments  of  both  countries  were  jealous 
of  their  cherishing  too  intimate  a  connexion. 
Froissart  says  of  both  nations,  that  "  Kngiysh- 
nien  on  the  one  party,  and  Scottes  on  the  othtr 
party,  are  good  men  of  warre ;  for  when  they 
meet,  there  is  a  harde  fight  without  sparyupe. 
There  is  110  !KK>  [truce]  between  them,  as  luijg 
as  spears,  swords,  axes,  or  daggers  wnl  enduie. 
but  lay  on  eche  upon  uther;  and  whan  they 
be  well  !>eaten,  and  that  the  one  party  h;.th 
obtained  the  victory,  they  then  glorilye  so  m 
theyre  dedes  of  armies,  and  are  so  joy  lull,  1 1. at 
such  as  he  taken  they  shall  tut  ransomed,  or 
that  they  go  out  of  the  felde  ;  so  that  shortly 
eche  of  them  is  so  content  with  other,  that,  at 
their  departynge,  curtyslye  they  will  :-ay,  UK! 
thank  you." — Eerners's  t'roissart.  vol.  11.  p.  153. 
The  Border  maetinits  of  truce,  which.aJthough 
places  of  merchandise  and  merriment,  often 
witnessed  the  most  bloody  seem s,  may  serve 


LAY  OF   THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


67 


to  illustrate  the  description  in  the  text.  They 
are  vividly  portrayed  in  the  old  ballad  of  the 
Reidsquafr.  [See  .Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p  15.] 
Both  parties  came  armed  U>  a  meeting  of  the 
wardens,  yer  they  InlerDiiled  fearlessly  and 
peaceal)ly  with  each  oilier  m  mutual  sports 
and  familiar  intercourse,  until  a  casual  fray 
arose :  — 


In  the  29th  stanza  of  this  canto,  there  is  an 
attempt  to  express  some  of  the  mixed  feelings 
with  which  the  Borderers  on  each  side  were 
led  to  regard  their  neighbours. 


NOTE  3V. 


on  the  ilarkf  nitty  plain, 


Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  run, 

3  bands,  their  s/rayy/ers  to  rtgnin, 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan.—  P.  33 

Patten  remarks,  with  hitter  censure,  the  dis- 
orderly conduct  of  the  English  Borderers,  who 
attended  the  Protector  Somerset  on  his  expe- 
dition against  Scotland.  "As  we  wear  then  a 
selling,  and  the  tents  a  setting  up.  among;  all 
tilings  els  commendable  in  our  hole  journey, 
one  thing:  seemed  to  me  an  iutollerable  disor- 
der and  abuse:  that  whereas  always,  both  in 
all  tonnes  of  war,  and  in  all  campes  of  armies, 
quietness  and  stilnes,  without  nois,  is,  princi- 
pally in  the  night,  after  the  watcli  is  set,  ob- 
served, (I  need  not  reason  why.)  our  northern 
prikers,  the  Borderers,  notwit'hstandyng,  with 
great  enormitie,  (as  thought  me.)  and  nol 
Unlike  (to  be  playn)  unto  a  masteries  hounde 
howlyng  in  a  hie  way  when  he  hath  lost  him 
he  waited  upon,  sum  hoopynge.sumwhistlyng, 
and  most  wiih  crying.  A  Berwyke,  a  Berwyke  ! 
A  Fenwyke,  a  Fenwyke  !  A  Buhner,  a  Bulmer  ! 
or  so  ootherwise  as  theyr  captains  names  wear, 
never  lin'de  these  troublous  and  dangerous 
noyses  all  the  nyghte  louse.  They  said,  they 
did  it  to  find  their  captain  and  fellows  ;  but  if 
the  souldiers  of  our  oother  counireys  and 
sheres  had  used  the  same  maner,  in  that  case 
we  should  have  oft  times  had  the  state  of  our 
campe  more  like  the  outrage  of  a  dissolute 
hiintyng,  than  the  quiet  of  a  well  ordered 
armye.  It  is  a  feat  of  war,  in  mine  opinion, 
that  might  right  well  be  left.  I  could  reherse 
causes  (but  yf  I  take  it,  they  are  better  un- 
spoken than  uttred,  unless  the  faut  were  sure 
to  be  amended)  that  might  shew  thei  move 
alweis  more  peral  to  our  armie,  but  in  their 
one  nyght's  so  doynge,  than  they  shew  good 
service  (as  some  sey)  in  a  hooie  vyage."  —  Apud 
Dalzeil's  Fragments,  p.  75. 


NOTE  3  W. 

To  see  how  thott  the  chnse  conhfsl  wind, 
Cheer  the.  dark  blood-hintnd  on  his  way. 
And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray.  —  P.  36 
The  pursuit  of  Border  marauders  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  injured  |«irty  and  his  friends  with 
blood-hounds  and  bugle-horn,  and  was  called 
the  hot-trod.    He  was  entitled,  if  his  dog  could 
trace  the  scent,  to  follow  the  invaders  into  the 


opposite  kingdom;  a  privilege  which  often 
occasioned  bloodshed.  In  addition  lo  what 
has  been  said  of  the  blood-hound.  I  may  add. 
that  the  breed  was  kept  up  by  the  Burcleiich 
family  on  their  Border  estates  till  within  the 
18th  century.  A  person  was  alive  in  the  me- 
mory of  man.  who  remembered  a  blood-hound 
being  kept  at  Eldmhope.  in  Ettrick  Forest,  for 
whose  maintenance  the  tenant  had  an  allow- 
ance of  meal.  At  that  time  the  sheep  were 
always  watched  at  night.  Upon  one  occasion, 
when  the  duty  had  fallen  nn  the  narrator,  then 
a  lad.  h«  became  exhausted  with  fatigue,  and 
fell  asleep  upon  a  bank,  near  sun-rirjng.  Sud- 
denly he  was  awakened  by  the  tread  of  horses, 
and  saw  five  men,  well  mounted  and  armed, 
ride  briskly  over  the  edge  of  the  hill  They 
stopped  and  looked  at  the  flock :  hut  the  day 
was  too  far  broken  to  admit  tin:  chance  of  their 
carrying  any  of  them  off  One  of  them,  in 
spite,  'eaped  from  his  horse,  and  coming  to  the 
shephord,  seized  him  by  the  belt  he  wore  round 
his  waist ;  and,  setting  his  foot  upon  his  body, 
ulled  it  till  it  broke,  and  carried  it  away  with 
,im.  They  rode  off  at  the  gallop;  and,  the 
shepherd  giving  the  alarm,  the  blood-hound 
was  turned  loose,  and  the  people  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood alarmed.  The  marauders,  however, 
escaped,  notwithstanding  a  sharp  pursuit.  This 
circumstance  serves  to  show  how  very  long 
the  license  of  the  Borders  continued  iu  some 
degree  to  manifest  itself. 


NOTE  3X. 

She  wrought,  nol  by  forbidden  spell.  —  P.  37. 

Popular  belief,  though  contrary  to  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Church,  made  a  favourable  dis- 
tinction betwixt  magicians  and  necromancers, 
or  wiTards ;  the  former  were  supposed  to  com- 
mand the  evil  spirits,  and  the  latter  to  serve, 
or  at  least  to  be  in  league  and  compact  with, 
these  enemies  of  mankind.  The  arts  of  sub- 
jecting I  he  demons  were  manifold  ;  sometimes 
the  Mends  were  actually  swindled  by  the  ma- 
gicians, as  in  the  case  of  the  bargain  betwixt 
one  of  their  number  and  the  poet  Virgil.  The 
classical  reader  will  doubtless  be  curious  to 
peruse  this  anecdote  :  — 

.••  Virgilius  was  at  scole  at  Tolenton,  where 
he  studyed  dylygently,  for  he  was  of  great 
understandynge.  Upon  a  tyme,  the  scolers 
had  lycense  to  go  to  play  and  sprote  them  in 
the  fyldes.  after  the  usance  of  the  old  tyme. 
And  "there  was  also  Virgihus  tberbye,  also 
walkynge  among  the  hylles  alle  about.  It 
fortuned  he  spyed  a  great  hole  in  the  syde  of  a 
great  hyll,  wherein  he  went  so  depe,  that  he 
culd  not  see  no  more  lyght ;  and  than  he  went 
a  lytell  farther  therein,  and  than  he  saw  some 
lyght  egaygne,  and  than  he  went  fourth 
streyghte.  and  wiihm  a  lytell  wvle  after  he 
liarde  a  voyce  that  called  'Virgilius!  Virgi- 
lius!' and  looked  aboute,  and  he  cold e  nat  see 
no  body.  Than  sayd  he,  (i.  e.  the  voice.)  •  Vir- 
gilius, see  ye  not  the  lytyll  horde  lying  besyde 
you  tliere  marked  witii  that  word?'  Than 
answered  Virgilius.  '  I  see  that  borde  well 
atiough.'  The  vo;ce  said,  'Doo  awaye  that 
borde,  and  lette  me  out  there  atte.'  Than 
answered  Virfiiins  to  the  voice  that  was  under 
the  lytell  borde,  and  sayd, '  Who  art  thou  that 


68 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


callest  me  so?'  Than  answered  the  devyll, 
'  1  am  a  devyll  conjured  out  of  the  bodye  of  a 
certeyne  ni»n,  and  haii.vsshed  here  tyll  the  day 
of  judgment,  without  i.iiat.  I  he  del'yvered  by 
the  handes  of  men.  Thus,  Virgilius,  I  pray 
the.  delyver  me  out  of  this  payn.  and  I  shall 
shewe  unto  the  many  bokes  of  uegromancye, 
and  how  thou  shall  come  by  it  iyghtly,  and 
know  the  practyse  therein,  that  no  man  in  ihe 
scyence  of  negromancye  shall  passe  the.  And 
moreover,  I  shall  shewe  and  enforme  the  so, 
that  thou  shajt  have  alle  thy  desyre,  whereby 
niethinke  it  is  a  great  gyfte  for  so  lytyll  a 
doyusf.  I-'or  ye  may  also  thus  all  your  power 
frendys  helpe.and  make  ryche  youreneiiiyes.' 
Thorough  that  great  promyse  was  Virgilius 
tempted:  he  hadde  the  fynd  show  the  bokes 
to  liym,  that  he  might  have  and  occupy  them 
at  his  wyll ;  and  so  the  fynde  shewed  him. 
And  than  Virs,'ilius  pulled  open  a  horde,  and 
there  was  a  lylell  hole,  and  thereat  wrang  the 


appears  from  the  statutes  of  the  order  DM 
Saint  Esprit  au  druit  desir.  instituted  in  Io52. 
A  chapter  of  the  knights  is  appointed  to  be 
held  annually  at  the  Castle  of  the  Enchanted 
Egg,  near  the  grotto  of  Virgil.  —  Monttaucon, 
vol.  11.  p.  329. 


NOTE  3Y. 

A  merlin  sat  upon  hrr  wrist. 

Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  twist.  —  P.  37. 

A  merlin,  or  sparrow-hawk,  was  actually 
carried  by  ladies  of  n«nk,  as  a  falcon  was,  in 
time  of  peace,  the  constant  attendant  of  a 
knight  or  baron.  See  Latham  on  Falconry. — 
Godscroft  relaies,  that  when  Mary  of  Lorraine 
was  regent,  she  pressed  the  Earl  of  Angus  to 
admit  a  royal  garrison  into  his  Castle  of  Tan- 
tallon.  To  this  he  returned  no  direct  answer; 


devyll  out  like  a  yell,  and  cam  and  stode  before  j  but,  as  if  apostrophizing  a  goss-hawk,  which 
Virgiiius  lyke  a  bygge  man;  whereof  Virgilius    sat  on  his  wrist,  and  which  he  was  feeding 

during  the  Queen's  speech,  he  exclaimed, 
"The  devil's  in  this  greedy  glede,  she  will 
never  be  full."  —  Hume's  History  of  the  House 
of  Douglas,  1743,  vol.  ii.  p.  131.  Barclay  com- 
plains of  the  common  and  indecent  practice 
of  bringing  hawks  and  hounds  into  churches. 


was  astomed  and  marveyled  greatly  thereof, 
that  so  great  a  man  myght  come  out  at  so 
lytyll  a  hole.  Than  sayd  Virgiiius,  '  Shulde 
ye  well  passe  into  the  hole  that  ye  cam  out 
(.IT --Yea,  I  shall  well,' said  the  devyl.  — '1 
holde  the  best  plegge  that  I  have.  that,  ye  shall 
not  do  it.'  —  •  Well.'sayd  the  devyll. '"thereto 
I  consent."  And  than  the  devyll  wrange  him- 
selfe  into  the  lytyll  hole  agene  ;  and  as  he  was 
therein,  Virgilius  ky vered  the  hole  ageyne  with 
the  borde  close,  anil  so  was  the  devyll  begyled, 
and  myght  nat  there  come  out  apen,  but 
abydeth  shytte  styll  therein.  Than  called  the 
devyll  dredefully  to  Virgilius.  and  said,  '  What 
have  ye  done.  Virgilius  !' — Virgilius  answered, 
'Abyde  there  styll  to  your  day  appoynted  ;'  and 
fro  thens  forth  abydeth  he  there.  And  so  Vir- 
gilius became  very  counynge  in  the  practyse 
of  the  bhick  scyence  " 

This  story  may  remind  the  reader  of  the 
Arabian  tale  of  the  Fisherman  and  the  impri- 
soned Genie;  and  it  is  more  than  probable, 
that  many  of  the  marvels  narrated  in  the  life 
of  Virgil,  are  of  Oriental  extraction.  Among 
such  1  am  disposed  to  reckon  the  following 
whimsical  account  of  the  foundation  of  Naples, 
cimtamiiur  a  curious  theory  concerning  the 
origin  of  the  earthquakes  with  which  it  is 
afflicted.  Virgil,  who  was  a  person  of  gal- 
lantry, had,  it  seems,  carried  off  the  daughter 
of  a  certain  Soldan,  and  was  anxious  to  secure 
his  prize. 

'•  Than  he  thought  in  his  mynde  how  he 
myghte  maiye  hyr.  and  thought  m  his  mynde 
to  founde  in"  the  middes  of  the  see  a  fjiyer 
towne.  with  great  landes  belongynge  to  it; 
and  so  he  did  by  his  cunnyage.  and  called  it 
Napells.  And  the  fandaryon  of  it  was  of  egges. 


NOTE  3  Z. 

And  princely  peacock's  gilded  train. 

And  o'er  the  boar-head  varnished  brave.  —  P.  37. 

The  peacock,  it  is  well  known,  was  consi- 
dered.during  the  times  of  chivalry,  not  merely 
as  an  exquisite  delicacy,  but  as  a  dish  of  pecu- 
liar solemnity.  After  being  roasted,  it  was 
again  decorated  with  its  plumage,  and  a  sponge, 
dipped  in  lighted  spirits  of  wine,  was  placed 
in  its  bill.  When  it  was  introduced  on  days 
of  grand  festival,  it  was  the  signal  for  the  ad- 
venturous knights  to  take  upon  them  vows  to 
do  some  deed  of  chivalry,  "  before  the  peacock 
and  the  ladies." 

The  boar's  head  was  also  a  usual  dish  of 
feudal  splendour.  In  Scotland  it  was  some- 
times surrounded  with  little  banners,  display- 
ing the  colours  and  achievements  of  the  baron 
at  whose  board  it  was  served.  —  Pinkerton's 
History,  vol.  i.  p.  432, 


NOTE  4  A. 

Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  HunthiU.  —  P.  38. 
The  Rutherfords  of  Hunthill  were  an  ancient 
race  of  Border  Lairds,  whose  names  occur  in 


and  in  that  town  of  Napells  he  made  a  tower  •  history,  sometimes  as  defending  the  frontier 
with  lin  corners,  and  in  the  loppe  he  set  an  :  against  the  English,  sometimes  as  disturbing 
apell  upon  an  yron  yarde,  and  no  man  culde  j  the  peace  of  their  own  country.  Dickon  Draw- 
pull  away  lhat'apell  without  he  brake  it ;  and  ;  the-sword  was  son  to  the  ancient  warrior, 
thoroughe that yren  set  he  a  bolte, and  in  that 'called  in  tradition  the  Cock  of  Hunthill,  re- 
bolte  set  he  a  egge.  And  he  henge  the  apell  i  markable  for  leading  into  battle  nine  sons, 
by  the  stauke  upon  a  cheyne,  and  so  hangeth  i  gallant  warriors,  all  sons  of  the  aned  champion. 
it  still  And  when  the  egge  styrrelh,  so  shulde  i  Mr.  Rutherford,  late  of  New  York,  in  a  letter 
the  towne  of  Napells  quake  ;  and  whan  the  to  the  editor,  soon  after  these  songs  were  first 
essti  brake,  then  shulde  the  lowne  sinke.  published,  quoted,  when  upwards  of  eighty 
Whan  he  had  made  an  ende,  he  lette  call  it  years  old,  a  ballad  apparently  the  same  with 
Napells."  Tins  appears  to  have  been  an  article  the  Raid  of  the  Reidsquare,  but  which  appa- 
of  current  belief  during  the  middle  ages,  as'  rently  is  lost,  except  the  following  lines:  — 


LAY    OF   THE   LAST    MINSTREL. 


69 


NOTE  4  B. 

bit  his  glove.  —  P.  38. 

To  bite  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  seems  not 
to  have  been  considered,  upon  the  Border,  as 
a  gesture  of  contempt,  though  so  used  by 
Shakspeare,  but.  as  a  pledge  of  mortal  revenge. 
It  is  yet  remembered,  that  a  young  gentleman 
of  Teviotdale,  on  the  morning  after  a  hard 
drinking-bout,  observed  that  he  had  bitten  his 
glove.  He  instantly  demanded  of  his  compa- 
nion, with  whom  he  had  quarreled  ?  And, 
learning  that  he  had  had  words  with  one  of 
the  party,  insisted  on  instant  satisfaction,  as- 
serting, that  though  he  remembered  nothing 
of  the  dispute,  he  was  sure  he  never  would 
have  bit  his  glove  unless  he  had  received  some 
unpardonable  insult.  He  fell  in  the  duel, 
which  was  fought  near  Selkirk,  in  1721. 

NOTE  4  C. 

Since  old  Bucr.leur.h  the  name  did  gam, 
When  in  the  clench  the  buck  was  ta'en.  —P.  38. 
A  tradition  preserved  by  Scott  of  Satchells. 
who  published,  in  1688.  A  true  History  of  the 
Right  Honourable  name  of  Scott,  gives  the  fol- 
lowing romantic  origin  of  that  name.  Two 
brethren,  natives  of  Galloway,  having  been 
banished  from  that  country  for  a  riot  or  insur- 
rection, came  to  Rankleburn.in  Ettrick  Forest, 
where  the  keeper,  whose  name  was  Brydoue, 
received  them  joyfully,  on  account  of  their 
skill  in  winding  the  horn,  and  in  the  other 
mysteries  of  the  chase.  Kenneth  MacAlpin, 
then  King  of  Scotland, came  soon  after  to  hunt 
in  the  royal  forest,  and  pursued  a  buck  from 
Ettrick-heugh  to  the  glen  now  called  Buck- 
cleuch.  about  two  miles  above  the  junction  of 
Rankleburn  with  the  river  Ettrick.  Here  the 
stag  stood  at  bay ;  and  the  King  and  his  at- 
tendants, who  followed  on  horseback,  were 
thrown  out  by  the  steepness  of  the  hill  and  the 
morass.  John,  one  of  the  brethren  from  Gal- 
loway, had  f9llowed  the  chase  on  foot ;  and, 
now  corning  in,  seized  the  buck  by  the  horns, 
and,  being  a  man  of  great  strength  and  acti- 
vity, threw  him  on  his  back,  and  ran  with  his 
burden  about  a  mile  up  the  steep  hill,  to  a 
place  called  Cracni-Cross,  wnere  Kenneth  had 
halted,  and  laid  the  buck  at  the  sovereign's 
feet.i 


"  The  di'er  In-inc  cureed  ill  that  place. 

At  his  Majesiy's  demand, 
Tlivn  John  of  Oalloway  ran  apare, 

And  fetched  water  to  his  hand. 
The  Kintdtd  wa-ii  into  a  di»h, 

Ami  Galloway  John  he  wol ; 
Re  mid,  >  Thy  name  now  after  thil 

Shall  erer  be  called  John  Scoll. 

" '  The  forest  and  the  deer  therein, 
For  thou  ahalt  sure  the  ranger  be, 

And  for  the  buck  ihou  stoutly  brought 
To  us  up  that  sleep  heuch, 

Thy  designation  ever  shall 
Be  John  Scott  in  Buckscleuch.' 


The  Buccleuch  arms  have  been  altered,  and 
now  allude  less  pointedly  to  tliis  hunting, 
whether  real  or  fabulous  The  family  now 
bear  Or,  upon  a  bend  azure,  a  mullet  betwixt 
two  crescents  of  the  field  ;  in  addition  to 
which,  they  formerly  bore  in  the  field  a  hunt- 
ing-horn. The  supporters,  now  two  ladies, 
were  formerly  a  hound  and  buck,  or,  accord- 
ing to  the  old  terms,  a  hart  of  leash  and  a  hart 
of  greece.  The  family  of  Scott  of  Howpasley 
and  Thirlestaine  long  retained  the  bugle-horn  ; 
they  also  carried  a  bent  bow  and  arrow  in  the 
sinister  cantle,  perhaps  as  a  difference.  It  is 
said  the  motto  was  —  Best  riding  by  moonlight, 
in  allusion  to  the  crescents  on  the  shield,  and 
perhaps  to  the  habits  of  those  who  bore  it. 
The  motto  now  given  is  Amo,  applying  to  the 
female  supporters. 


NOTE  4  D. 

-old  Albert  Graeme, 

The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name.  — P.  38. 

"John  Graeme,  second  son  of  Malice,  Earl  of 
Monteith.  commonly  sirnamed  John  with  the 
Bright  Sword,  upon  some  displeasure  risen 
against  him  at  court,  retired  with  many  of  his 
clan  and  kindred  into  the  English  Borders,  in 
the  reign  of  King  Henry  I  he  Fourth,  where 
they  seated  themselves;  and  many  of  their 
posterity  have  continued  there  ever  since. 
Mr.  Sandford,  speaking  of  them,  says,  (which 
indeed  was  applicable  to  most  of  the  Borderers 


hall-lire  had  waxed  low,  i 


Tying  him  up  to  the  hall  on  hie  ohouldere, 
n  the  chimney  with  hit>  heels  upp*rmo§t :  a 


pools,  who  introduced  men  questioning  of  such  as  sail  by, 
on  all  coasts  alike,  whether  they  be  iheevea  or  not ;  ah  a 
thyng  m-yther  scorned  by  sucb  as  wrrr  asked,  nor  up- 
braided by  those  that  were  desirous  to  know.  They  also 

Greece  nseth  that  old  custome,  as  the  Lrjcrinns,  the  Hear- 


ships  became  thce 


this  day.  Moreover,  the  fashion  of  wearing  iron  remaineth 
yet  with  the  people  of  that  continent,  from  their  old  trad* 
of  thieTing."— Hobbes'  Tlmcydidct.  p.  4.  Lond. 


70 


APPENDIX   TO   THE 


on  both  sides.)  'The;1  were  all  stark  moss- 
troopers, ami  arrant  tnieves:  Both  to  Knzlnnd 
and  Scotland  outlawed  :  yet  sometimes  Con- 
nived at.  because  they  gave  mti'fl  gence  forth 
of  Scotland,  ami  wnu  I'd  "raise  400  horse  at  any 
time  upon  a  raid  of  the  English  into  Scotland 
A  savin?  is  recorded  of  a  mother  to  her  son. 
(which  is  now  become  proverbial.)  Ride.  Row- 
lei/,  htiuijh's  f  the  frit:  that  is.  the  last  piece  of 
beef  was  in  the  pot,  and  therefore  it  was  high 
time  for  him  to  so  and  fetch  more'"  —  Intro- 
duction lo  the  History  of  Cumbt-Hand 

The  residence  of  the  Grasmes  being  chiefly 
in  the  Hebateable  Land,  so  called  because  it 
was  claimed  by  both  kingdoms,  their  depreda- 
tions extended  both  to  England  and  Scotland, 
with  impunity;  for  as  both  wardens  accounted 
them  the  proper  subjects  of  their  own  prince, 
neither  inclined  to  demand  reparation  for  their 
excesses  from  the  op|K>site  officers,  which 
•would  have  been  an  acknowledgment  of  his 
jurisdiction  over  them  —See  a  Ion? correspond- 
ence on  this  subject  betwixt  Lord  Fiacre  and 
the  English  Privy  Council,  in  Introduction  to 
History  of  Cumbrrlnnd.  The  Dehateable  Land 
was  finally  divided  lietwixt  England  and  Scot- 
land, by  commissioners  appointed  by  both  na- 
tions. ' 


NOTE  4  E. 

The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall.  —  P.  38. 

This  burden  is  adopted,  with  some  alteration, 
from  an  old  Scottish  son?,  beginning  thus  :  — 

She  Van'd  her  back  againM  >  thorn. 
The  sun  nhiriPd  fair  on  Carlisle  wa* ; 

And  there  sh»-  has  her  young  babe  tiora, 
And  the  lyon  snail  be  lord  at  a'." 


NOTE  4  F. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame  ?  —  P.  38. 

The  gallant  and  unfortunate  Henry  Howard, 
Earl  of  Surrev.  was  unquestionably  the  most 
accomplished  "cavalier  of  his  time :  and  his 
sonnets  display  beauties  which  would  do  ho- 
nour to  a  more  polished  age.  He  was  beheaded 
on  Tower-hill  in  15-16:  a  victim  to  the  mean 
jealousy  of  Henry  VIH.,  wlio  could  not  bear 
so  brilliant  a  character  near  his  throne. 

The  sons  of  the  supposed  bard  is  founded  on 
an  incident  said  to  have  happened  to  the  Earl 
in  his  travels  Cornelius  Acrippa,  the  cele- 
brated alchemist,  showed  him,  in  a  looking- 
glass,  the  lovely  Geraldme.  to  whose  service 
he  had  devoted  his  pen  and  his  sword.  The 
vision  represented  her  as  indisposed,  and  re- 
cliningupon  a  conch. reading  her  lover's  verses 
by  the  light  of  a  waxen  taper. 


NOTE  4  G. 

Thf  slorm-sierpl  Orcades ; 

Where  trft  St.  Clairs  fifhl  princely  sway. 
O'er  isle  and  isl't,  strait  and  bay  —  P.  39. 

The  St.  CJnir=  are  of  Norman  ex'raction, 
being  descended  from  William  de  St.  ("lair, 
second  son  of  Wnldeme  Comtite  de  St.  Clair, 
and  Margaret,  daughter  to  Richard  Duke  of 
Tvormandy  He  was  called,  for  his  fair  deport- 
ment, the  Seemly  St  Clair:  and.  settling  in 
Scotland  during  the  reign  of  Malcolm  Cnen- 
more.  obtained  large  grants  of  land  in  Mid- 
Lothian.  —  These  domains  were  increased  by 
the  lihernhty  of  succeeding  monarchs  to  the 
descendants  of  the  family,  and  comprehended 
the  baronies  of  Rosline.  Pentland.  Cowsland. 
Cardaine.and  several  others  It  is  said  a  large 
addition  was  obtained  from  Kobert  Bruce,  on 
the  following  occasion  : — The  King,  in  follow- 
ing the  chase  upon  Pentland-hills,  had  often 
started  a  "white  faunch  deer,"  which  had 
always  escaped  from  his  hounds :  and  he  asked 
the  nobles,  who  were  assembled  around  him, 
whether  any  of  them  had  dogs,  which  they 
thought  might  be  more  successful.  Nocourtier 
would  affirm  that  his  hounds  were  fleeter  than 
thoss  of  the  king,  until  Sir  William  St  Clairof 
Rosline  unceremoniously  said,  he  would  wager 
his  head  that  his  two  favourite  dogs,  Help  and 
Hold,  would  kill  the  deer  before  she  could 
cross  the  March-burn.  The  King  instantly 
caught  at  his  unwary  offer,  and  betted  the 
forest  of  Pentland-moor  against  the  life  of  Sir 
William  St.  Clair.  All  the  hounds  were  tied 
up,  except  a  few  ratches.  or  slow-hounds,  to 
put  up  the  deer;  while  Sir  Wjlliiuii  St.  Clair, 
posting  himself  in  the  best  situation  for  slip- 
ping his  dogs,  prayed  devoutly  to  Christ,  the 
blessed  Virgin,  and  St.  Katherine.  The  deer 
was  shortly  after  roused,  and  the  hounds 
slipped;  Sir  William  following  on  a  gallant 
steed,  to  cheer  his  dogs.  The  hind,  however 
reached  the  middle  of  the  brook  :  upon  which 
the  hunter  threw  himself  from  his  horse  in 
despair.  At  this  critical  moment,  however, 
Hold  stopped  her  in  the  brook ;  and  Help, 
coming  up.  turned  her  back,  and  killed  her  on 
Sir  William's  side.  The  King  descended  from 
the  hill,  embraced  Sir  William,  and  liestowed 
on  him  the  lands  of  Kirkton,  Logan-house, 
Earncraig.  &c, ,  in  free  fbrestrie.  Sir  William, 
in  acknowledgment  of  St  Katherine's  inter- 
cession, built  the  chapel  of  St  Katherine  in 
the  Hopes,  the  churchyard  of  which  is  still  to 
be  seen  The  hill,  from  which  Robert  Bnice 
beheld  this  memorable  chase,  is  still  called  the 
King's  Hill ;  and  the  place  where  Sir  William 
hunted,  is  called  the  Knights  Field.?  —  MS. 
History  of  the  Family  of  St.  Clair,  by  Richard 
Aueustin  Hay.  Canon  of  St  Gtntritn 

Tins  adventurous  huntsman  married  Eliza- 
beth, daughter  of  Malice  Spar,  Earl  of  Orkney 
and  Stratherne,  in  whose  right  their  sou  Henry 


1  See  Tirloun  Doles  in  the  ML 

head  this  day.** 

*2  The  tomb  of  Sir  William  St.  Clair,  on  which  he  appear*  If  thU  couplet  do.-*  him  no  great  honour  am  a  poet,  the  con- 
arulptored  in  armour,  wi:h  aereyhotmd  at  h  *  feet,  >•  still  elusion  of  inr  story  does  him  •till  lew  credit  He  act  his 
10  be  seen  in  Roslirj  chapel.  The  penou  who  shows  it  fool  on  the  dig,  nays  the  narrator,  and  killed  him  on  the 

•osline's  frirht  mai'e  him  poetical,  and  that,  ill  tte  last    hope  it  is  only  founded  on  the  couchant  pwtura  of  the 


LAY   OF   THE   LAST   MINSTREL. 


71 


was,  in  1379,  created  Earl  of  Orkney,  hy  Haco. 
kins  of  Norway.  His  title,  wns  recognized  hy 
tlie  Kings  of  Scotland,  and  remained  with  his 
surr.-ssors  until  it  was  annexed  to  the  crown, 
in  1*71.  by  act  of  Parliament.  In  exchange 
for  this  earldom,  the  castle  and  domains  of 
Ravenscraig.  or  Ravensheach.  were  conferred 
on  William 'Saiutclair,  Earl  of  Caithness. 


NOTE  4  H. 

SHU  nods  their  palnce.  to  its  f nil, 

Ttty  pride  and  sorrow,  lair  KirttuxM.  —  P.  39. 

The  Castle  of  Kirkwall  was  built  by  the  St. 
Clairs,  while  Earls  of  Orkney.  It  was  dis- 
mantled by  the  Earl  of  Guiltiness  about  1615, 
having  been  garrisoned  against  the  govern- 
ment hy  Robert  Stewart,  natural  son  to  the 
Earl  of  Orkney.  * 

Its  ruins  afforded  a  sad  subject  of  contem- 
plation to  John.  Master  of  St.  Clair.  who,  flying 
from  his  native  country,  on  account  of  his  share 
in  the  insurrection  of  1715,  made  some  stay  at 
Kirkwall. 

'•  I  had  occasion  to  entertain  myself  at  Kirk- 
wall with  the  melancholy  prospect  of  the  ruins 
of  an  old  castle,  the  seat  of  the  old  Earls  of 
Orkney,  my  ancestors :  and  of  a  more  melan- 
choly reflection,  of  so  great  and  noble  an  estate 
as  tlie  Orkney  ;.nd  Slid  land  isles  being  taken 
from  one  of  them  hy  James  the  Third,  for 
ftuillrie,  afier  his  brother  Alexander,  Duke  of 
Albany,  had  married  a  daughter  of  my  family, 
and  tor  protecting  and  defending  the  said 
Alexander  against  the  Kins,  who  wished  to 
kill  him,  as  he  had  done  his  youngest  brother, 
the  Earl  of  Mar ;  and  for  which,  after  the  for- 
fmiltrie,  he  gratefully  divorced  my  forfiiulted 
ancestor's  sister;  though  1  cannot  persuade 
myself  that  he  had  any  misalliance  to  plead 
against  a  familie  in  whose  veins  the  blood  of 
Rul>ert  Bruce  ran  as  fresh  as  in  his  own  ;  for 
their  title  to  tlie  orowne  was  by  a  daughter  of 
David  Bruce,  son  to  Rohert;  ami  our  alliance 
was  hy  marrying  a  grandchild  of  the  same 
Robert  Bruce,  and  daughter  to  the  sister  of  the 
same  David,  out  of  the  familie  of  Douglass, 
which  at  that  time  did  not  much  sullie  the 
blood,  more  than  my  ancestor's  having  not 
Ion?  before  had  the  honour  of  marrying  a 
daughter  of  the  King  of  Denmark's,  who  was 
named  Florentine,  and  has  left  m  the  town  ol 
Kirkwall  a  noble  monument  of  the  grandeur 
of  the  times,  the  finest  church  ever  I  saw  en- 
tire in  Scotland.  I  then  had  no  small  reason 
to  think,  in  that  unhappy  state,  on  the  many 
not  inconsiderable  services  rendered  since  to 
the  royal  familie,  for  these  many  years  bygone, 
on  all  occasions,  when  they  stood  most  in  need 
of  friends,  which  they  have  thought  themselves 
very  often  obliged  to  acknowledge  by  letters 
yet  extant,  and  iu  a  style  more  like  friends 
than  souveraigns  :  our  attachment  to  them, 
without  any  other  thanks,  havii.g  brought  upon 
us  considerable  losses,  and  among  others,  that 
of  our  all  in  Cromwell's  time:  and  ieft  iu  that 
condition  without  the  least  relief  except  what 
we  found  in  our  own  virtue.  My  father  was 
the  only  man  of  the  Scots  nation  who  had 
courage  enough  to  protest  in  Parliament 
against  King  William's  lille  to  the  throne, 


which  was  lost,  God  knows  how ;  and  this  at 
a  time  when  the  losses  in  the  cause  of  the 
royall  familie.  and  their  nsual  gratitude,  had 
scarce  left  him  bread  to  maintain  a  numerous 
familie  of  eleven  children,  who  had  soon  after 
sprung  up  on  him,  in  spite  of  all  which,  he  had 
lonourably  persisted  in  his  principle.  1  say, 
these  things  considered,  and  after  being  treated 
as  I  was,  and  in  that  unlucky  state,  when  ou- 
iects  appear  to  men  in  their  true  light,  as  at 
the  hour  of  death,  could  I  be  blamed  for 
making  some  bitter  reflections  to  myself,  and 
Iu ughing  at  the  extravagance  and  unaccount- 
able humour  of  men.  and  the  singularitie  of 
my  own  case,  {an  exile  for  the  cause  of  the 
Stuart  family,)  when  1  ought  to  have  known. 
that  the  greatest  dime  I,  or  my  family,  could 
have  committed,  was  persevering,  to  my  own 
destruction,  in  serving  the  royal  family  faith- 
fully, though  obstinately,  after  so  great  a  share 
of  depression,  and  after  they  had  l>een  pleased 
to  doom  me  and  my  familie  to  starve.  —  M S. 
Memoirs  of  John,  Masttr  of  St.  Clair. 


NOTE  4  I. 

Of  that  Sea-Snike,  tremendous  curCd, 

Whost  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world.  — P.  39. 

The  jormunuandr,  or  Snake  of  the  Ocean, 
whose  folds  surround  the  earth,  is  one  of  the 
wildest  fictions  of  the  E<lda.  It  was  very 
nearly  caught  hy  the  god  Thor.  who  went  to 
fish  for  it  with  a  hook  baited  with  a  bull's 
head.  In  the  battle  betwixt  the  evil  demons 
and  the  divinities  cf  Odin,  which  is  to  precede 
the  Raquarocftr,  or  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  this 
Snake  is  to  act  a  conspicuous  part. 


NOTE  4  K. 

Of  those  dread  Maids,  whose  hideous  yell — P.  39. 

These  were  the  Valryrmr^  or  Selectors  of 
the  Slain,  despatched  by  Odin  from  Valhalla, 
to  choose  those  who  were  to  die.  and  In  dis- 
tribute the  contest.  They  were  well  known 
to  ihe  English  reader  as  Gray's  Fatal  Sisters. 


NOTE  4  L. 

Of  Chiefs,  who,  guuled  through  the  gloom 

By  the  fnlt.  deaih-liahts  of  the  tomb, 

Rnnsnck'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

Titeir  faLrhwns  wrench'd  from  corpses'  hold.  — 

P.  40. 

Tlie  northern  warriors  were  usually  en- 
tombed with  their  arms,  and  their  other  trea- 
sures. Thus.  Angnntyr.  before  commencing 
the  duel  in  which  he  was  slain,  stipulated, 
that  if  he  fell,  his  sword  Tyrting  should  be 
buried  with  hmi.  His  daughter,  Hcrvor.  after- 
wards took  it  from  his  lamb.  The  dialogue 
which  passed  l*-lwixt  her  and  Angantyr's 
spirit  on  I  his  occasion  has  been  often  trans- 
lated. The  whole  history  maybe  found  in  the 
Hervarar-Saga.  Indeed,  Ihe  ghosts  of  the 
northern  warriors  were  not  wont  tamely  to 
suffer  theirtoml*  to  l>e  plundered  ;  and  hence 


72 


APPENDIX. 


the  mortal  heroes  had  an  additional  tempta- 
tion to  attempt  such  adventures ;  for  they  held 
nothing  more  worthy  of  thoir  valour  tlian  to 
encounter  supernatural  beings.  —  Banhplmus 
De  cattsis  cantcnipta  a  Dams  mortis,  lib.  i.  cap. 
2,  9, 10, 13. 


NOTE  4  M. 

Castle  Rnvensheuch,  —  P.  40. 

A  large  nnd  strong  castle,  now  ruinous,  si- 
tuated betwixt  Kirkaldy  and  Pvsart,  on  a 
steep  crag,  washed  by  the  Frith  of  Forth.  It 
was  conferred  on  Sir  William  St.  Clair  as  a 
slight  compensation  for  theearidom  of  Orkney, 
by  a  charter  of  King  James  HI  dated  in  1471, 
and  is  now  the  property  of  Sir  James  St  Clair 
Erskiiie.  (now  Earl  of  Rosslyn,)  representative 
of  the  family.  It  was  long  a  principal  residence 
of  the  Barons  of  Roslin. 


NOTE  4  N. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  tritkia.  around, 

Dtep  sacristy  nnd  nltor's  pair  : 
Shone  every  pi/tar  foliage  bound. 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  iltad  men's  mail. — P.  40. 


Dunbar  was  fought.  When  my  pood-father 
was  buried,  his  (i.  r.  Sir  William's)  corpse 
seemed  to  be  entire  at  the  opening  of  the 
cave  :  hut  when  they  came  to  touch  his  body, 
it  fell  into  dust  He  was  laying  in  his  armour, 
with  a  red  velvet  cap  on  his  head,  on  a  flat 
stone ;  nothing  was  spoiled  except  a  piece  of 
the  white  furring  that  went  round  the  cap,  and 
answered  to  the  hinder  part  of  the  head.  All 
his  predecessors  were  buried  after  the  same 
manner,  in  their  armour:  late  Rosline.  my 
good  father,  was  the  first  that  was  buried  in  a 
coffin,  against  the  sentiments  of  King  James 
the  Seventh,  who  was  then  in  Scotland,  and 
several  other  persons  well  versed  in  antiquity, 
to  whom  my  mother  would  not  hearken, 
thinking  it  heggnrly  to  be  buried  after  that 
manner.  The  great  expenses  she  was  at  in 
j  burying  her  husband,  occasioned  the  sumptu- 
ary acts  which  were  made  in  the  following 
parliament." 


NOTE  40. 

For  hr  ipas  spfrchlrts.  ghastly,  won, 
Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran. 
Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  in  Man. —  P.  41. 
The  ancient  castle  of  Peel-town,  in  the  Isle 
of  Mar,,  is  surrounded  bv  four  churches,  now 


ruinous.  Through  one  of  these  chapels  there 
The  beautiful  chapel  of  Roslin  is  still  in  to-  i  was  formerly  a  passage  from  the  guard-room 
leral)le  preservation  It  was  (bunded  in  1446,  !of  the  garrison  This  was  closed,  it  is  said, 
by  William  St.  Clair,  Prince  of  Orkney.  Duke  •  upon  the  following  occasion  :  "  They  say,  that 
of  OUlenhurgh,  Earl  of  Caithness  and  Strath-  .  an  apparition,  called,  in  the  Mankteh  hugmgv, 
erne.  Lord  St  Clair.  Lord  Niddesdale.  1-ord  the  Manthe  Dooo.in  !he  shape  of  a  large" Mark 
Admiral  of  the  Scottish  Seas,  Lord  Chief  |  spaniel,  with  curled  shaggy  hair,  was  used  to 
Justice  of  Scotland.  Lord  Warden  of  the  three  haunt  1'eel-castle  ;  nnd  has  been  frequently 
Marches,  Baron  of  Roslin.  Pentland,  Pentland-  j  seen  in  every  room,  but  particularly  in  the 
moor,  &c.,  Knight  of  the  Cockle,  and  of  the  :  guard-chamber,  wliere,  as  soon  as'  candles 
Garter,  (as  is  affirmed,)  High  Chancellor,  !  were  lighted,  it  came  and  lay  down  before  the 
Chamberlain,  and  Lieutenant  of  Scotland,  ifire,  in  presence  of  all  the  soldiers,  who,  at 
This  lofty  person,  whose  titles,  says  Godscrott.  length,  by  being  so  much  accustomed  to  the 
might  weary  a  Spaniard,  built  the  castle  of  sight  of  it.  lost  great  part  of  the  terror  they 
Ki'.-';m.  where  he  resided  m  princely  splendour,  were  seized  with  at  its  first  appearance, 
and  founded  the  chapel,  which  is'in  the  most  jThey  still,  however,  retained  a  certain  awe, 
hch  and  florid  style  of  Gothic  architecture,  as  believing  it  was  an  evil  spirit,  which  only 
Among  the  profuse  carving  on  the  pillars  and  waited  permission  to  do  them  hurt;  and,  for 
buttresses,  the  ru«e  is  frequently  introduced,  that  reason  forebore  swearing,  and  all  profane 
in  allusion  to  the  name,  with  which,  however,  !  discourse,  while  in  its  company.  But  though 
the  flower  has  no  connection  ;  the  etymology  they  endured  the  .-.luick  of  such  a  guest  when 
being  Rosslinnhe.  the  promontory  of  the  linn,  ' 


or  water-fall.  The  chapel  is  said  to  appear 
on  fire  previous  to  the  death  of  any  of  his  de- 
scendants. This  superstition,  noticed  by  Sle- 


altoget  her  in  a  body,  none  cared  to  be  left  alone 
with  it.  It  being  the  custom,  therefore,  for 
one  of  the  soldiers  lo  lock  the  gates  of  the 
caslle  at  a  certain  hour,  and  carry  the  keys  to 


zer,  in  his  Thcatnon  Scotia:,  and  alluded  to  iu  the  captain,  to  whose  apartment,  as  I  said  be- 
the  text,  is  probably  of  Norwegian  derivation. !  fore,  the  way  led  through  the  church,  they 
and  may  have  been  imported  by  the  Earls  of  agreed  among  themselves,  that  whoever  was 
Orkney  into  their  Lothian  dominions.  The  !  to  succeed  the  ensuing  night  Ins  fellow  in  this 
tomb-fires  of  the  north  are  mentioned  in  most  !  errand,  should  accompany  him  that  went  first. 
of  the  Sagas.  I  and  by  tins  means  no  man  would  be  exposed 

The  Barons  of  Roslin  were  buried  inn  vault  singly  to  the  danger  ;  for  I  forgot  to  mention. 
beneath  the  chapel  floor.  The  manner  of  their  that  the  Mauthe  Doojwas  always  seen  to  come 
interment  is  thus  descril>ed  by  Father  Hay,  iu  ;  out  from  that  passage  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
the  MS.  history  already  quoted  i  and  return  to  it  again  as  soon  as  the  morning 

"  Sir  William  Sinclair,  the  father,  was  a  lend  dawned ;  which  made  them  look  on  thrs  place 
man  He  kept  a  miller's  daughter,  with  as  its  peculiar  residence 

whom,  it  is  alleged,  he  went  to  Ireland  ;  yet  I  "  One  night  a  fellow  being  drunk,  nnd  by  the 
think  the  cause  of  his  retreat  was  rather  oc-  strength  of  his  liquor  rendered  more  daring 
casioued  by  the  Presbyterians,  who  vexed  him  than  ordinarily,  laughed  at  the  simplicity  of 
sadly,  because,  of  his  religion  being  Roman  Ins  companions,  and,  i  hough  it  was  not  his 
Catholic.  His  son.  Sir  William  died  during  the  turn  to  go  with  tl:e  keys,  woukl  needs  take 
troubles,  and  was  interred  in  the  chapel  of  that  office  upon  him.  to  testify  his  courage. 
Roslm  the  very  same  day  that  the  battle  of  i  All  the  soldiers  endeavoured  to  dissuade  him; 


MARMION. 


73 


but  the  more  they  said,  the  more  resolute  he 
seemed,  and  swore  that  he  desired  nothing 
more  than  that  the  Mauthe  Doog  would  follow 
him.  as  it  had  done  the  others ;  for  he  would 
try  if  it  were  dog  or  devil.  After  having  talked 
in  a  very  reprobate  manner  for  some  time,  he 
snatched  up  the  keys,  and  went  out  of  the 
guard-room.  In  some  time  after  his  departure, 
a  great  noise  was  heard,  but  nobody  had  the 
boldness  to  see  what  occasioned  it,  till  the  ad- 
venturer returning,  they  demanded  the  know- 
ledge of  him ;  but  as  loud  and  noisy  as  he  had 
been  at  leaving  them,  he  was  now  become 
sober  and  silent  enough;  for  he  was  never 
heard  to  speak  more ;  and  though  all  the  time 
he  lived,  which  was  three  days,  he  was  en- 
treated by  all  who  came  near  him,  either  to 
speak,  or,  if  he  could  not  do  that,  to  make 
some  signs,  by  which  they  might  understand 
what  had  happened  to  him,  yet  nothing  intel- 
ligible could  lie  got  from  him.  only  that,  by  the 
distortion  of  his  limbs  and  features,  it  might 
be  guessed  that  he  died  in  agunies  more  than 
is  common  in  a  natural  death. 

"  The  Mauthe  Doug  was.  however,  never 
after  seen  in  the  castle,  nor  would  any  one 
attempt  to  go  through  that  passage ;  for  which 
reason  it  was  closed  up,  and  another  way 


made.  This  accident  happened  about  three 
score  years  since;  and  I  heard  it  attested  by 
several,  but  especially  by  an  old  soldier,  who 
assured  me  he  had  seen  it  oftener  than  he  had 
then  hairs  on  his  head."— VValdron's  Descrip- 
tion of  lite  hie  of  Alan,  p.  107. 


NOTE  4  P. 

St.  Bride  of  Douglas.  —  P.  41. 

This  was  a  favourite  saint  of  the  house  of 
Douglas,  and  of  the  Earl  of  Angus  in  particu- 
lar, as  we  learn  from  the  following  passage : — 
"The  Queen-regent  had  proposed  to  raise  a 
rival  noble  to  the  ducal  disrnity;  and  discours- 
ing of  her  purpose  with  Angus,  he  answered, 
•  Why  not,  madam  1  we  are  happy  that  have 
such  a  princess,  that  can  know  and  will  ac- 
knowledge men's  services,  and  is  willing  to 
recompense  it;  but,  by  the  might  of  God,' 
(tins  was  his  oath  when  he  was  serious  and  in 
anger ;  at  other  times,  it  was  by  St.  Bryde  of 
Douglas.)  'if  he  be  a  Duke,  I  will  be  a  Drake!' 
—  So  she  desisted  from  prosecuting  of  that 
purpose."— Godscroft,  vol.  ii.  p.  131. 


#lfl  run  ntt: 

A   TALE   OF   FLODDEN  FIELD.1 
IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


Ala*!   that  Sco:ii«h  maid  RhouM  eing 
The  corabal  where  her  lorer  fell  '. 

That  Scottish  Bjrt  should  wake  the  it 
The  triumph  of  our  foM  to  tell ! 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

S»WE  alterations  in  the  text  of  the  Introduc- 
tion to  Marmion.  and  of  the  Poem  itself,  as 
well  as  various  additions  to  the  Author's 
Notes,  will  be  observed  in  this  Edition.  We 
have  followed  Sir  Walter  Scott's  interleaved 
copy,  as  finally  revised  by  him  in  the  summer 
of  1831. 

The  preservation  of  the  original  MS.  of  the 
Poem  has  enriched  this  volume  with  numerous 
various  readings,  which  will  be  found  curious 
aud  interesting. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

WHAT  I  have  to  say  respecting  this  Poem 
may  he  briefly  told.  In  the  Introduction  to 
the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,1'  I  have  men- 
tioned tlie  circumstances,  so  far  as  my  literary 
life  is  concerned,  which  induced  me  to  resign 
the  active  pursuit  of  an  honourable  profession, 
for  the  more  precarious  resources  of  literature. 


My  appointment  to  the  SneriflUom  of  Selkirk 
called  for  a  change  of  residence.  I  left,  there- 
fore, the  pleasant  cottage  I  had  upon  the  side 
of  the  Esk,  for  the  "  pleasanter  banks  of  the 
Tweed,"  m  order  to  comply  with  the  law, 
which  requires  that  the  Sheriff  shall  be  resi- 
dent, at  least  during  a  certain  number  of 
months,  within  his  jurisdiction.  We  found  a 
delightful  retirement,  by  my  becoming  the 
tenant  of  my  intimate  friend  and  consin- 
german.  Colonel  Russell,"  in  his  mansion  of 
Ashestiel,  which  was  unoccupied,  during  his 
!  absence  on  military  service  in  India.  The 
house  was  adequate  to  our  accommodation, 
and  the  exercise  of  a  limited  hospitality.  The 
situation  is  uncommonly  beautiful,  by  Ihe  side 
of  a  fine  river,  whose  streams  are  there  very 
favourable  for  anaiing.  surrounded  by  the  re- 
mains of  natural  woods,  and  by  hilis  abound- 
ing in  game.  In  point  of  society,  according  to 
the  heartfelt  phrase  of  Scripture,  we  dwelt 
"  amongst  our  own  people ;"  and  as  the  dis- 
tance from  the  metropolis  was  only  thirty 
miles,  we  were  not  out  of  reach  of  our  Edin- 


1  Published,  in  4to,  IL.  111.  td.,  February  1808. 


74 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Durgh  friends,  in  which  city  we  spent  the  terms 
of  the  Slimmer  imcl  winter  Sessions  of  the 
Court,  tliat  is,  five  or  six  months  in  the  year. 

An  important,  circumstance  had,  about  the 
same  tune,  taken  place  in  my  life.  Ho|ies  had  | 
been  held  out  to  me  from  an  influential  quarter, 
of  a  nature  to  relieve  me  from  the  anxiety  | 
which  I  must  have  otherwise  felt,  as  one  upon 
the  precarious  tenure  of  whose  own  life  rested 
the  principal  prospec's  ofliis  family,  and  espe- 
cially as  one  who  had  necessarily  some  de- 
pendence upon  the  favour  of  the  public,  which 
is  proverbially  capricious;  though  it  is  but 
justice  to  add,  that,  in  my  own  case.  I  have 
not  found  it  so  Mr.  Put  had  expressed  a  wish 
to  my  personal  friend,  the  Kight  Honourable 
William  Dundas,  now  Lord  Clerk  Register  of 
Scotland,  tiiat  some  fitting  opportunity  should 
he  taken  to  be  of  service  to  mo ;  and  as  my 
views  nnd  wishes  pointed  to  a  future  rather 
than  an  immediate  provision,  an  opportunity 
of  accomplishing  this  was  soon  found.  One 
of  the  Principal  Clerks  of  Session,  as  Ihey  are 
called,  (official  persons  who  occupy  an  import- 
ant and  responsible  situation,  and  enjoy  a  con- 
siderable income.)  who  had  served  upwards 
of  thirty  years,  felt  himself,  from  age.  and  the 
infirmity  of  deafness  with  which  it  was  a(x;otn- 
panied,  desirous  of  retiring  from  his  official 
situation.  As  the  law  then  stood,  such  official 
persons  were  entitled  to  bargain  with  their 
successors,  either  for  a  sum  of  money,  which 
was  usually  a  considerable  one.  or  for  an  in- 
terest in  the  emoluments  of  the  office  during 
their  life.  My  predecessor,  whose  services 
had  been  unusually  meritorious,  stipulated 
for  the  emoluments  of  his  office  during  his 
life,  while  I  should  enjoy  the  survivorship,  on 
the  condition  that  I  discharged  the  duties  of 
the  office  in  the  meantime.  Mr.  Pitt,  however, 
having:  died  in  the  interval,  his  administration 
was  dissolved,  and  was  succeeded  by  that 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Fox  and  Grenville 
Ministry.  My  affair  was  so  far  completed,  that 
my  commission  lay  in  the  office  subscribed  by 
his  Majesty ;  but,  from  hurry  or  mistake,  the 
interest  of  my  predecessor  was  not  expressed 
in  it,  as  had  been  usual  in  such  cases.  Although, 
therefore,  it  only  required  payment  of  the  fees, 
I  could  riot  in  honour  take  out  the  commission 
in  the  present  state,  since,  in  the  event  of  my 
dying  before  him,  the  gentleman  whom  1  suc- 
ceeded must  have  lost,  the  vested  interest 
winch  he  had  stipulated  to  retain.  I  had  the 
honour  of  an  interview  with  Earl  Spencer  on 
the  subject,  and  he,  in  the  most  handsome 
manner.  Rave  directions  that  the  commission 
should  issue  as  originally  intended ;  adding. 
that  the  matter  haviuz  received  the  royal  as- 
sent, he  regarded  only  as  a  claim  of  justice 
what  he  would  huve  willingly  done  as  an  act 
of  favour.  I  never  saw  Mr.  Fox  on  this,  or  on 
any  other  occasion,  and  never  made  any  ap- 
plication to  him.  conceiving  that  in  doing  so  I 
might  have  been  supposed  to  express  political 
opinions  contrary  to  those  which  I  had  always 

1  Bee  Lift,  rot.  Hi.  p.  4. 

The  BoMen-cre»ted 'haughty  Mjraiiou, 
Jv'iw  Inririri*  *<  rolls,  now  foremost  in  the  fight. 
Not  quite  a  Mou.  yel  but  half  a  kni*bt, 
The  gibbet  or  the  field  prepared  to  prace ; 
A  mighty  mixture  of  the  great  and  bane. 


professed.  In  his  private  capacity,  there  is  no 
man  to  whom  I  would  have  been  more  proud 
to  owe  an  obligation,  had  I  been  so  distin- 
guished. 

By  this  arrangement  I  obtained  the  survivor 
ship  of  an  office,  I  lie  emoluments  of  which 
were  fully  adequate  to  my  wishes;  and  as  the 
law  respecting  the  mode  of  providing  for  su- 
perannuated officers  was,  about  five  or  six 
years  after,  altered  from  that  which  admitted 
the  arrangement  of  assistant  and  successor, 
my  colleague  very  handsomely  took  the  op- 
portunity of  the  alteration,  to  accept  of  the 
retiring  annuity  provided  m  such  cases,  and 
admitted  me  to  the  full  l«nent  of  the  office. 

But  although  the  certainty  of  succeeding  to 
a  considerable  income,  at  the  time  I  obtained 
it,  seemed  to  assure  me  of  a  quiet  harbour  in 
my  old  age,  I  did  not  escape  my  share  of  in- 
convenience from  the  contrary  tides  and  cur- 
rents by  which  we  are  so  otten  encountered 
in  our  journey  through  life.  Indeed,  the  pub- 
lication of  my  next  poetical  attempt  was  pre- 
maturely accelerated,  from  one  of  those  un- 
pleasant accidents  which  can  neither  be 
foreseen  nor  avoided. 

I  had  formed  the  prudent  resolution  to  en- 
deavour to  bestow  a  little  more  labour  than  I 
had  yet  done  on  my  productions,  and  to  be  in 
no  hurry  again  to  announce  myself  as  a  candi- 
date for  literary  fame.  Accordingly,  particular 
passages  of  a  poem,  which  was  finally  called 
"  Marmion,"  were  laboured  with  a  good  deal 
of  care,  by  one  by  whom  much  care  was  sel- 
dom bestowed.  Whether  the  work  was  worth 
the  labour  or  not,  I  am  no  competent  judge: 
but  I  may  be  permitted  to  say,  that  the  pen<Kl 
of  its  composition  was  a  very  happy  one,  in 
my  life;  so  much  so.  that  I  remember  with 
pleasure,  at.  this  moment,  some  of  the  spots  in 
which  particular  passages  were  composed.  It 
is  probably  owing  to  this,  that  the  Introduc- 
tions to  the  several  Cantos  assumed  the  form 
of  familiar  epistles  to  my  intimate  friends,  in 
which  I  alluded,  perhaps  more  than  was  ne- 
cessary or  graceful,  to  my  domestic  occupa- 
tions and  amusements— a  loquacity  which  may 
be  excused  by  those  who  remember,  that  I 
was  still  young,  light-headed,  and  happy,  and 
that  "out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the 
mouth  speaketh." 

The  misfortunes  of  a  near  relation  and  friend, 
which  happened  at  this  time,  led  me  to  alter 
my  prudent  determination,  which  had  been,  to 
use  great  precaution  in  sending  this  poem  into 
the  world  ;  and  made  it  convenient  at  least,  if 
not  absolutely  necessary,  to  hasten  its  publi- 
cation. The  pubbsners  of  "The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel. "emboldened  by  the  success  of 
that  poem,  willingly  offered  a  thousand  pounds 
fur  ••  Marmiim."  l  Th«  transaction  being  no 
secret,  afforded  Lord  Byron,  who  was  then  at. 
general  war  with  all  who  blacked  paper,  an 
apology  for  including  me  in  his  satire,  entitled 
"English  Bards  and  Scotch  Keviewers."K  / 
never  could  conceive  how  an  arrangement 


t!  by  »aii 

•  to  mint  ihy  -talc 
y  with  hix  Miller  I 


And  think'at  tl 

On  |.uhl.r  lastr 

Though  Mar 

To  yield  tby  muse  just  h; 

No  !  when  Die  nous  of  10 

Their  hay*  are  hear,  iheij 

Let  goch  forego  the  poet' 


t  percha 


I  per  line  J 
:eud  to  trade, 
T  laurels  fade. 


MARMION. 


75 


between  an  author  and  tils  publishers:  if  satis- 
factory to  the  persons  concerned,  could  afl'ord  I 
matter  of  censure  to  any  third  parly  I  had 
taken  no  unusual  or  uneenerous  means  of 
enhancing  the  value  of  my  merchandise — I  had 
never  higgled  a  moment  about  the  bargain,  but 
accepted  at  once  what  I  considered  the  hand- 
some offer  of  my  publishers.  These  senile- 
men,  at  least,  wore  not  of  opinion  that  they 
had  been  taken  advantage  of  in  the  transaction, 
which  indeed  was  one  of  their  own  framing; 
on  the  contrary,  the  sale  of  the  Poem  was  so 
fur  beyond  their  expectation,  as  to  induce  them 
to  supply  the  Author's  cellars  with  what  is 
always  an  acceptable  present  to  a  young  Scot- 
tish housekeeper,  namely,  a  hogshead  of  ex- 
cellent claret 

The  Poem  was  finished  in  too  much  haste, 
to  allow  me  an  opportunity  of  softening  down, 
if  not  removing,  some  of  its  most  prominent 
defects.  The  nature  of  Marniion's  guilt,  al- 
though similar  instances  were  found,  and 
might  be  quoted,  as  existing  m  feudal  times, 
was  nevertheless  not  sufficiently  peculiar  to 
be  indicative  of  the  character  of  the  period, 
forgery  being  the  crime  of  a  commercial,  rather 
than  a  proud  and  warlike  age  This  gross 
defect  ought  to  have  been  remedied  or  pal- 
liated. Yet  I  suffered  the  tree  to  lie  as  it  had 
fallen.  I  remember  my  friend,  Dr.  Leyden, 
then  in  the  East,  wrote  me  a  furious  remon- 


strance on  Hie  subject.  I  have,  nevertheless, 
always  been  of  opinion,  that  corrections,  how- 
everm  themselves  judicious,  have  a  bad  i-H'crt 
—after  publication  An  author  is  never  so  de- 
cided ly  condemned  as  on  his  own  confession. 
and  may  long  find  apologists  and  partisans. 
nntil  he' gives  up  his  own  cause1:  1  was  not, 
therefore,  inclined  to  afford  matter  for  censure 
out  of  my  own  admissions;  and,  by  good  for- 
tune, the  novelty  of  the  subject,  and,  if  1  may 
say  so,  some  force  and  vivacity  of  description, 
were  allowed  to  atone  for  many  imperfections. 
Thus  the  second  experiment  on  the  public 
patience,  generally  the  most  perilous, — for  the 
public  are  then  most  apt  to  judge  with  rigour, 
what  iu  the  first  instance  they  had  received, 
perhaps,  with  imprudent  gerierosjty. — was  in 
my  case  decidedly  successful.  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  pass  this  ordeal  favourably,  and  the 
return  of  sales  before  me  makes  the  copies 
amount  to  thirty-six  thousand  printed  between 
1808  and  1825,  besides  a  considerable  sale  since 
that  period.  •  I  shall  here  pause  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  "  Marniion,"  and,  in  a  few  prefatory 
words  to  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  the  last 
poem  of  mine  which  obtained  eminent  suc- 
cess, I  will  continue  the  task  which  I  have 
imposed  on  myself  respecting  the  origin  of  my 
productions. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


BUrmhn. 


RIGHT  HONOURABLE  HENRY  LORD  MONTAGU, 


THIS    ROMANCE    IS   INSCRIBED    BY 
THE  AUTHOR. 

ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

It  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  that  an  Author  whom  the  Public  have  honoured  with  some  degree  of 
applause,  shoultt  not  be  again  a  tresjiasstr  on  their  kindness.  Ytt  the  Author  of  Marniion  must  be 
supposed  to  feel  some  anxiety  concerning  its  success,  since  he  ts  sensible  that  he  hazards,  by  this 
second  intrusion,  any  reputation  which  his  first  Poem  may  have  procured  him.  The  present  story 


Or  ,'rnntifuiNl  inns*  anil  hireling  hard '. 
For  thit  we  npnrn  Apollo'*  venal  son, 
And  bid  a  long  •  Gooil-iiighl  to  Marniion."1 
Byran'i  Works,  .0].  vii. 


Of  whose  cirr 

liit;  to  si-rat,  h  out  a  living 

bear,  if.  having  little  els 


y  fault 


t,  he 


park  ami  5000  pounds  I 

literary  talents  or  success  "—.Life,  v<-l.  iii.   p.  19j.—  St 
•No  Correspondence  witb  Lord  Byron,  Ui<l.  pp.  395.  396. 

one  guinea  and  a  half.     The  MOO  copies   of  thin  edili'o 
were  all  disposed  of  in  less  than  a  month,  when  a  secon 


hat  year;   a  seventh  of  4000,  ami  an  eighth  of  6000 
.•KHvn.ii,  1811;  a  ninth  of  3000  iu  1815;  a  tenth  of  500, 
iu'1830;  and  eleventh  of  600,  and  a  twelfth  of  2000  copies, 
foolscap,  both    in    1825.     The    legitimate  «ale    in    thi. 


to  the 

riling  (May  183G).  may  be  staled 
iraeil  IK  right  f..r  rm-  to   f;i.-ilit.;K- 

ing  these  details  a«  often  an  I  can.  Such  particulars  re- 
specting many  of  the  great  works  even  of  the  last  century, 
are  already  sought  fnr  with  vain  regret  ;  anil  )  anticipate 

without  curiosity  the  contemporary  reception  of  the  Tale 
of  Flodileu  Field."— LockhaTl,  Life  of  Scall,  vol.  iii.  p.  6«. 
2  Lord  Montagu  wa>  the  second  son  of  Henry  DukeofBue- 
i-l.-ii.  h,  by  the  only  daughter  of  John  last  Duke  of  Montagn. 


76 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


turns  upon  the  private  adventures  of  a  fictitious  character ;  but  is  calif  d  a  Tale  rf  Flodden  Field, 
because  the  hero's  fate  is  connected  with  that  mernorable  defeat,  and  the  causes  which  led  to  it. 
The  design  of  the  Author  mas,  if  possible,  to  apjirize  his  readers,  at  the  outset,  of  the  dale  of  his 
Story,  and  to  prrpare  them  for  the  manners  of  the  Age  in  which  it  is  laid.  Any  Historical  Narra- 
tive, far  more  an  attempt  at  Epic  composition,  exceeded  his  plan  of  a  Romantic  Tale ;  yet  he  may 
be  permitted  -o  '/ope.  from  the  popularity  of  The  Lay  of  lite  Last  Minstrel,  that  an  atunipt  to  patnl 
the  manners  of  the  feudal  times,  upon  a  broader  scale,  and  m  the  course  oj  a  mure  interesting  story, 
will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  Public. 

The  Poem  opens  about  the  commencement  of  August,  and  concludes  with  the  defeat  of  Flodden, 
9th  September,  1513. 

Ashestiei,  1808. 


Yes,  prattlers,  yes.    The  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie; 
The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  hound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round. 
And  while  vou  frolic  lijjht  as  they. 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day. 

To  mute  and  to  material  things 
New  life  revolving  summer  brings; 
The  genial  call  dead  Nature  hears, 
And  in  her  glory  reappears. 
But  oh  !  my  country's  wintry  slate 
What  second  sprine  shall  renovate? 
What  powerful  call  shall  bid  arise 
The  buried  warlike  and  the  wise ; 
The  mind  that  thought  for  Britain's  weal, 
The  hand  that  grasp'd  the  victor  steel  ? 
The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 
Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blows; 
But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  shine, 
Where  glory  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine; 
And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloom, 
That  shrouds,  O  Pitt,  thy  hallowed  tomb! 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
O  never  let  those  names  depart ! 
Say  to  your  SODS. — Lo,  here  his  grave, 
Who  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave ;" 
To  him,  as  to  the  burning  levin. 
Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given. 
Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  found, 
Was  heard  the  fated  thunder's  sound, 
Till  hurst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore, 
Roll'd.  blazed,  destroy'd, — and  was  no  more. 

Nor  mourn  ye  less  his  perish'd  worth. 
Who  bade  the  conqueror  go  forth. 
And  launch'd  that  thunderbolt  of  war 
On  Egypt,  Hafnia.s  Trafalgar; 
Who.  born  to  guide  such  high  emprize, 
For  Britain's  weal  was  early  wise ; 

i  Alas!  to  whom  the  Almighty  gave, 

I  For  Britain's  sins,  an  early  grave  ! 
His  worth,  who.  in  his  mightiest  hour, 
A  bauble  held  the  pride  of  power, 
Spurn 'd  at  the  sordid  lust  of  pelf, 

1  And  served  his  Albion  for  herself; 

I  Who,  when  the  frantic  crowd  amain 

I  Strain'd  at  suhjcc!  ion's  bursting  rein. 
O'er  their  wild  mood  full  conquest  gain'd, 
The  pride,  he  would  not  crush,  restrain'd, 
Show'd  their  fierce  zeal  a  worthier  cause, 
And  brought  the  freeman's  arm,  to  aid  the  free- 
man's laws. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIRST. 

TO 

WILLIAM  STEWART  ROSE,  ESQ.i 

Ashestiel,  El  trick  Forest. 
November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear : 
Late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn, 
That  hems  our  little  garden  in. 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew. 
So  feeble  trill'd  the  streamlet  through : 
Now,  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen 
Through  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 
An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade, 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade, 
And,  foaming  brown  with  doubled  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 

No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  Forest  hills  is  shed ; 
No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam, 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam ; 
Away  hath  pnss'd  the  heather-bell 
That  bloom  d  so  rich  on  Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow  his  brow,  and  russet  bare 
Are  now  the  sister-heights  of  Yair 
The  sheep,  before  the  pinching  heaven. 
To  shelter'd  dale  and  down  are  driven, 
Where  yet  some  faded  herbage  pines, 
And  yet  a  watery  sunbeam  shines : 
In  meek  despondency  they  eye 
The  wither'd  sward  and  wintry  sky. 
And  far  beneath  their  summer  hill, 
Stray  sadly  by  Glenkinnon's  rill : 
The  shepherd  shifts  his  mantle's  fold, 
And  wraps  him  closer  from  the  cold ; 
His  dogs,  no  merry  circles  wheel, 
But,  shivering,  follow  at  his  heel ; 
A  cowering  glance  they  often  cast. 
As  deeper  moans  the  gathering  blast. 

My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child. 
Feel  the  sad  influence  of  the  hour. 
And  wail  the  daisy's  vanished  flower; 
Their  summer  gambols  tell,  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask,— Will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lanihs  again  he  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray? 


1  For  the  origin  and  progress  of  Scott'*  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Row.  nee  La/r,  vol..  ii.  iii.  IT.  vi.  Part  of  Marmion 
won  cornr°"*>l  at  Mr.  Rose's  neat  in  the  New  Forest.  ItM. 
Tol.  Iii.  p.  10. 


9  Copenhagel 


MARMION. 


77 


Had'st  thou  but  lived,  though  stripp'd  of 

ui.wer. 

A  watchman  on  the.  lonely  tower, 
Thy  thrilling  trump  had  roused  the  land, 
When  fraud  or  danger  were  at  hand  ; 
By  thee,  as  by  the  beacon-light, 
Our  pilots  had  kept  course  aright; 
As  some  proud  column,  though  alone, 
Thy  strength  had  propp'd  the  tottering  throne  : 
Now  is  the  stately  column  broke. 
The  beacon-light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 
The  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still, 
The  warder  silent  on  the  hill ! 

Oh  think,  how  to  his  latest  day, 
When  Death,  just  hovering,  claim'd  his  prey, 
With  Palinure's  unalter'd  mood, 
Firm  at  his  dangerous  post  he  stood ; 
Each  call  for  needful  rust  repell'd, 
With  dying  hand  the  rudder  held, 
Till,  in  his  fall,  with  fateful  sway. 
The  steerage  of  the  realm  gave  way  I 
Then,  while  on  Britain's  thousand  plains, 
One  unpolluted  church  remains, 
Whose  peaceful  bells  ne'er  sent  around 
The  bloody  tocsin's  maddening  sound, 
But  still,  upon  the  hallow'd  day. 
Convoke  the  swains  to  praise  and  pray  ; 
While  faith  and  civil  peace  are  dear, 
Grace  this  cold  marble  with  a  tear,— 
He,  who  preserved  them,  Pitt,  lies  here ! 

Nor  yet  suppress  the  generous  sigh, 
Because  his  rival  slumbers  uigh; 
Nor  be  thy  requiescnt  dumb. 
Lest  it  be  said  o'er  Fox's  tomb.  1 
For  talents  mourn,  untimely  lost. 
When  best  employ'd.  and  wanted  most 
Mourn  genius  high,  and  lore  profound. 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound  ; 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine ; 
And  feelings  keen,  and  fancy's  glow, — 
They  sleep  with  him  who  sleeps  below : 
And,  if  thou  mourn'st  they  could  not  save 
From  error  him  who  owns  this  grave, 
Be  every  harsher  thought  suppress'd, 
And  sarrud  be  the  last  long  rest. 
Here,  where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings; 
Where  si  iff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue. 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung; 


Here,  where  the  fretted  aisles  prolong 
The  distant  notes  of  holy  song, 
As  if  some  angel  spoke  agen, 
"  All  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ;" 
If  ever  from  an  English  heart, 
O,  here  let  prejudice  depart. 
And,  partial  feeling  cast  aside, 
llecord,  that  Fox  a  Briton  died  ! 
When  Europe  crouch'd  to  France's  yoke, 
And  Austria  bent,  and  Prussia  broke, 
And  the  firm  liussian's  purpose  brave. 
Was  barter'd  by  a  timorous  slave. 
Even  then  dishonour's  peace  he  spurn'd, 
The  sullied  olive-branch  return'd, 
Stood  for  his  country's  glory  fast, 
And  nail'd  her  colours  to  the  mast ! 
Heaven,  to  reward  his  firmness  gave 
A  portion  in  this  honour'd  grave, 
And  ne'er  held  marble  in  its  trust 
Of  two  such  wondrous  men  the  dust. 

With  more  than  mortal  power  endow'd, 
How  high  they  soar'd  above  the  crowd  1 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race, 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place ; 
Like  fabled  Gods,  their  mighty  war 
Shook  realms  and  nations  ill  its  jar; 
Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand, 
Look'd  up  the  noblest  of  the  land, 
Till  through  the  British  world  were  known 
The  names  of  Pitt  and  Fox  alone. 
Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 
K'er  framed  in  dark  Thessalian  cave. 
Though  his  could  drain  the  ocean  dry, 
And  force  the  pl.mets  from  the  sky. 
These   spells   are   spent,   and,   spent   with 

these. 

The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees, 
Genius,  and  taste,  and  talent  gone, 
For  ever  tomb'd  beneath  the  stone, 
Where— taming  thought  to  human  pride  !— 
The  mighty  chiefs  sleep  side  by  side.8 
Prop  upon  Fox's  grave  the  tear, 
Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier; 
O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound, 
And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 
The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry, — 
"  Here  let  their  discord  with  them  die. 
Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 
Whom  Fate  made  Brothers  in  the  tomb ; 
But  search  the  land  of  liviiig  men, 
Where  will  thou  find  their  like  agen 7" 


And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound. 
And  all  the  reaiuumi*  powers  divine. 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine, 


further  heightened,  e 


:  added  according.    I  have  hea 
J  from  the  Marquis',  own  pen. 
i  some  inadvertence,  had  put  the 


proof  of  the  paii- 
ogether.  at  Stan- 

•n  suggested  that 
ought  to  be  mill 


nt,  indeed,  that  they 


r  of  Heher'i.  that  Scott  had  thought  it  worth  hi«  wl 
inlradiet  the  absurd  charge  in  the  newspapers  of  lue 
"—  Lockhart,  Life  tif  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  61. 

"  Reader  !  remember  when  thrni  wert  a  lad, 
Then  Pitt  wii»  all ;  or,  if  not  all,  no  much, 
His  very  rival  almost  deem'd  him  such. 
We.  we  have  seen  the  iiilellociual  race 
Of  eianls  stand,  like  Titans,  face  to  face; 
Ath<™  and  Ida,  with  a  dasriii.K  >ea 
Of  eloquence  between,  which  flow'd  all  free, 
As  tile  deep  billows  of  the  Aegean  roar 
Betwixt  the  Hellenic  and  the  Phrygian  .liore. 
But  where  are  Ihey— tlie  rival*!— a  few  feet 
Of  Milieu  earth  uivi.le  eii.'h  winding-Kheet. 
How  peaceful  and  liow  powerful  i«  the  Brave 
Whi.-h  hushes  all !  a  calm  nnstormy  wave 
Which  oversweern  the  world.     The  theme  ii  old 


ouiitted.     A  London  journal  (the  Morning  Chronicle)  • 


npen 


Byron'i  Age  of  Brolut. 


78 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Rest,  ardent  Spirits !  till  the  cries 
Of  dying  Nature  bid  you  riv  : 
Not  even  your  Britain's  groans  can  pierce 
The  leaden  silence  of  your  hearse; 
Then.  O.  how  impotent  anJ  vain 
This  grateful  tributary  si  nun  ' 
Though  not  nnmark'd  from  northern  clime, 
Ye  heard  the  Border  Minsircl's  rhyme: 
His  Gothic  harp  lias  o'er  you  rung ; 
The  Bard  you  deigii'd  to  praise,  your  deathless 
names  has  sung. 

Stay  yet,  illusion,  stay  a  while, 
My  wilder'd  fancy  still  beguile  ! 
From  this  high  theme  how  ca.ii  I  part, 
Ere  half  unloaded  is  my  heart ! 
For  all  the  tears  e'er  sorrow  drew, 
And  all  the  raptures  fancy  knew. 
And  all  the  keener  rush  of blood. 
That  throbs  through  bard  in  bard-like  mood, 
Were  here  a  tribute  mean  and  low. 
Though    all    their    mingled    streams    could 

flow- 
Woe,  wonder,  and  sensation  high, 
In  one  spring-tide  of  ecstasy ! — 
It  will  not  be — it  may  not  last — 
The  vision  of  enchantment's  past: 
Like  frostwork  in  the  morning  ray, 
The  fancied  fabric  melts  aw  uy ; ' 
Each  Gothic  arch,  memorial  stone. 
And  long,  dun,  lofty  aisle,  are  gone ; 
And.  lingering  last,  deception  dear, 
The  choir's  high  sounds  die  on  my  ear. 
Now  slow  return  the  lonely  down. 
The  silent  pastures  bleak  and  brown. 
The  farm  begirt  with  copsewoud  wild, 
The  gambols  of  each  frolic  child, 
Mixing  their  shrill  cries  wilh  the  tone 
Of  Tweed's  dark  waters  rushing  on. 

Prompt  on  unequal  tasks  to  run, 
Thus  Nature  disciplines  her  son  : 
Meeter,  she  says,  for  me  to  stray, 
And  waste  the'solitary  day. 
In  plucking  from  yon  fen  the  reed. 
And  watch  it  floating  down  the  T weed ; 
Or  idly  list  the  shrilling  lay, 
With  which  the  milkmaid  "cheers  her  way, 
Marking  its  cadence  rise  and  fail. 
As  from  the.  field,  beneath  her  pail. 
She  trips  it  down  the  uneven  dale  : 
Meeter  for  me.  by  yonder  cairn. 
The  ancient  shepherd's  tale  to  learn  , 
Though  oft  he  slop  in  rustic  fear, 
I/est  his  old  legends  tire  the  ear 
Of  one,  who,  in  his  simple  mind. 
Hay  boast  of  book-learu'd  taste  refined. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  can'st  fitly  tell, 
(For  few  have 'read  romance  so  well,) 
How  still  the  legendary  lay 
O'er  IMKH'S  bosom  holds  its  sway ; 
How  on  the  ancient  minstrel  strain 
Time  lays  his  palsied  hand  in  vain: 
And  how  our  hearts  at  doughty  deeds, 
By  warriors  wrought  in  steely  weeds, 
Still  throb  for  fear  and  pity's  sake ; 
As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 


Enters  Morgana's  fated  house. 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous. 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force 
Holds  converse  with  the  nnburied  corse  ;* 
Or  when.  Dame  Ganore's  grace  to  move, 
(Alas,  that  lawless  was  their  love  !) 
He  sought  proud  Tarqum  in  his  den. 
And  freed  full  sixty  knights :  or  when, 
A  sinful  man.  and  unconfess'd, 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest. 
And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high. 
He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye.* 

The  mightiest  chiefs  of  British  song 
Scorn'd  not  such  legends  to  prolong  : 
They  gleam  through  Spenser's  elfin  dream, 
And  mix  in  Milton's  heavenly  theme  ; 
And  Dryden.  in  immortal  strain, 
Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again,* 
But  that  a  ribald  King  and  Court 
Bade  him  tell  on.  to  make  them  sport ; 
Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay, 
Kit  for  their  souis.  a  u>oser  lay. 
Licentious  satire,  song,  and  play; 
The  world  defrauded  of  the  high  design. 
Profaned  the  God-given  strength,  and  niarr'd 
the  lofty  line. 

Warm'd  by  such  names,  well  may  we  then. 
Though  dwindled  sons  of  little  men, 
Essay  to  break  a  feeble  lauce 
In  the  fair  fields  of  old  romance ; 
Or  seek  the  moated  castle's  cell. 
Where  long  through  talisman  and  spell, 
While  tyrants  ruled,  and  damsels  wept, 
Thy  Genius.  Chivalry,  hath  slept: 
There  sound  the  harpings  of  the  North, 
Till  he  awake  and  sally  forth, 
On  venturous  quest  to  prirk  again, 
In  all  his  arms,  with  all  his  train, 
Shield,   lance,   and  brand,  and    plume,  and 

scarf, 

Fay.  giant,  dragon,  squire,  and  dwarf, 
And  wizard  with  his  wand  of  might, 
And  errant  maid  on  palfrey  white. 
Around  the  Genius  weave  their  spells. 
Pure  Love,  who  scarce  his  passion  tells; 
Mystery,  half  vei  I'd  and  half  reveal'd; 
And  Honour,  with  his  spotless  shield; 
Attention,  with  tix'd  eye  :  and  Fear, 
That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear; 
And  gentle  Courtesy;  and  Faith, 
Unchanged  by  sufferings,  time,  or  death ; 
And  Valour,  Jioii-mettled  lord, 
Leaning  upon  his  own  good  sword. 

Wrell  has  thv  fair  achievement  shown, 
A  worthy  meed  may  thus  he  won  : 
Ytene's  =  oaks— beneath  whose  shade 
Their  theme  the  merrv  minstrels  made. 
Of  Ascapart.  and  Bevis  bold,6 
And  that  Red  King,'  who.  while  of  old. 
Through  Boldre wood  the  chase  he  led. 
By  his  loved  huntsman's  arrow  bled — 
Ytene's  oaks  have  heard  again 
Kenew'd  such  legendary  strain  ; 
For  thou  hast  sung,  how  He  of  Gaul, 
That  Amadis  so  famed  in  hall, 


«  Bee  Appendix,  No 
3  See  Appeudix,  No 


L*on  play, 

'  1'Utsurcl  vf  Memory. 


4  Sie  Arpewlix,  Note  C. 

5  The  New  Forest  io  Hampshire,  iccieulij  so  called. 

6  See  Appendix, Note  D. 

7  Williira  Rufu.. 


MARMION.                                          79 

For  Oriana,  foil'd  in  fight 

And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free, 

The  Necromancer's  felon  might; 

And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be. 

And  well  in  modem  verse  hast  wove 

And  every  minstrel  sound  his  glee, 

Partenopex's  mystic  love  :  1 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow  ; 

Hear,  then,  attentive  to  my  lay. 

And.  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 

A  knightly  tale  of  Albion's  elder  day. 

To  fire  a  noble  salvo-shot  ; 

Lord  Marmion  waits  below!" 

Then  to  the  Castle's  lower  ward 

'~^~WN~Nrt~~~WV^~->* 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall, 

The  iron-studded  gates  unharr'd, 

jjttacmfon. 

Raised  the  portcullis'  ponderous  guard, 
The  lofty  palisade  nnsparr'd 

—  — 

And  let  the  drawbridge  fall. 

CANTO    FIRST. 



V. 

THE    CASTLE. 

Along  the  bridge  Lord  Marmion  rode, 
Proudly  his  red-roan  charcer  trode, 

His  helm  hung  at  the  saddlebow  ; 

I. 

Well  by  his  visage  you  might  know 

Day  set  on  Norhnm's  castled  steep.' 

He  was  a  stalworth  knight,  and  keen, 

And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep, 

And  had  in  many  a  buttle  been; 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone  : 

The  scar  on  his  brown  cheek  reveal'd 

The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep.' 

A  token  true  of  Bosworth  field  ; 

The  loophole  grates,  where  captives  weep, 

His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire. 

The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

Show'd  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire  ; 

In  yellow  lustre  shone. 

Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 

The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high, 

Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 

Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky. 

His  forehead,  by  his  casque  worn  bare, 

Seeni'd  forms  of  giant  height  : 

His  thick  mustache,  and  curly  hair, 

Their  armour,  as  it  caught  the  rays, 

Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there, 

Flash'd  back  again  the  western  blaze, 

But  more  through  toil  than  age  ; 

In  lines  of  dazzling  light. 

His  square-turu'd  joints,  and  strength  of  limb, 

Show'd  him  no  carpet  knight  so  trim, 

11. 

But  in  close  right  a  champion  grim, 

Saint  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay, 
Now  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

In  camps  a  leader  sage. 

Less  bright,  and  less,  was  flung; 

VI. 

The  evening  gale  had  scarce  the  power 
To  wave  it  on  the  Donjon  Tower, 
So  heavily  it  hung. 
The  scouts  had  parted  on  their  search, 
The  Castle  gates  wen;  barr'd  ; 
Above  the  gloomy  portal  arch. 

Well  was  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 
In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel;  * 
But  his  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost, 
Wits  itll  with  bnrmsh'd  gold  emboss'd  ; 
Amid  the  plumage  of  the  orest, 
A  falcon  hover'd  on  her  nest, 

Timing  his  footsteps  to  a  march, 
The  Warder  kept  his  guard  ; 
Low  humming,  as  he  paced  along, 
Some  ancient  Border  gathering  song. 

With  wings  outspivatl,  and  forward  breast; 
E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield, 
Soar'd  sable  in  an  azure  field  : 
The  golden  It-stud  bore  aright, 

111. 

OEfto  cljrcfcs  at  tnr,  to  Ijcati)  ie  fcigfjt.0 

A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears  ; 
He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears. 
O'er  Horncliff-hill  a  plump'  of  spears, 
Beneath  a  pennon  gay  ; 

Blue  was  the  charger's  broider'd  rein  ; 
Blue  ribbons  deck'd  his  arching  mane  ; 
The  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 
Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapp'd  with  gold. 

A  horseman,  darting  from  the  crowd. 

VII. 

Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud, 
Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud, 
Before  the  dark  array. 
Beneath  the  sable  palisade. 
That  closed  the  Castle  barricade, 
His  bugle  horn  he  blew  ; 
The  warder  hasted  from  the  wall, 
And  wani'tl  the  Captain  in  the  hall, 
For  well  the  blast  he  knew  ; 
And  joyfully  that  knight  did  call. 
To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschal. 

Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires, 
Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  sires; 
They  burn'd  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim  ; 
For  well  could  each  a  war-horse  tame. 
Could  draw  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway, 
And  lightly  bear  the  ring  away  ; 
Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored, 
Could  dance  in  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 
And  frame  love-ditties  passing  rare, 
And  smg  them  to  a  lady  fair. 

IV. 

VIII. 

"  Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 

Four  men-at-arms  came  at  their  backs, 

Bring  pasties  of  the  doe, 

With  halbert,  bill,  and  battle-axe  : 

1  Partcnaptx  fa  Blot*,  a  poem,  by  W.  S.  Rose,  Esq.,  was 
published  iu  iNift  --K<i. 

"  Tbrrr  is  a  k.,i?ht  of  MM-  North  Country, 

a  See  Ap|ieiidix,  Note  E.                            3  laid.  Note  P. 

Floddm  fitU. 

4  Thu  word  properly  ap|,lic«  In  a  flight  of  water-fowl  ; 

6  S-e  Appn-iiix,  Note  O. 

but  it  applied,  by  analogy,  to  a  body  of  ho™-.                        1      6  Sec  Appendix,  Note  H. 

80                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

They  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong, 

And  loudly  flourish'd  the  trumpet-call, 

And  led  his  sumpter-inules  along. 

And  the  heralds  loudly  cried, 

And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 

—  "  Room,  lordiugs.  room  for  Lord  Marmion, 

Hun  listed  ease  his  battle-steed. 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold! 

The  last  and  trustiest  of  the  four, 

Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

On  high  his  forky  pennon  bore  ; 

In  the  lists  at  Cottiswold  : 

Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue, 

There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

Flutter'd  the  streamer  glossy  lilue, 

'Gainst  Marmion's  force  to  stand  ; 

Where,  blazon'd  sable,  as  before, 

To  him  he  lost  his  lady-love, 

The  towering  falcou  seern'd  to  soar. 

And  to  the  King  his  land. 

Las',  twenty  yeomen,  two  and  two, 

Ourselves  beheld  the  listed  field, 

In  hosen  black,  and  jerkins  blue. 

A  sight  bo!  h  sad  and  fair  ; 

With  falcons  broider'd  on  each  breast, 

We  saw  Lord  Marmion  pierce  his  shield, 

Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 

And  saw  his  saddle  bare  ; 

Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 

We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest 

Knew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood  ; 

He  wears  with  worthy  pnile  : 

Each  one  a  six-foot  bow  could  bend, 

And  on  the  gibbet-tree,  reversed, 

And  far  a  cloth  yard  shaft  could  send  ; 

His  foemau's  scutcheon  tied. 

Each  held  a  Ixiar-spear  tough  and  strong, 

Place,  nobles,  for  the  Falcou-Knightl 

And  at  their  belts  their  quivers  rung. 

Room,  room,  ye  gentles  gay, 

Their  dusty  palfreys,  and  array, 
Show'd  they  iiaU  march'd  a  weary  way. 

For  him  who  co'iiquerU  in  tlie  right, 
Marnuuu  of  Funienaye!" 

IX. 

XIII. 

Tis  meet  that  T  should  tell  you  now, 

Then  stepp'd  to  meet  that  noble  Lord, 

How  fairly  arm'd,  and  order'd  how, 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold, 

The  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 

With  musket,  pike,  and  motion, 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold.* 

To  welcome  noble  Marmitiu, 

He  led  Lord  Marmion  to  the  deas. 

Stood  in  the  Castle-yard  ; 

Raised  o'er  the  pavement  high, 

Minstrels  and  trumpeters  were  there, 

And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place— 

The  gunner  held  his  linstock  yare, 

They  feasted  full  and  high  : 

For  welcome-shot  prepared  : 

The  whiles  a  Northern  harper  rude 

Enter'd  the  train,  and  such  a  clang. 

Chanted  a  rhvme  of  deadly  feud, 

As  then  through  all  his  turrets  rang, 

"  Hnw  the  fierce  Thinealls,  and  Ridleyi  all,* 

Old  Norman  never  heard. 

Stout  WiUimomlswick, 

And  Hardridinq  Dick, 

X. 

And  Hu<ihie  of  Hawdon,  and  Will  o'  the  Wall, 

The  guards  their  triorrice  pikes  advanced. 

Have  set  on  Sir  Albany  Ffalherstonbaugh, 

The  trumpets  flourish  'd  brave. 

And  taken  his  life  at  the  Dfodman's-shaw." 

The  cannon  from  the  ramparts  glanced, 

Scantily  Lord  Marmion's  ear  could  brook 

And  thundering  welcome  gave. 

The  harper's  barbarous  lay  ; 

A  blithe  salute,  in  martial  sort, 

Yet  much  he  praised  the  pains  he  took, 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound. 

And  well  those  pains  did  pay  : 

For.  as  Lord  Marmion  cross'd  the  court, 

For  lady's  suit  and  minstrel's  strain, 

He  scatter'd  angels  round. 

By  knight  should  ne'er  be  heard  in  rain. 

"  Welcome  to  Norham,  Marmion! 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand  ! 

xiv. 

Well  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan, 

"  Now,  good  Lord  Marmion,"  Heron  says, 

Thou  flower  of  English  land  !" 

"Of  your  fair  courtesy, 

YT 

I  pray  you  bide  some  little  space 

Al. 

In  this  poor  tower  with  me. 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabarts  deck, 

Here  may  you  keep  your  arms  from  rust, 

With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

May  breathe  your  war-horse  well  ; 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone, 

Seldom  hath  pass'd  a  week  but  giust 

By  which  you  reach  the  donjon  gate. 

Or  feat  of  arms  befell  : 

And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state, 

The  Scots  can  rein  a  mettled  steed  ; 

They  hail'd  Lord  Marmion  : 

And  love  to  couch  a  sjiear  :  — 

They  hail'd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 

Saint  George  !  a  stirring  life  they  lead, 

Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 

That  have  such  neigh!>ours  near. 

Of  Tarn  worth  tower  and  town  ;  1 

Then  stay  with  us  a  little  space, 

And  he,  their  courtesy  to  requite. 

Our  northern  wars  to  learn  ; 

Gave  them  a  chain  o(  twelve  marks'  weight, 

I  pray  you,  for  your  lady's  grace  !" 

All  as  he  lighted  down. 

Lord  Marmiou's  brow  grew  stern. 

"  Now,  largesse,  largesse,*  Lord  Marmion, 

Knight  of  the  crest  of  gold  ! 

XV. 

A  blazon'd  shield,  in  battle  won, 

The  Captain  mark'd  his  alter'd  look, 

Ne'er  guarded  heart  so  bold." 

And  gave  a  squire  the  sign  : 

_,  _ 

A  mighty  wassail-l>o\vl  he  took, 

All. 

And  crown'd  it  high  in  wine. 

They  marshall'd  him  to  the  Castle-hall, 

"  Now  pledge  me  here.  Lord  Marmion  : 

Where  the  guests  stood  all  aside, 

But  first  1  pray  thee  fair. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  I.                    3  Ibid,  Nole  K. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  L.                    4  Ibid,  Nole  M. 

MARMION.                                          81 

Where  hast  thou  left  that  pase  of  thine, 

Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power, 

That  used  to  serve  thy  cup  of  wine, 

What  time  we  razed  old  Aytou  tower."  —  * 

Whose  bcau'y  was  so  rare  ? 

When  last  in  Itahy  towers  we  met. 

XIX. 

The  hoy  I  closely  eyed. 

"For  such-like  need,  my  lord,  I  trow, 

And  often  mark'd  his  cheeUs  were  wet, 

Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow  ; 

With  tears  he  fain  would  hide  : 

For  here  l<e  some  have  prick'd  as  far, 

His  was  no  rugged  horse-boy's  liand; 

On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  ['unbar  ; 

To  burnish  shield  or  sharpen  brand, 

Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 

Or  saddle  battle-steed  : 

And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale; 

But  meeter  seem'd  for  lady  fair, 

Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 

To  fan  her  cheek,  or  curl  her  hair. 

And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods."  —  1 

Or  through  embroidery,  rich  and  rare, 

The  slender  silk  to  lead  : 

XX. 

His  skin  was  fair,  his  ringlets  gold. 

"  Now,  in  good  sooth."  Lord  Mariuion  cried, 

His  bosom—  when  he  sigh'd. 

"  Were  I  in  warlike  wise  to  ride. 

The  russet  doublet's  rugged  fold 

A  better  guard  I  would  not  lack, 

Could  scarce  repel  its  pride  ! 

Than  your  stout  forayers  at  my  back  ; 

Say,  hast  thou  given  that  lovely  youth 
To  serve  in  lady's  bower? 

But,  as  in  form  of  peace  I  go, 
A  friendly  messenger,  to  know, 

Or  was  the  gentle  page,  in  sooth, 

Why  through  all  Scotland,  near  and  far, 

A  gentle  paramour  ?'' 

Their  King  is  mustering  troops  for  war, 
The  sight  of  plundering  Border  spears 

XVI. 

Might  justify  suspicious  fears. 

Lord  Marmion  ill  could  brook  such  jest  ; 

And  deadly  feud,  or  thirst  of  spoil, 

He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye, 

Break  out  in  some  unseemly  broil  : 

With  pain  his  rising  wrath  suppress'd. 

A  herald  were  my  fitting  guide  ; 

Yet  made  a  calm  reply  : 

Or  friar,  sworn  in  peace  to  bide; 

"  That  boy  thou  thought'st  so  goodly  fair, 

Or  pardoner,  or  travelling  priest, 

He  might  not  brook  the  northern  air. 

Or  strolling  pilgrim,  at  the  least." 

More  of  his  fate  if  thou  wouldst  learn, 

I  left  him  sick  in  Lindisfani  :' 

XXI. 

Enough  of  him.  —  But,  Heron,  say. 

The  Captain  mused  a  little  space, 

Why  does  thy  lovely  ladv  gay 

And  pass'd  his  hand  across  his  face. 

Disdain  to  grace  the  hall  to-day? 
Or  has  that  dame,  so  fair  and  sage, 

—  "  Fain  would  I  find  the  guide  you  want, 
But  ill  may  spare  a  pursuivant, 

Gone  on  some  pious  pilgrimage  <" 

The  only  men  that  safe  can  ride 

He  spoke  in  covert  scorn,  for  fanie 

Mine  errands  on  the  Scottish  side  : 

Whisper'd  light  tales  of  Heron's  dame. 

And  though  a  bishop  built  this  fart, 

Few  holy  brethren  here  resort  ; 

XVII. 

Even  our  good  chaplain,  as  I  ween, 

Unmark'd,  at  least  unreck'd,  the  taunt. 

Since  our  last  siege,  we  have  not  seen  : 

Careless  the  Knight  replied. 

The  mass  he  might  not.  sing  or  say, 

"  No  bird,  whose  feathers  gaily  flaunt, 

Upon  one  stinted  meal  a  day  : 

Delights  in  cage  to  bide  : 

So,  safe  he  sat  in  Durham  aisle. 

Norharn  is  grim  and  grated  close. 

And  pray'd  for  our  success  the  while. 

Hemm'd  in  by  battlement  and  fosse, 

Our  Norham  vicar,  woe  betide, 

And  many  a  darksome  tower  ; 

Is  all  too  well  in  case  to  ride  ; 

And  better  loves  my  lady  bright 

The  priest  of  Shoreswood  4  —  he  could  rein 

To  sit  in  lilierty  and  light, 

The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train  ; 

In  fair  Queen  Margaret's  bower. 

But  then,  no  spearman  in  the  hall 

We  hold  our  greyhound  iu  our  hand, 

Will  sooner  swear,  or  stab,  or  brawl. 

Our  falcon  on  our  glove  ; 

Friar  John  of  Tillmouth  were  the  man  : 

But  where  shall  we  find  lash  or  band, 

A  blithesome  brother  at  the  can, 

For  dame  that  loves  to  rove! 

A  welcome  guest  in  hall  and  bower. 

Let  the  wild  falcon  soar  her  swing. 

He  knows  each  castle,  town,  and  tower, 

She'll  stoop  when  she  has  tired  her  wing.''— 

In  which  the  wine  and  ale  is  good, 

YVTIT 

'Twirt  Newcastle  and  Huiy  Rood. 

A.  V  111. 

But  that  good  man,  as  ill  befalls, 

"  Nay,  if  with  Royal  James's  bride 

Hath  seldom  left  our  castle  walls, 

The  lovely  Lady  Heron  bide, 

Since,  on  the  vigil  of  St.  Bede, 

Behold  me  here  a  messenger, 

In  evil  hour,  he  cross'd  the  Tweed, 

Your  tender  greetings  prompt  to  hear; 

To  teach  Dame  Alison  her  creed. 

For.  to  the  Scottish  court  address'd, 

Old  linglitrig  found  him  with  his  wife; 

I  journey  at,  our  King's  behest, 

And  John,  an  enemy  to  strife. 

And  pray  you,  of  your  grace,  provide 

Saus  frock  and  hood,  fled  for  his  life. 

For  me,  and  mine,  a  trusty  guide. 
I  have  not  ridden  in  Scotland  since 

The  jealous  churl  hath  deeply  swore, 
That,  if  again  he  venture  o  er, 

James  baek'i)  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 

He  shall  shneve  penitent  no  more. 

Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 

Little  he  loves  such  risks,  I  know  ; 

Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 

Yet,  in  your  guard,  perchance  will  go." 

1  See  Son-  SB,  canto  ii.  stanza  1. 

3  See  Appendix.  Note  O. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

4  See  Appendix,  Sole  P. 

82                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

YV1T 

jke  his  good  saint,  I'll  pay  his  meed, 

A.V11. 

nstead  (if  cockle-shell,  or  head, 

Young  Selbv,  at  the  fair  hall-board, 

With  angels  fair  and  good. 

Carved  to  his  uncle  and  that  lord, 

love  such  holy  ramblers  ;  still 

And  reverently  took  up  the  word. 

['nry  know  to  charm  a  weary  hill, 

"  Kind  uncle,  woe  were  we  each  one, 

With  song,  romance,  or  lay  : 

If  harm  should  hap  to  brother  John. 

Some  jovial  tale,  or  glee,  or  jest, 

He  is  a  man  of  mirthful  speech. 

Some  Iving  legend,  at  the  least. 

Can  many  a  game  and  gambol  teach  : 

They  bring  to  cheer  the  way."  — 

Full  well  at  tables  can  he  play, 

XXVI 

And  sweep  at  bowls  the  stake  away. 
None  can  a  lustier  carol  bawl, 
The  needfullest  among  us  all. 

"  Ah  !  noble  sir  "  young  Selby  said, 
And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

When  time  hangs  heavy  in  the  hall, 
And  snow  comes  thick  at  Christmas  tide, 

"  This  man  knows  much,  perchance  e'en  more 
Than  he  could  leani  by  holy  lore. 

And  we  can  neither  hunt,  nor  ride 

Still  to  himself  he's  muttering. 

A  foray  on  the  Scottish  side. 
The  vow'd  revenge  of  Bnghtrig  rude, 
May  end  in  worse  than  loss  of  hood. 

And  shrinks  as  at  some  unseen  thing. 
Last  night  we  listen'd  at  his  cell  : 
Strange  sounds  we  heard,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 

Let  Friar  John,  m  safety,  still 

He  murmur'd  on  till  morn,  howe'er 

In  chimnev-conier  snore  his  fill, 
Roast  hissing  crabs,  or  flagons  swill  : 
Last  night,  to  Norham  there  came  one. 
Will  better  guide  Lord  Marmion."  — 
"  Nephew,"  quoth  Heron,  "  by  my  fay, 

No  living  mortal  conld  be  near. 
Sometimes  I  thought  I  heard  it  plain, 
As  other  voices  spoke  again. 
I  cannot  tell  —  I  like  it  not  — 
Friar  John  hath  told  ns  it  is  wrote, 

Well  hast  thou  spoke  ;  say  forth  thy  say."  — 

No  conscience  clear,  and  void  of  wrong, 
Can  rest  awake,  and  pray  so  long. 

XXIII. 

Himself  still  sirens  before  his  beads 

"  Here  is  a  holy  Palmer  come, 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves,  and  two  creeds."  —  * 

From  Salem  first,  and  last  from  Rome  ; 

XXVII. 

One,  that  hath  kiss'd  the  blessed  tomb, 
And  visited  each  holy  shrine, 
In  Araby  and  Palestine  ; 
On  hills  of  Armenie  hath  been. 
Where  Noah's  ark  may  yet  be  seen  ; 
Bv  that  Red  Sea.  too,  hath  he  trod, 
Which  parted  at  the  prophet's  rod  : 
In  Sinai's  wilderness  he  saw 
The  Mount,  where  Israel  heard  the  law, 
'Mid  thunder-dint,  and  flashing  levin, 
And  shadows,  mists,  and  darkness,  given. 
He  shows  Saint  James's  cockle-shell, 
Of  fair  Mofltserrat,  too.  ran  tell  ; 
And  of  that  Grot  where  Olives  nod, 
Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sieilv, 
Saint  Rosalie  retired  to  God.i 

—  "  Let  pass,"  quoth  Marmion  :  "  bv  my  fay, 
This  man  shall  guide  me  on  mv  wav, 
Although  the  great  arch-fiend  and  he 
Had  sworn  themselves  of  company. 
So  please  vmi.  gentle  vouth,  to  call 
This  Palmers  to  the  Castle-hall." 
The  snmmon'd  Palmer  came  in  place; 
His  sable  cowl  o'erhung  his  face  : 
In  his  black  mantle  was  he  clad, 
With  Peter's  keys,  in  cloth  of  red, 
On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought  ; 
The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck; 
The  crucifix  around  his  neck 
Was  from  Loretto  brought  , 
His  sandals  were  with  travel  tore. 
Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scnp.  he  wore  ; 
The  faded  palm-brunch  in  his  hand 

XXIV. 

Show'd  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land. 

"  To  s'ont  Saint  George  of  Norwich  merry, 

XXVIII. 

Saint  Thomas,  too.  of  "Canterbury, 
Cuthbert  of  Durham  and  Saint  Bede, 
For  his  sins'  pardon  hath  he  pray'd. 
He  knows  the  passes  of  the  North. 
And  seeks  far  shrines  beyond  the  Forth  ; 
Little  he  eats,  and  long  will  wake. 
And  drinks  bnt  of  the  stream  or  lake. 
This  were  a  guide  o'er  moor  and  dale; 
But.  when  our  John  hath  quaff  'd  his  ale, 
As  little  as  the  wind  that  blows, 
And  warms  itself  against  his  nose. 
Kens  he,  or  cares,  which  way  he  goes."— 

When  r>s  the  Palmer  came  in  hall, 
Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tall, 
Or  had  a  statelier  step  withal. 
Or  look'd  more  high  and  keen; 
For  no  saluting  did  be  wait. 
But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state. 
And  fronted  Marmioa  where  he  sate, 
As  he  his  peer  had  been 
But  lus  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil  ; 
His  cheek  was  sunk,  alas  the  while! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile, 
His  eye  look'd  baseard  wild  : 

XX  V" 

Poor  wretch  !  the  mother  that  him  hare. 

i  If  she  had  been  in  presence  there. 

"  Gramerny  !"  quoth  T-ord  Marmion, 

In  his  wan  face,  and  stm-burn'd  hair, 

"  Full  loth  were  I.  that  Friar  John, 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 

That  venerable  man,  for  me, 

Danger,  lone  trave1  want,  or  woe. 

Were  placed  in  fear  or  jeopardy 

Sv.xm  change  the  form  that  best  we  know  — 

If  this  same  Palmer  will  me  lead 

For  deadly  fear  can  tim«  outgo. 

From  hence  to  Holy-Rood. 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair; 

1  See  Appendix.  Note  Q. 

3  See  Appendix,  Hole  8. 

2  See  Appendix.  Note  K.                               1 

MARMION.                                          83 

Hard  toil  can  roughen  form  and  face. 

And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright 

Nor  does  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace 

fly  y  »',>>  f  a  %r 

More  deeply  than  despair. 

j"Ijlill.lIllUU« 

Happy  whom  none  of  these  befall. 

But  this  poor  Palmer  new  them  all. 

XXIX. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 

Lord  Marmion  then  his  boon  did  ask  ; 

_^_ 

The  Palmer  took  on  him  the  task, 

So  he  would  inarch  with  morning  tide, 

TO  THE 

To  Scottish  court  to  be  his  guide. 
"  But  I  have  solemn  vows  to  pay. 

REV.  JOHN  MARRIOTT,  A.  M. 

And  mav  not  linger  by  the  way, 
To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound,  ' 

Athesliel,  Ettrick  Forest. 

Within  the  ocean  cave  to  pray. 

The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 

Where  good  Saint  Rule  his  holy  lay 

Where  flourished  once  a  forest  fair,* 

From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day, 

When  these  waste  glens  with  copse  were 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound  ;  ' 

lined. 

Thence  to  Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well. 

And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 

Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 

Yon  Thorn—  perchance  whose  prickly  spears 

And  the  crazed  brain  restore  :  3 

Have  fenced  him  for  three  hundred  years. 

Saint  Mary  grant,  that  cave  or  spring 
Could  back  to  peace  my  bosom  bring, 

While  fell  around  his  green  compeers  — 
Yon  lonely  Thorn,  would  he  could  tell 

Or  bid  it  throb  no  more  !" 

The  changes  of  his  parent  dell, 

Since  he,  so  grey  and  stubborn  now, 

XXX. 

Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapling  bough  ; 

And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep, 
Where  wine  and  spices  richly  steep, 

Would  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingled  branches  made  ; 

In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep, 

How  broad  the  shadows  of  the  oak, 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Marmion  drank  a  fair  good  rest, 

How  clung  the  rowan*  to  the  rock, 
And  through  the  foliage  show'd  his  head, 

The  Captain  pledged  his  noble  guest, 

With  narrow  leaves  and  berries  red  ; 

The  cup  went  through  among  the  rest, 

What  pines  on  every  mountain  sprung, 

Who  drain'd  it  merrily  ; 

O'er  every  dell  what  birches  hung, 

Alone  the  Palmer  pass'd  it  by. 

In  every  breeze  what  aspens  shook, 

Though  Selby  press  'd  him  courteously. 
This  was  a  sign  the  feast  was  o'er  ; 

What  alders  shaded  every  brook! 

It  hush'd  the  merry  wassel  roar. 

"  Here,  in  my  shade/'  methinks  he'd  say, 

The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 

"The  mignty  stag  at  noon-tide  lay  : 

Soon  in  the  castle  nought  was  heard. 

The  wolf  I've  seen,  a  fiercer  game. 

But  the  slow  footstep  of  the  guard, 
Pacing  liis  sober  round. 

(The  neighbouring  dingle  bears  his  name,) 
With  lurching  step  around  me  prowl, 

And  stop,  against  the  moon  to  howl  ; 

XXXI. 

The  mountain-hoar,  on  battle  set, 

With  early  dawn  Lord  Marmion  rose  : 

His  tusks  upon  my  stem  would  whet  ; 

And  first  the  chapel  doors  unclose; 

While  doe,  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good. 

Then,  after  morning  rites  were  done, 

Have  bounded  by.  through  gay  green-wood. 

(A  hasty  muss  from  Friar  John,3) 

Then  oft,  from  Newark's  6  riven  tower, 

And  knight  and  squire  had  broke  their  fast, 

Sallied  a  Scottish  monarch's  power: 

On  rich  substantial  repast, 

A  thousand  vassals  mustered  round. 

Lord  Marmion's  bugles  blew  to  horse  : 

With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound; 

Then  came  t!ie  stirrup-cup  in  course  : 

And  I  might  see  the  youth  intent. 

Between  the  Baron  and  his  host, 

Guard  every  pass  with  crossbow  bent; 

No  point  of  courtesy  was  lost; 
High  thanks  were  by  Lord  Marmion  paid, 
Solemn  excuse  the  Captain  made. 

And  through  the  brake  the  rangers  stalk, 
And  falc'ners  hold  the  ready  hawk  ; 
And  foresters,  in  green-wood  trim, 

Till,  tiling  from  the  gate,  had  pass'd 

Lead  in  the  leash  the  gazehounds  grim. 

That  noble  train,  their  Lord  the  last. 

Attentive,  as  the  bratchet's"  bay 

Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet  call; 

From  the  dark  covert  drove  the  prey. 

Thunder'd  the  cannon  from  the  wall, 

To  slip  them  as  he  broke  away. 

And  shook  the  Scottish  shore  ; 

The  startled  quarry  bounds  amain, 

Around  the  castle  eddied  slow. 

As  fast  the  gallant  greyhounds  strain  ; 

Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow, 

Whistles  the  arrow  from  the  bow, 

And  hid  its  turrets  hoar; 

Answers  the  harquebuss  below; 

Till  they  roll'd  forth,  upon  the  air. 

While  all  the  rocking  hills  reply. 

And  met  the  river  breezes  there, 

To  hoof-clang,  hound,  and  hunters'  cry, 

Winch  gave  agnin  the  prospect  fair. 

And  bugles  ringing  lightsornely." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  T. 
2  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

New  Kdit. 

sure*  of  the  great  with  the  observances  of  religion.  It  was 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  V.                      6  Mountain-ash. 

•omraon,  when  a  party  was  bent  for  the  chase,  to  celebrate 

6  See  .Nines  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

ma..,  abridged  ,ud  maimed  of  it.  rile*  called  a  hunting- 

7  Slowhotmd. 

84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Of  such  proud  huntings,  many  tales 
Yet  linger  in  our  lonely  dales. 
Up  pnthless  Ettnck  and  on  Yarrow. 
Where  erst  the  outlaw  drew  Ins  arrow,  l 
But  not  more  blithe  that  silvan  court. 
Than  we  have  been  at  humbler  sport ; 
Though  small  our  pomp,  and  mean  our 

game. 

Our  mirth,  dear  Marriott,  was  the  same. 
Remember'st  thou  my  greyhounds  true? 
O'er  holt  or  hill  there  never  flew, 
From  slip  or  leash  there  never  sprang, 
More  fleet  of  foot,  or  sure  of  fan?. 
Nor  dull,  between  each  merry  chase 
Pass'd  by  the  intermitted  space  ; 
For  we  had  fair  resource  in  store, 
In  Classic  and  in  Gothic  lore : 
We  niark'd  each  memorable  scene, 
And  held  poetic  talk  between  ; 
Nor  hill,  nor  hrook,  we  paced  along, 
But  had  its  legend  or  its  song. 
All  silent  now — for  now  are  still 
Thy  bowers,  untenanted  Bowhill!3 
No  longer,  from  thy  mountains  dun, 
The  yeoman  hears  the  well-known  gun. 
And  while  his  honest  heart  glows  warm, 
At  thought  of  his  paternal  farm, 
Round  to  his  mates  a  brimmer  (ills, 
And  drinks,  "The  Chieftain  of  the  Hills!" 
No  fairy  forms,  in  Yarrow's  bowers, 
Trip  o'er  the  walks,  or  tond  the  flowers, 
Fair  as  the  elves  whom  Janet  saw 
By  moonlight  dance  on  Caterhaugh; 
No  youthful  Baron  's  left  to  grace 
The  Forest-Slie riff's  lonely  chase, 
And  ape,  in  manly  step  and  tone, 
The  majesty  of  (Jberon  :  3 
And  she  is  gone,  whose  lovely  fare 
Is  but  her  least  and  lowest  grace; 
Though  if  to  Sylphid  Queen  'twere  given, 
To  show  our  earth  the  charms  of  Heaven, 
She  could  not  glide  along  the  air, 
With  form  more  light,  or  face  more  fair. 
No  more  the  widow's  deafen'd  ear 
Grows  quick  that  lady's  step  to  hear: 
At  noontide  she  expects  her  not, 
Nor  busies  her  to  trim  the  cot ; 
Pensive  she  turns  her  humming  wheel, 
Or  pensive  cooks  her  orphans'  meal ; 
Yet  blesses,  ere  she  deals  their  bread. 
The  gentle  hand  by  which  they're  feu. 

From  Yair.— which  hills  so  closely  bind, 
Scarce  can  the  Tweed  his  passage  find, 
Though  much  he  fret,  and  chafe,  and  toil, 
Till  all  his  eddying  currents  boil, — 
Her  long-descended  lord  4  is  gone, 
And  left  us  by  the  stream  alone. 
And  much  I  miss  those  sportive  hoys,* 
Companions  of  my  mountain  joys. 
Just  at  the  age  'twill  boy  and  youth, 
When  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 
Close  to  my  side,  with  what  delight 
Tiiey  press'd  to  hear  of  Wallace  wight, 


When,  pointin?  to  his  any  monnd. 
I  call'd  his  ramparts  holy  ground  !  « 
Kindled  their  brows  to  hear  me  speak; 
And  1  have  smiled,  to  feel  my  cheek, 
Despite  the  difference  of  our  years, 
Kelum  again  the  glow  of  theirs. 
Ah,  happy  boys!  such  feelings  pure, 
They  will  not,  cannot,  long  eudure  ; 
Condemn'd  to  stem  the  world's  rude  tide, 
You  may  not  linger  by  the  side  : 
For  Fate  shall  thrust  you  from  the  shore, 
And  Passion  ply  the  sail  and  oar. 
Yet  cherish  the  remembrance  still. 
Of  the  lone  mountain,  and  the  rill ; 
For  trust,  dear  boys,  the  time  will  come, 
When  fiercer  transport  shall  be  dumb, 
And  you  will  think  right  frequently, 
But.  well  I  hope,  without  a  Mgli. 
On  the  free  hours  that  we  have  spent 
Together,  on  the  brown  hill's  bent. 

When,  musing  on  companions  gone, 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone. 
Something,  my  friend,  we  yet  may  gain  ; 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain  : 
It  soothes  the  love  of  lonely  rest, 
Deep  in  ,<«ch  gentler  heart  impress'd. 
'Tis  -,.,ent  amid  worldly  toils. 
And  stifled  soon  by  mental  broils: 
But,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared, 
Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard. 
Whispering  a  mingled  sentiment, 
'Twixt  resignation  and  con'ent. 
Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake, 
By  lone  Saint  Mary's  silent  lake :  1 
Thou  know'st  it  well,— nor  fen,  nor  sedge, 
Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge; 
Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 
At  once  upon  the  level  brink ; 
And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand 
Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 
Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue, 
Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view  ; 
Shaggy  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare, 
Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake,  is  there, 
Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 
Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scatter'd  pine. 
Y'et  even  this  nakedness  hiis  power, 
And  aids  the  feeling  of  the  hour  : 
Nor  thicket,  deil,  nor  copse  you  spy, 
Where  living  thing  conceal'j  might  lie  ; 
Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell, 
Where  swain,  or  woodman  lone,  might  dwell; 
There's  nothing  left  to  fancy's  guess. 
You  see  that  all  is  loneliness  : 
And  silence  aids— though  the  steep  hills 
Send  to  the  lake  a  thousand  rills ; 
In  summer  tide,  so  soft  they  weep, 
The  sound  but  lulls  the  ear  asleep ; 
Your  horse's  hoof-tread  sounds  too  rude, 
So  stilly  is  the  solitude. 

Nought  living  meets  the  eye  or  ear, 
But  well  I  ween  the  dead  are  near; 


1  The  Talr  of  the  Outlaw  Murray,  who  held  out  Newark     of  Dalkeith.  (ifterwardii  Duke  of  Buccleuch  and  Q-je 
;a*tle  and  Ellrlrk  Fof«(  aganut  llj-J  Kine.  may  be  found  :  berry,)  and  who  died  earl;  iu  1608.— See  Lift  nf  Scull,  vol. 
n  the  Border  Mi:n:rel«y,  vol.  i.     Io  Ihe  MarfarUne  MS.,  |  iii.  pp.  53-61. 


S  A  seat  of  the   Duki 
Ettnrk  Forest.    See  Sotp.  10  Ihe  La«  of  Ih.-  LaM  Minxtrel. 

9  Mr.  Mar  notl  w.v  governor  to  the  young  nobleman  here 
alluded  to,  George  Henry,  Lord  Scott,  son  10  Charles.  Earl 


beautiful 
mile*  bel 

6  The; 

8  Then 


at  Mr.  Prircile  of  Whylbai 

on  a  high  moontahio'us  ridge  abore  the  farm 
1  Aahettie!,  a  lb»ie  c«ll«l  Wallace1!  Trench. 
7  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 


MARMION.                                          85 

For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe  1 

And  my  black  Palmer's  choice  had  been 

Hath  laid  Our  Ladv's  chapel  low. 

Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene. 

Yet  still,  beneath  the  hallow'd  soil. 

Like  that   which  frowns  round  dark   Loch- 

The  peasant  rests  him  from  his  toil. 

skene.-i 

And,  dying,  bids  his  bones  be  laid, 
Where  erst  his  simple  fathers  pray'd. 

There  eagles  scream  from  rock  to  shore  ; 
['own  all  the  rocks  the  torrents  roar; 

O'er  the  black  waves  incessant  driven, 

If  age  had  tamed  the  passions'  strife, 
And  fate  had  cut  my  ties  to  life, 
Here,  have  I  thought,  'twere  sweet  to  dwell, 
And  rear  again  the  chaplain's  cell, 
Like  tha'  same  peaceful  hermitage, 
Where  Milton  longed  to  spend  nis  age.a 
'Twere  sweet  to  mark  the  setting  day, 
On  Bonrhope's  lonely  top  decay  ; 
And,  as  it  taint  and  feeble  died 
On  the  broad  lake,  and  mountain's  side, 
To  say.  '•  Thus  pleasures  fade  away  ; 
Youth,  talents,  beauty,  thus  decay, 
And  leave  us  dark,  forlorn,  and  grey  ;" 
Then  gaze  on  Dryhope's  ruin'd  tower. 
And  think  on  Yarrow's  faded  Flower  : 
And  when  that  mountain-sound  I  heard, 
Which  bids  us  be  for  storm  prepared, 
The  distant  rustling  of  his  wings. 
As  up  his  force  the  Tempest  brings, 
Twere  sweet,  ere  yet  his  terrors  rave, 
To  sit  upon  the  Wizard's  grave  ; 

Dark  mists  infect  the  summer  heaven  ; 
Through  the  rude  barriers  of  the  lake, 
Away  its  hurrying  waters  break, 
Faster  and  whiter  dash  and  curl. 
Till  down  yon  dark  abyss  they  hurl. 
Rises  the  fog  -smoke  white  as  snow, 
Thunders  the  viewless  stream  below, 
Diving,  as  if  condemned  to  lave 
Some  demon's  subterranean  cave. 
Who,  prison'd  by  enchanter's  spell, 
Shakes  I  he  dark  rock  with  groan  and  yell. 
And  well  that  Palmer's  form  and  mien 
Had  suited  with  the  stormy  scene, 
Just  on  the  edge,  straining  his  ken 
To  view  the  bottom  of  the  den, 
Where,  deep  deep  down,  and  far  within, 
Toils  with  the  rocks  the  roaring  linn; 
Then,  issuing  forth  one  foamy  wave. 
And  wheeling  round  the  Giant's  Grave, 
White  as  the  snowy  charger's  tail. 
Drives  down  the  pass  of  Mofi'atdale. 

That  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 

From  company  of  holy  dust  ;  3 
On  which  no  sunbeam  ever  shines— 
(So  superstition's  creed  divines)  — 
Thence  view  the  lake,  with  sullen  roar, 
Heave  her  broad  billows  to  the  shore  ; 

Marriott,  thy  harp,  on  Isis  strung, 
To  many  a  Border  theme  has  rung:* 
Then  list  to  me,  and  thou  shall  know 
Of  this  mysterious  Man  of  Woe. 

And  mark  the  wild-swans  mount  the  gale, 

Spread  wide  through  mist  their  snowy  sail, 

~^~~v~~^~N~~N~s« 

And  ever  stoop  again,  to  lave 

Their  bosoms  on  the  surgms  wave  : 

Then,  when  against  the  driving  hail 

^V¥                         - 

No  longer  might  my  plaid  avail, 

jndiuiiuii* 

Back  to  my  lonely  home  retire, 

And  light  my  lamp,  and  trim  my  fire  ; 
There  ponder  o'er  some  mvstic  lay, 

CANTO    SECOND. 

Till  the  wild  tale  had  all  its  sway. 

And.  in  the  bittern's  distant  shriek, 

I  heard  unearthly  voices  speak. 

THE    CONVENT. 

And  thought  the  Wizard  Priest  was  come, 

To  clarm  again  his  ancient  home  ! 

I. 

And  bade  my  busy  fancy  range. 
To  frame  him  fitting  shape  and  strange. 
Till  from  the  task  mv  brow  I  clear'd, 
And  smiled  to  think  that.  I  had  fear'd. 

The  breeze,  which  swept  away  the  smoke, 
Round  Norham  Castle  roll'd, 
When  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke. 
With  lightning-flash,  and  thunder-stroke, 

As  Marmion  left  the  Hold. 

But  chief,  'twere  sweet  to  think  such  life, 

It  curl'd  not  Tweed  alone  that  breeze, 

(Though  but  escape  from  fortune's  strife,) 
Something  most  matchless  good  and  wise, 
A  great  and  grateful  sacrifice  ; 
And  deem  each  hour  to  musing  given. 

For.  far  upon  Northumbrian  seas. 
It  freshly  blew,  and  s'rotig, 
Where,  from  high  Whitby's  cloistered  pile,' 
Bound  to  St.  Cuthnert's  Holy  Isle,* 

A  step  upon  the  road  to  heaven. 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 

Upon  the  gale  she  stoop'd  her  side, 

And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide, 

Yet  him,  whose  heart  is  ill  at  ease. 

As  she  were  dancing  home  ; 

Such  peaceful  solitudes  displease  : 

The  merry  seamen  laughed,  to  see 

1  He  loves  to  drown  his  bosom's  jar 

Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

Amid  the  elemental  war  : 

Furrow  the  green  sea-foam. 

I  See.  Appendix,  Note  T. 

Till  old  experience  do  attain 

2  "  And  may  at  last  my  wearv  age 

To  something  like  prophetic  strain." 

Fiud  out  the  |<eaceful  tin-milage. 

The  hairy  gown  and  moxsy  cell. 

3  See  Appendix,  Nnte  Y.                         4  Ibid,  Mole  Z. 

Where  I  may  »il  and  rifhtly  upell 

5  See  variou.  ballad,  by  Mr.  Marriott,  in  the  4th  TO!. 

And  every  herb  that  »i|*  the  dew  ; 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  d  A.                    7  Ibid,  Note  J  B. 

86                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Much  jov'd  they  in  their  honour'd  freight; 
For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state, 

On  two  apostates  from  the  faith. 
And,  if  need  were,  to  doom  to  death. 

The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda  placed, 

With  five  fair  nuns,  the  galley  graced. 

V. 

Nought  say  I  here  of  Sister  Clare. 

. 

Save  this,  that  she  was  young  and  fair; 

Twas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids, 

As  yet  a  novice  unprofess'd. 

Like  birds  escaped  to  green-wood  shades. 

Lovely  anil  gentle,  but  distress'd. 

Their  first  flight  from  the  case, 

She  was  betroth'd  to  one  now  dead. 

How  timid,  and  how  curious  too. 

Or  worse,  who  had  dishonour'd  fled. 

For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new, 

Her  kinsmen  bade  her  give  her  hand 

And  all  the  common  sights  they  view, 

To  one,  who  loved  her  "for  her  land  : 

Their  wonderment  enqage. 

Herself,  almost  heart-broken  now, 

One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail. 

Was  bent  to  lake  the  vestal  vow. 

Wit  h  many  a  benedicite  ; 

And  shroud,  within  Saint  Hilda's  gloom, 

One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale, 

Her  blasted  hopes  and  wither'd  bloom. 

And  would  for  terror  pruy  ; 

Then  shriek'd,  because  the  sea-dog,  nigh, 

VI. 

His  round  black  head,  and  sparkling  eye, 

She  sate  upon  the  galley's  prow. 

Rear'd  o'er  the  foaming  spray  ; 

And  seem'd  to  mark  the  waves  below; 

And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil, 

Nay,  seem'd.  so  fix'd  her  look  and  eye, 

Disordered  by  the  summer  eale. 

To  count  tlH-m  as  they  glided  by. 

Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 

She  saw  them  not  —  'twas  seeming  all  — 

Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy: 

Far  other  scene  her  thoughts  recall,  — 

Perchance,  because  such  action  graced 

A  sun-scorch'd  desert,  waste  and  bare, 

Her  fair  turn'd  arm  and  slender  waist. 

Nor  waves,  nor  breezes,  murmur'd  there; 

Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there, 

There  saw  she,  where  some  careless  hand 

Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share,  — 

O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  lieap'd  the  sand. 

The  Abbess,  and  the  Novice  Clare. 

To  hide  it  till  the  jackals  come, 

To  tear  it  from  the  scanty  tomb.  

III. 

See  what  a  woful  look  was  given. 

The  Abbess  was  of  noble  blood, 

As  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heaven  ! 

But  early  took  the  veil  and  hood, 

Ere  upon  life  she  cast  a  look, 

VII. 

Or  knew  the  world  that  she  forsook. 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distress'd  — 

Fair  too  she  was.  and  kind  had  been 

These  charms  might  lame  the  fiercest  breast  : 

As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 

Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told, 

Fur  her  a  timid  lover  sigh. 

That  he.  in  fury  uncontroll'd, 

Nor  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye. 

The  shaggy  monarch  of  tho  wood, 

Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name, 

Before  a  virgin  fair  and  good. 

Combined  with  vanily  and  shame  ; 

Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 

Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 

But  passions  in  the  human  frame, 

Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall  • 

Oft  put  the  lion's  rage  to  shame  : 

The  deadliest  sin  her  mind  could  reach, 

And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue, 

Was  of  monastic  rule  the  breach  ; 

With  sordid  avarice  in  league, 

And  her  ambition's  highest  aim 
To  emulate  Saint  Hilda's  lame. 

Had  practised  with  their  liowl  and  knife, 
Against  the  mourner's  harmless  life. 

For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower. 

1  his  crime  was  charged  'gainst  those  who  lay 

To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower; 

Prison'd  in  Cuthbert's  islet  grey. 

For  this,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 

She  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint, 

VIII. 

And  gave  the  relic  shrine  of  cost, 

And  now  the  vessel  skirts  the  strand 

With  ivory  and  gems  emboss'd. 

Of  mountainous  Northumberland  ; 

The  poor  her  Convent's  bounty  blest, 

Towns,  towers,  and  halls,  successive  rise, 

The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  found  "rest. 

And  catch  the  nuns'  delighted  eyes. 

Monk-Wearmouth  soon  behind  them  lay, 

IV. 

And  Tynemouth's  priory  and  bay  ; 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 

They  mark'd,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 

Reform'd  on  Benedictine  school; 

Of  lolly  Seaton-Delaval  ; 

Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare  ; 

They  saw  the  lilythe  and  Wansbeck  floods 

Vigils,  and  penitence  austere. 

Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods  ; 

Had  early  quench'd  the  light  of  youth, 

They  pass'd  the  tower  of  WidJenngton,1 

But  gentle  was  the  dame,  in  sooth  ; 

Mother  of  many  a  valiant  son  ; 

Though  vain  of  her  religious  sway, 

At  Coquet-isle  their  beads  they  tell 

She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey. 

To  the  good  Saint  who  own'd  the  cell  ; 

Yet  nothing  stern  was  she  in  cell. 

Tuen  did  the  Alne  attention  claim. 

And  the  nuns  love  their  Abbess  well. 

And  Warkworth  proud  of  Percy's  name  ; 

Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame  ; 

And  next,  they  crosvd  themselves,  to  hear 

Summon'd  to  Lmdisfinie,  she  came. 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near. 

There,  with  Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  old. 

Where,  boiling  through  the  rocks  they  roar. 

And  Tynemoulh's  Prioress,  to  hold 

On  Dunstauborough's  caveru'd  shore  ; 

For  inquisition  stern  and  strict. 

1  See  the  notes  on  Chivy  Ckati.—  Percy's  Ktliqiut. 

MARMION.                                          87 

Thy  tower,  proud  Bamborough,  mark'd  they 

'onspieuous  by  her  veil  and  hood, 

there, 

Signing  the  cross,  the  Abbess  stood. 

King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and  square, 

And  bless'd  them  with  her  hand. 

From  its  tall  rock  look  grimly  down. 

And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown  : 

XII. 

Then  from  the  coast  they  bore  away, 

Suppose  we  now  the  welcome  said. 

And  reach'd  the  Holy  Island's  bay. 

Suppose  the  Convent  banquet  made  : 

All  through  the  holy  dome. 

IX. 

Through  cloister,  aisle,  and  gallery, 

The  tide  did  now  its  flood-mark  gain. 
And  girdled  in  the  Saint's  domain  : 
For.  with  the  flow  and  ebb.  its  style 
Vanes  from  continent  to  isle  ; 
Dry-shod,  o'er  sands,  twice  every  day, 
The  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  find  way  ; 
Twice  every  day,  the  waves  efface 
Of  staves  and  smulall'd  feet  the  trace. 
As  to  the  port  the  galley  flew, 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 
The  Castle  with  its  battled  walls, 
The  ancient  Monastery's  halls, 
A  solemn,  huse,  and  dark-red  pile 

Wherever  vesial  maid  might  pry, 
Nor  risk  to  meet  unhallow'd  eye, 
The  stranger  sisters  roam  : 
Till  fell  the  evening  damp  with  dew. 
And  the  sharp  sea-breeze  coldly  blew, 
For  there,  even  summer  night  is  chill. 
Then,  having  stray  'd  and  gazed  their  fill. 
They  closed  around  the  fire  ; 
And  all,  in  turn,  essay'd  to  paint 
The  rival  merits  of  their  saint, 
A  theme  that  ne'er  can  tire 
A  holy  maid  ;  for,  be  it  known. 
That  their  saint's  honour  is  their  own. 

Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  isle. 

XIII. 

X. 

Then  Whitbv's  nuns  exulting  told, 

In  Saxon  strength  that  Abbey  frown'd, 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round, 
That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 
On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low, 

How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 
Must  menial  service  do;' 
While  horns  blow  out  a  note  of  shame, 
And  monks  cry  "  Fye  upon  your  name  ! 
In  wrath,  for  loss  of  silvan  game, 

By  pointed  aisle,  and  shafted  stalk, 
The  arcades  of  an  alley'd  walk 

Saint  Hilda's  priest  ye  slew." 
"  This,  on  Ascension-day,  each  year, 
While  labouring  on  our  harbour  pier, 

On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  pour'd  his  impious  nige  in  vain  ; 

Must  Herbert,  Bruce,  and  Percy  hear."  — 
They  told,  how  in  their  convent-cell 

And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these, 

A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell. 

ExnnseO  to  the  tempestuous  seas. 
Scourged  by  the  wind's  eternal  sway. 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they, 
\V  hich  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstand 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Rebuilded  in  a  later  style, 
Shnw'd  where  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been  ; 
Not  but  the  wast  ing  sea-breeze  keen 
Had  worn  the  pillar's  carving  quaint, 

The  lovely  Edelfled  ;» 
And  how,  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 
Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 
When  holy  Hilda  pray'd  ; 
Themselves,  within  their  holy  hound 
Their  stony  folds  had  often  found. 
They  told,  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail. 
As  over  Whitbv's  towers  they  sail,* 
And,  sinking  down,  with  flutterings  faint, 
They  do  their  homage  to  the  saint. 

And  moulder'd  in  his  niche  the  saint, 

And  rounded,  witli  consuming  power, 

XIV. 

The  pointed  angles  of  each  tower; 

Nor  did  Saint  Cuthhert's  daughter's  fail, 

Yet  still  entire  the  Abbey  stood, 

To  vie  with  these  in  holy  tale  ; 

Like  veteran,  worn,  but  unsubdued. 

His  body's  resting-place,  of  old, 

How  oft  their  patron  changed,  they  told  :* 

XI. 

How,  when  the  rude  Dane  burned  their  pile, 

Soon  as  they  near'd  his  turrets  strong, 

The  monks  fled  forth  from  Holy  Isle  : 

The  maidens  raised  Saint  Hilda's  song. 

O'er  northern  mountain,  marsh,  and  moor, 
From  sea  to  sea,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Their  voices,  sweetly  shrill,  combined, 
And  made  harmonious  close  ; 

Seven  years  Saint  Cuthbert's  corpse  they  bore. 
They  rested  them  in  fair  Melrose  : 

Then,  answering  from  the  sandv  shore, 

But  though,  alive,  he  loved  it  well, 

Half-drown'd  amid  the  breakers'  roar, 

Not  there  his  relics  might  repose  ; 

According  chorus  rose  ; 

For,  wondrous  tale  to  tell  ! 

Down  to  the  haven  of  the  Isle, 

In  his  stone-coffin  forth  he  rides, 

The  monks  and  nuns  in  order  file, 
From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim  ; 
Banner,  and  cross,  and  relics  there, 
To  meet  Saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare; 

A  ponderous  bark  for  river  tides. 
Yet  light  as  gossamer  it  glides. 
Downward  to  Tilmouth  cell. 
Nor  long  was  his  abiding  there, 

And,  as  they  caught  the  sounds  on  air, 
They  echoed  back  the  hymn. 
The  islanders,  in  jovous  mood. 

For  southward  did  the  saint  repair  ; 
Chester-le-Street,  and  Rippon,  saw 
His  holy  corpse,  ere  Wardilaw 

Rush'd  emuloiislv  through  the  flood, 

Hail'd  him  with  joy  and  fear  ; 

To  hale  the  bui'k  to  land  ; 

And,  after  many  wanderings  past, 

1  Ser  Appendix.  Noi<-  3  C.                   9  Ibid,  Note  2  11. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E.                     4  Ibid.  Nole  1  f. 

88                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

le  chose  his  lordly  seat  at  last. 

Were  those,  who  had  from  him  the  clew 

Where  his  cathedral,  huge  ami  vast, 

To  that,  dread  vault  to  go. 

Looks  down  upon  the  Wear  : 

Victim  and  executioner 

There,  deep  in  Durham's  Gothic  shade, 

Vere  blindfold  wljen  transported  there. 

iis  relics  are  in  secret  laid  ; 

n  low  dark  rounds  the  arches  hung, 

But  none  may  know  the  place, 

from  the  rude  rock  the  side-  walls  sprung; 

Save  of  his  holiest  servants  three. 

['he  grave-stones,  rudely  sculptured  o'er, 

Jeep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy, 
Who  share  that  wondrous  grace. 

-lalf  sunk  in  earth,  by  time  half  wore, 
Were  all  the  pavement  of  the  floor; 
The  mildew-drops  fell  one  by  one, 

XV. 

With  tinkling  plash,  upon  the  stone. 

.Vho  may  his  miracles  declare  ! 
Even  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir. 

\  cresset,*  in  an  iron  chain, 
rt'hich  served  to  light  this  drear  domain, 

(Although  with  them  they  led 

With  damp  and  darkness  seem'd  to  strive, 

Galwegians,  wild  as  ocean's  gale. 

As  if  it  scarce  might  keep  alive  ; 

And  Lodon's  knights,  all  sheathed  in  mail, 

And  yet  it  dimly  served  to  show 

And  the  bold  men  of  Te.viotdale,) 

The  awful  conclave  met  below. 

Before  his  standard  fled.1 

XIX 

TTw;is  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 

Kdged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 

There,  met  to  doom  in  secrecy, 

And  tuni'il  the  Conqueror  back  again,3 
When,  with  his  Norman  bowyer  band. 

Were  placed  the  heads  of  convents  three  : 
All  servants  of  Saint  Benedict, 

fie  came  to  waste  Northumberland. 

The  statutes  of  whose  order  strict 

On  iron  table  lay  ; 

XVI. 

[n  long  black  dress,  on  seats  of  stone. 

But  fain  Saint  Hilda's  nuns  would  learn 

Behind  were  these  three  judges  shown 

[f.  on  a  rock,  by  Lindtsfarne, 

By  the  pale  cresset's  ray  : 

Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  ami  toils  to  frame 

The  Abbeus  of  Saint  Hilda's,  there, 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name  :* 

Sat  for  a  space  with  visage  bare. 

Such  tales  had  Whithy's  fishers  told. 
And  said  they  might  his  shape  behold, 

Until,  to  hide  her  bosom's  swell, 
And  tear-drops  that  for  pity  fell, 

And  hear  his  anvil  sound  ; 

She  closely  drew  her  veil  : 

A  deaden  'd  clang.  —  a  huge  dim  form, 
Seen  but,  and  beard,  when  gathering  storm 

Yon  shrouded  figure,  as  I  guess, 
By  her  proud  mien  and  flowing  dress, 

Arid  night  were  closing  round. 
But  this,  as  tale  of  idle  fame. 

Is  Tynemouth's  haughty  Prioress,6 
And  slit;  with  awe  looks  pale  : 

The  nuns  of  Lindisfarne  disclaim. 

And  he,  that  Ancient  Man,  whose  sight 

Has  long  been  quench'd  by  age's  night, 

XVU. 

Upon  whose  wrinkled  brow  alone. 

While  round  the  fire  such  legends  go, 
Far  different  was  I  he  scene  of  woe. 

Nor  ruth,  nor  mercy's  trace,  is  shown, 
Whose  look  is  hardaiid  stern,  — 

Where,  in  a  secret  aisle  beneath. 

Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  is  his  style  ; 

Council  was  held  of  life  and  death. 

For  sanctity  call'd.  through  the  isle, 

It  was  more  dark  and  lone  that  vault, 

The  Saint  of  Lmdisfarue. 

Than  the  worst  dungeon  cell  : 

XX. 

Old  Colwulf  *  built  it,  for  his  fault, 
In  penitence  to  dwell, 
When  lie,  for  cowl  and  beads,  laid  down 

Before  them  stood  a  guilty  pair; 
But,  though  an  equal  fate  they  share, 

The  Saxon  battle-axe  and  crown. 

Yet  one  alone  deserves  our  care. 

This  den,  which,  chilling  every  sense 
Of  feeling,  hearing,  sight, 

Her  sex  a  page's  dress  belied  ; 
The  cloak  and  doublet,  loosely  tied, 

Was  call'd  the  Vault  of  Penitence, 

Obscured  her  charms,  but  could  not  hide. 

Excluding  air  and  light, 

Her  cap  down  o'er  her  face  she  drew  ; 

Was,  by  the  prelate  Sexhelm,  made 
A  place  of  burial  for  such  dead, 

And,  on  her  doublet  breast. 
She  tried  to  hide  the  badge  of  blue, 

As,  having  died  in  mortal  sm, 
Might  not  be  laid  the  church  within. 
'Twas  now  a  place  of  punishment; 
Whence  if  so  loud  a  shriek  were  sent, 
As  reach'd  the  upper  air, 
The  hearers  bless'd  themselves,  and  said, 

Ix>rd  Marnnon's  falcon  crest. 
But,  at  the  Prioress'  command, 
A  Monk  undid  the  silken  band. 
That  tied  her  tresses  fair, 
And  raised  the  bonnet  from  her  head, 
And  down  her  slender  form  they  spread, 

The  spirits  of  the  sinful  dead 
Bemoan'd  their  torments  there. 

In  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 
Constance  de  Beverley  they  know, 

Sister  profess'd  of  Fontevi  and. 

XVIII. 

Whom  the  church  number'd  with  the  dead, 

But  though,  in  the  monastic  pile, 

For  broken  vows,  and  convent  fled. 

Did  of  this  penitential  aisle 

XXI. 

Some  vague  tradition  go, 

Few  only,  save  the  Abbot,  knew 

When  thns  her  face  was  given  to  view, 

Where  the  place  lay  :  and  still  more  few 

(Although  so  pallid  was  her  hue, 

1  See  Appendix.  Note  3  O. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  1  K. 

3  See  Appendix,  Nolc  2  H. 

3  See  Appendix,  Mole  2  I. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  1  L. 

MARMION.                                          89 

It  did  a  ghastly  contrast  bear 

On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 

To  those  bright  ringlets  glistering  fair,) 

Alive,  williin  the  tomb;  > 

Her  look  composed,  and  steady  eye, 

But  stopp'd.  because  that  woful  Maid, 

Bespoke  a  matchless  constancy; 

Gathering  her  powers,  to  speak  essay'd. 

And  there  she  stood  so  calm  and  pale, 

Twice  she  essay'd,  and  twice  in  vain  ; 

That,  but  her  breathing  did  not  fail, 

Her  accenls  might  no  utterance  gain; 

And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head, 

Nought  but  imperfect,  murmurs  slip 

And  of  her  bosom,  warranted 

From  her  convulsed  and  quivering  lip; 

That  ne  '.her  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks, 

'Twixt  each  attempt  all  was  so  still, 

You  mis  ht  have  thought  a  form  of  wax, 

You  seem'd  to  hear  a  distant  rill— 

Wrough;  to  the  very  life,  was  there; 

'Twas  ocean's  swells  and  falls; 

So  still  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair. 

For  though  this  vault  of  sin  and  fear 

Was  to  the  sounding  surge  so  near, 

XXII. 

A  tempest  there  yon  scarce  could  hear, 

Her  comrade  was  a  sordid  soul, 

So  massive  were  the  walls. 

Such  as  does  murder  for  a  meed  ; 

Who.  but  of  fear,  knows  no  control, 

XXVI. 

Because  his  conscience,  sear'd  and  foul, 
Feels  not.  the  import  of  his  deed: 
One,  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires 
Beyond  his  own  more  brute  desires. 

At  length,  an  effort  sent  apart 
The  blood  that  curdled  to  her  heart, 
And  light  came  to  her  eye, 
And  colour  dawn'd  upon  her  cheek, 

Such  tools  the  Tempter  ever  needs, 

A  hectic  and  a  flutter'd  streak. 

To  do  the  savagest  of  deeds: 

Like  that  left  on  the  Cheviot  peak, 

I'or  them  no  vision'd  terrors  dannt, 
Their  nights  no  fannied  spectres  haunt, 
One  fear  with  them,  of  all  most  base, 
The  fear  of  death.  —  alone  finds  place. 
This  wretch  was  clad  in  frock  and  cowl, 
And  shamed  not  loud  to  moan  and  howl, 
His  body  on  the  floor  to  dash, 
And  crouch,  like  hound  beneath  the  lash; 

By  Autumn's  stormy  sky; 
And  when  her  silence  broke  at  length. 
Still  as  she  spoke  she  gather'd  strength, 
And  arm'd  herself  to  bear. 
It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 
Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 
In  form  so  soft  and  fair. 

While  his  mute  partner,  standing  near, 

XXVU. 

Waited  her  doom  without  a  tear. 

"  I  speak  not  to  implore  your  grace. 

xxin. 

Well  know  I,  for  one  minute's  space 

Yet  well  the  luckless  wretch  might  shriek, 
Well  might  her  paleness  terror  speak  ! 

Successless  might  I  sue  : 
Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain  ; 
For  if  a  death  of  lingering  pain 

For  there  were  seen  in  that  dark  wall, 
Two  niches,  narrow,  deep  and  tall  ;— 
Who  enters  at  such  grisly  door, 
Shall  ne'er,  I  ween,  find  exit  more. 
In  each  a  slender  meal  was  laid, 
Of  roots,  of  water,  and  of  bread  : 
By  each,  in  Benedictine  dress, 
Two  haggard  monks  stood  motionless; 

To  cleanse  my  sins,  be  penance  vain, 
Vain  are  your  masses  too.— 
I  listen'd  to  a  traitor's  tale. 
I  left  the  convent  and  the  veil  ; 
For  three  long  years  I  bow'd  my  pride, 
A  horse-boy  in  his  train  to  ride; 
And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave, 
Who  forfeited,  to  be  his  slave. 

Who,  holding  high  a  blazing  torch, 
Show'd  the  grim  entrance  of  the  porch  : 
Reflecting  back  the  smoky  beam. 
The  dark-red  walls  and  arches  gleam. 
Hewn  stones  and  cement  were  display'd, 
And  building  tools  in  order  laid. 

All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave.  — 
He  saw  young  Clara's  face  more  fair, 
He  knew  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 
Forgot  his  vows,  his  faith  foreswore, 
And  Constance  was  beloved  no  more.— 
Tis  an  old  tale,  and  often  told  ; 

XXIV 

But  did  my  fate  and  wish  agree, 

Ne'er  had  been  read,  in  story  old, 

These  executioners  were  chose. 

Of  maiden  true  betrav'd  for  gold. 

As  men  who  were  with  mankind  foes, 

That  loved,  or  was  avenged,  like  me  I 

And  with  despite  and  envy  fired, 

-,„_.-_ 

Into  the  cloister  had  retired  : 

XXVIII. 

Or  who,  in  desperate  doubt  of  grace, 

"  The  King  approved  his  favourite's  aim  ; 

Strove,  by  deep  penance,  to  efface 

In  vain  a  rival  barr'd  his  claim, 

Of  some  foul  crime  the  stain  ; 

Whose  fate  with  Clare's  was  plight, 

For,  as  the  vassals  of  her  will. 

For  he  attaints  that  rival's  fame 

Such  men  the  Church  selected  still, 

With  treason's  charge—  and  ou  they  came, 

As  either  joy'd  in  doing  ill, 

In  mortal  lists  to  fight. 

Or  thought  more  grace  to  gain. 

Their  oaths  are  said, 

If,  in  her  cause,  they  wrestled  down 

Their  prayers  are  prav'd. 

Feelings  their  nature  strove  to  own. 

Their  lances  in  the  rest  are  laid, 

By  strange  device  were  they  brought  there, 

They  meet  in  mortal  shock; 

They  knew  not  how,  nor  knew  not  where. 

And,  hark!  the  throng,  with  thundering  cry, 

Shout  '  Maruiion,  Marmion  !  to  the  sky. 

XXV. 

De  Wilton  to  the  block  !' 

And  now  that  blind  old  Abbot  rose, 
To  speak  the  Chapter's  doom, 

1  Bet  Appendix,  Hole  3  M. 

8«                                                                                                                              '      - 

90                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 

5ay  ye.  who  preach  Heaven  shall  decide              Appall'd  the  astomsh'il  r-oriclave  sate; 

When  iu  the  lists  two  champions  ride, 

With  stupid  eyes,  the  men  of  late 

Say,  was  Heaven's  justice  here? 

Gazed  on  the  "light  inspired  form. 

When,  loyal  in  his  love  and  faith. 

And  listen'd  for  the  avenging  storm; 

Wilton  found  overthrow  or  death. 

The  judges  felt  the  victim's  dread  ; 

Beneath  a  traitor's  spear  ? 

NTo  hand  was  moved,  no  word  was  said, 

How  false  the  charge,  how  true  he  fell, 

Till  thus  the  Abbot's  doom  was  given. 

This  guil'y  packet  i«st  can  tell."  — 

Raising  his  sightless  balls  to  heaven  :  — 

Then  drew  a  packet  from  her  breast. 

"  Sister,  let  thy  sorrows  cease  : 

Paused,  galher'd  voice,  and  spoke  the  rest. 

Sinful  brother,  part  in  pet^e!"1 

From  that  dire  dungeon,  place  of  doom, 

XXIX. 

Of  execution  too,  and  tomb. 

"Still  was  false  Marmion's  bridal  staid; 

Paced  forth  the  judges  three  : 

To  Whithy's  convent  fled  the  maid, 

Sorrow  it  were,  and  shame,  to  tell 

The  hated  match  to  shun. 

The  butcher-work  that  there  befell, 

'  Ho  !  shifts  she  thus  V  King  Henry  cried, 
'Sir  Marmion.  she  shall  be  thy  bride, 

When  they  had  glided  from  the  cell 
Of  sin  and  misery. 

If  she  were  sworn  a  nun.' 

One  way  romain'd  —  the  King's  command 

XXXIII. 

Sent  Marmion  to  the  Scottish  land  : 

An  hundred  winding  steps  convey 

I  linger'd  here,  and  rescue  plann'd 

That  conclave  to  the  upper  day; 

For  Clara  and  for  me  : 

But,  ere  they  breathed  the  fresher  air. 

This  caititf  Monk,  for  gold,  did  swear, 

They  heard  the  shrickings  of  despair, 

He  would  to  Whithy's  shrine  repair, 
And,  by  his  drugs,  my  rival  fair 

And  many  a  stifled  groan  : 
Wilh  speed  their  upward  way  they  take. 

A  saint  in  heaven  should  be. 

(Such  speed  as  age  and  fear  can  make.) 

But  ill  the  dastard  kept  his  oath, 

And  cross'd  themselves  for  terror's  sake. 

Whose  cowardice  has  undone  us  both. 

As  hurrying,  totterins  on  : 

Even  m  the  vesper's  heavenly  tone. 

XXX. 

"  And  now  my  tongue  the  secret  tells, 
Not  that  remorse  my  bosom  swells, 

They  seem'd  to  hear  a  dying  groan. 
And  bade  the  passing  knell  to  toll 
For  welfare  of  a  parting  soul. 

But  to  assure  my  soul  that  none 

Slow  o'er  the  midnight  wave  it  swung, 

Shall  ever  wed  with  Marmion. 

Northumbrian  rocks  in  answer  rung; 

Had  fortune  my  last  hope  betray'd. 

To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  roll'd, 

This  packet,  to  the  King  convey  'd. 

His  beads  the  wakeful  hermit  told. 

Had  given  him  to  the  headsman's  stroke. 

The  Bamborongh  peasant  raised  his  head. 

Although  my  heart  that  instant  broke.  — 

But  slept  ere  half  a  prayer  he  said  ; 

Now,  men  of  death,  work  forth  your  will, 
For  I  can  suffer,  and  be  still  ; 

So  far  was  heard  the  mighty  knell. 
The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 

And  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast, 
It  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

Spread  his  broad  nostril  to  the  wind, 
Listed  before,  aside,  behind. 

XXX[ 

Then  couc.h'd  him  down  beside  the  hind, 

•'  Yet  dread  me,  from  my  living  tomb. 
Ye  vassal  slaves  of  bloody  Rome  ! 

And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 
To  hear  that  sound  so  dull  and  stern. 

If  Marniion's  late  remorse  should  wake, 

Full  soon  such  vengeance  will  he  take, 

*~^~*~~'               ^^~/^«~^^ 

That  you  shall  wish  the  fiery  Dane 

Had  rather  been  your  guest  again. 

i&armfort. 

Behind,  a  darker  hour  ascends! 

The  altars  quake,  the  crosier  bends, 



The  ire  of  a  despotic  King 
Hides  forth  upon  destruction's  win?; 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 

Then  shall  these  vaults,  so  strong  and  deep 

*"~~~~~ 

Burst  open  to  the  sea-winds'  sweep: 

Some  traveller  then  shall  find  my  bones 

TO 

Whitening  amiil  disjointed  stones, 
And,  ignorant  of  priests'  cruelty. 

WILLIAM  ERSKINE,  ESQ.' 

Marvel  such  relics  here  should  be." 

Ashestiel.  Etlrick  Forest. 

XXXII. 
Fix'd  was  her  look,  and  stern  her  air  : 

Like  April  morning  clouds,  that  pass. 
With  varying  shadow,  o'er  the  grass, 

Back  from  her  shoulders  stream'd  her  hair  ; 

And  imitate,  on  field  and  furrow, 

The  locks,  that  wont  her  brow  to  shade. 

Life's  chequer'd  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow; 

Stared  up  erectly  from  her  head  : 
Her  figure  seem'd  to  rise  more  high; 
Her  voice,  despair's  wild  energy- 

Like  streamlet  of  the  mountain  north, 
Now  in  a  torrent  racing:  forth. 
Now  winding  slow  its  silver  train. 

Had  given  a  tone  of  prophecy. 

And  almost  slumbering  on  the  plain; 

1  See  Rote  1  M  on  Stanza  xxv.  aOt,  f.  St. 

1812.     Hi-  had  rw-,-n  from  early  TnuHi  ihe  mnot  intimate 

of 

title  of  Lor  J  KinnrtJer.  and  died  al  Edinburgh  :n  Aususi     cAutribut.-d  ncveral  paragnph^.  -Kd. 

MARMION.                                          91 

Like  breezes  of  the  autumn  day, 

For  princedoms  reft,  and  scutcheons  riven, 

Whose  voice  inconstant  dies  away. 

And  birthrights  to  usurpers  given  ; 

And  ever  swells  again  as  fust, 

Thy  land's,  thy  children's  wrongs  to  feel, 

When  the  ear  deems  its  murmur  past  ; 

And  witness  woes  thou  couldst  not  heal! 

Thus  various,  my  romantic  theme 

3n  thee  relenting  Heaven  bestows 

Flits,  winds,  or  sinks,  a  morning;  dream. 

For  honour'd  life  an  honour'd  close  ; 

Yet  pleased,  our  eve  pursues  the  trace 

And  when  revolves,  in  time's  sure  change. 

Of  Light  and  Shade's  inconstant  race  : 

The  hour  of  Germany's  revenge. 

Pleased,  views  the  rivulet  afar, 

When,  breathing  fury  for  her  sake, 

Weaving  its  maze  irregular; 

Some  new  Arminius  shall  awake. 

And  pleased,  we  listen  as  the  breeze 

Her  champion,  ere  he  strike,  shall  come 

Heaves  its  wild  sigh  through  Autumn  trees  ; 

To  whet  his  sword  on  Brunswick's  tomb.1 

Then,  wild  as  cloud,  or  stream,  or  gale, 

Flow  on,  flow  uncoafined,  my  Tale  ! 

"  Or  of  the  Red-Cross  hero?  teach. 

Dauntless  in  dungeon  as  on  breach  : 

Need  I  to  thee.  dear  Erskine,  tell 
I  love  the  license  all  too  well, 
In  sounds  now  lowly,  and  now  strong;, 
To  raise  the  desultory  sans  f— 
Oft,  when  'mid  such  capricious  chime, 
Some  transient  fit  of  lofty  rhyme 
To  thy  kind  judgment  seem'd  excuse 
For  many  an  error  of  the  muse, 
Oft  hast  thou  said,  '•  If.  still  mis-spent, 
Thine  hours  to  poetry  are  lent, 
Go,  and  to  tame  thy  wandering  course, 
Quaff  from  the  fountain  at  the  source; 
Approach  those  masters,  o'er  whose  tomb 
Immortal  laurels  ever  bloom  : 

Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar  : 
Alike  to  him  the  war  that  calls 
Its  votaries  to  the  slmtter'd  walls, 
Which  the  grim  Turk.besmear'd  with  blood, 
Against  the  Invincible  made  good; 
Or  that,  whose  thundering  voice  could  wake 
The  silence  of  the  polar  lake, 
When  stubborn  Russ,  and  metal'd  Swede, 
On  the  warp'd  wave  their  death-game  play'd  ; 
Or  that,  where  Vengeance  and  Affright 
Howl'd  round  the  father  of  the  tight, 
Who  snatch'd,  on  Alexandria's  sand. 
The  conqueror's  wreath  with  dying  hand.* 

Instructive  of  the  feebler  bard, 
Still  from  the  grave  their  voice  is  heard  ; 
From  them,  and  from  the  paths  they  show'd, 
Choose  honour'd  guide  and  practised  road  ; 
Nor  ramble  on  through  brake  and  maze, 
With  harpers  rude  of  barbarous  days. 

"  Or.  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine, 
Restore  the  ancient  tragic  line, 
And  emulate  the  notes  that  wrung 
From  the  wild  harp,  which  silent  hung 
By  silver  Avon's  holy  shore, 
Till  twice  an  hundred  years  roll'd  o'er: 

When  she,  the  bold  Enchantress,!  came. 

"  Or  deem'st  thou  not  our  later  time 

With  fearless  hand  and  heart  on  flame  ! 

Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  rhyme  ? 

From  the  pale  willow  snalch'd  the  treasure, 

Hast  thou  no  elegiac  verse 

And  swept  it  with  a  kindred  measure, 

For  Brunswick's  venerable  hearse? 

Till  Avon's  swans,  while  rung  the  grove 

What  !  not  a  line,  a  tear,  a  sigh. 

With  Montfort's  hate  and  Basil's  love, 

When  valour  bleeds  for  liberly  ?— 

Awakening  at  the  inspired  strain, 

Oh,  hero  of  that  glorious  time. 

Deem'd  their  own  Shakspeare  lived  again." 

When,  witli  unrivall'd  light  sublime,  — 

Though  martial  Austria,  and  though  all 

Thy  friendship  thus  thy  judgment  wronging, 

The  might  of  Russia,  and  the  Gaul. 

With  praises  not  to  me  belonging. 

Though  banded  Europe  stood  her  foes  — 

In  task  more  meet  fur  mightiest  powers, 

The  star  of  lirandenburgh  arose  ! 

Wouldst  thou  engage  my  thriftless  hours. 

Thou  couldst  not  live  to  see  her  beam 

But  say,  my  Erskiue,  hast  thou  weigh'd 

For  ever  quencli'd  in  Jena's  stream. 

That,  secret  power  by  all  obey'd. 

Lamented  Chief  !—  it  was  not  given 

Which  warps  not  less  the  passive  mind, 

To  thee  to  change  the  doom  of  Heaven, 

Its  source  conceal'd  or  undefined  ; 

And  crush  that  dragon  m  its  birth, 

Whether  an  impulse,  that  has  birth 

Predestined  scourze  of  guilty  earth. 

Soon  as  the  infant  wakes  on  earth. 

Lamented  Chief!  —  not  thine  the  power, 

One  with  our  feelings  and  our  powers. 

To  save  in  that  presumptuous  hour, 

And  rather  part  of  us  than  ours  : 

When  Prussia  hurried  to  the  field, 

Or  whether  titlier  term'd  the  sway 

And  snatch'd  the  spear,  but  left  the  shield  ! 

Of  habit,  form'd  in  early  day? 

Valour  and  skill  'twas  thine  to  try. 

Howe'er  derived,  its  force  confest 

And,  tried  m  vain,  'twas  thine  to  die. 

Rules  with  despotic  sway  ihe  breast, 

Ill  had  it  seem'd  thy  silver  hair 

And  drags  us  on  by  viewless  chain, 

The  last,  the  bitterest  pang  to  share, 

While  taste  and  reason  plead  in  vain.  5 

norm  very  freely  diirini:  the  whole  of  iu  prngress.     As  early 

ties."—  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  9. 

v,  the  Md  February  1807.  I  find   Mrs.    dayman   acknow- 

2 Sir  Sidney  Smith. 

ledging,  in  Ihe  name  of  the  Princess  of  Walen.  the  receipt 

3  Sir  Ralph  A  bercrombjr. 

or  a  copy  of  the  Introduction  to  Canto  III.,  in  which  occurs 

4  Joanna  Bjillie. 

Grow»  with  hi*  growth,  and  strengthens  with  hi« 

92                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Look  east,  and  ask  the  Belgian  why, 

And  ever,  by  the  winter  hearth. 

Beneath  Batavia's  sultry  sky. 

Jld  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth, 

He  seeks  not  eager  to  inhale 

3f  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  charms, 

The  freshness  of  the  mountain  gale, 

Jf  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms  ; 

Content,  to  rear  his  wlnten'd  wall 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

Beside  the  dank  and  dull  canal  ? 

Bv  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold  ; 

He'll  say,  from  youth  he  loved  to  see 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

The  white  sail  gliding  by  the  tree. 

When,  pouring  from  their  Highland  height, 

Or  see  yon  weathei  beaten  hind. 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway. 

Whose  si  ugjrisb.  herds  before  him  wind, 
Whose  tatter'd  plaid  and  rugged  cheek 
His  northern  clime  and  kindred  speak  ; 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 
While  stretch'd  ut  length  upon  the  floor, 
Again  1  fought  each  combat  o'er. 

Through  England's  laughing  meads  he  goes, 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid. 

And  England's  wealth  around  him  flows  ; 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  displav'd  ; 

Ask,  if  it  would  content  him  well. 

And  onward  still  the  Scottish  I/ion  bore. 

At  ease  in  those  gay  plains  to  dwell, 

And  still  the  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before.5 

Where  hedge-rows  spread  a  verdant  screen, 
And  spires  and  forests  intervene, 
And  the  neat  cottage  peeps  between? 
No  !  not  for  these  will  he  exchange 
His  dark  lx«liaher's  boundless  range  : 
Not  for  fair  Devon's  meads  forsake 
Bennevis  grey,  and  Garry's  lake. 

Still,  with  vain  fondness,  could  I  trace, 
Anew,  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brighten'd  at  our  evening  fire! 
From  the  thatrh'd  mansion's  grey-hair'd  Sire,* 
Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good. 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood  ; 
Whose  eye,  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen. 

Thus  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charm'd  me  yet  a  child. 

Show'd  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been  ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought, 

Rude  though  they  be.  still  with  the  chime 

Content  with  equity  unbought  ; 

Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time; 

To  him  the  venerable  Priest, 

And  feelings,  roused  in  life's  first  day, 

Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest. 

Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 

Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 

Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower. 
Which  charm'd  my  fancy's  wakening  hour. 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along, 

Alike  the  student  and  the  saint; 
Alas  !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke: 

To  claim,  perchance,  heroic  song: 

For  1  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild. 

Though  sigh'd  no  groves  in  summer  gale, 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale  ; 

A  self-will'd  imp.  a  grandame's  child  ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest. 

Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 

Was  still  endured,  beloved,  caress'd. 

Claim'd  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed  ; 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 

For  me,  thus  nurtured,  dost  thou  ask 
The  classic  poet's  well-conn'd  task  ? 
Nay,  Erskine,  nav—  On  the  wild  hill 

It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild. 
Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled  ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green  ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew, 
And  honey-suckle  loved  to  crawl 
Dp  the  low  crag  and  ruin'd  wall. 
I  deem'd  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  its  round  survev'd  : 
And  still  1  thought  that  shatter'd  tower1 
The  mightiest  work  of  human  power; 
And  marvell'd  as  the  aged  hind 

Let  the  wild  heath-bell  flourish  still; 
Cherish  the  tulip,  prune  the  vine. 
But  freely  let  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  leave,  untnmm'd  the  eglantine: 
Nay,  my  friend,  nay  —  Since  oft  thy  praise 
Hath  given  fresh  vigour  to  my  lays  : 
Since  oft  thy  judgment  could  refine 
My  flaUen'd  thought,  or  cumbrous  line  ; 
Still  kind,  as  is  thy  wont,  attend. 
And  in  the  minstrel  spare  the  friend. 
Though  wild  as  cloud,  as  stream,  as  gale, 
Flow  forth,  flow  unrestrain'd,  my  Tale  ! 

With  some  strange  tale  bewitch'd  my  mind. 

s^s~s~ 

Of  forayers,  who.  with  headlong  force. 

Down  from  that  strength  had  spurr'd  their 
horse, 

i&arimon. 

Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 
Far  in  the  distant  Cheviots  blue, 

CANTO  THIRD. 

And,  home  returning,  fill'd  the  hall 
With  revel,  wassel-rout.  and  brawl. 
Methought  that  still  with  trump  :.nd  clang, 

THE    HOSTEL,    OB   INN. 

1  The  gateway's  broken  arches  rang; 

I. 

Methought  grim  features,  seam'd  with  scars, 

The  livelong  day  I/ml  Marmion  rode  : 

Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars, 

The  mountain  path  the  1'almer  show'd. 

So,  cast  and  mingled  with  hi*  very  frame. 

Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power; 

The  Mind's  di-ea.se,  its  Ruling  Pasoiou  came  : 

Pope'n  Essay  an  Max.—fA. 

Whatever  warm-  the  heart,  or  dll»  the  head, 

1  Smailholm  Tower,  in  Berwickshire,  the  »rene  of  the 

AH  the  mind  opens,  and  its  function!*  spread. 

Author1*  infancy,  ia  situated  about  two  milea  from  Dry- 

Imagination  plies  her  iiai>|,'erou«  art. 

burgh  \boeT. 

And  pour*  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 

S  See  notes  on  TV  F,ct  o/S'   John. 

Wit,  Spirit,  Faculti!-*,  but  make  it  worse; 

Poet. 

MARMION. 


93 


By  glen  and  slreainlet  winded  still, 
Where  slunled  bin-lies  hid  the  nil. 
They  might  not  choose  the  lowland  road, 
For  the  Morse  forayers  were  abroad, 
Who,  lired  with  liate  and  thirst  of  prey, 
Had  scarcely  f;uTd  lo  bar  their  way. 
Oft  on  the  trampling  band,  from  crown 
Of  some  tall  clifl;  the  deer  look'd  down; 
On  wing  of  jet,  from  his  repose 
In  the  deep  heath,  the  black-cock  rose; 
Sprung  from  the  gorse  the  timid  roe, 
Nor  waited  for  the  bending  bow ; 
And  when  the  stony  path  began, 
By  which  ttie  naked  peak  they  wan, 
Up  flew  the  snowy  ptarmigan. 
The  noon  had  long  been  pass'd  before 
They  gaiu'd  the  height  of  Lammermoor;! 
Thence  winding  down  the  northern  way, 
Before  them,  at  the  close  of  day, 
Old  Gifford's  towers  and  hamlet  lay.  2 

II. 

No  summons  calls  them  to  the  tower, 
To  spend  the  hospitable  hour. 
To  Scotland's  camp  the  Lord  was  gone ; 
His  caul  lous  dame,  in  bovver  alone,   : 
Dreaded  her  castle  to  unclose. 
So  late,  to  unknown  fnends  or  foes. 
On  through  the  hamlet  as  they  paced, 
Before  a  porch,  whose  front,  was  graced 
With  bush  and  nagon  trimly  placed, 

Lord  Marimoii  drew  his  rein  : 
The  village  inn  seem'd  large,  though  rude ; 
lls  cheerful  fire  and  hearty  food 

Might  well  relieve  liis  train. 
Down  from  their  seals  the  horsemen  sprung, 
With  jingling  spurs  the  court-yard  rung; 
They  bind  their  horses  to  the  stall, 
For  forage,  food,  and  firing  call, 
And  various  clamour  fills  the  hall: 
Weighing  the  labour  with  the  cost. 
Toils  every  where  the  bustling  host. 

m. 

Soon,  by  the  chimney's  merry  blaze, 
Through  the  rude  hostel  might  you  gaze; 
Might  see,  where,  in  dark  nook  aloof, 
The  rafters  of  the  sooty  roof 

Bore  wealth  of  winter  cheer; 
Of  sea-fowl  dried,  and  solands  store, 
And  gammons  of  the  tusky  boar, 

And  savoury  haunch  of  deer. 
The  chimney  arch  projected  wide ; 
Above,  around  it,  and  beside. 

Were  tools  for  housewives'  hand ; 
Nor  wanted,  in  that  martial  day, 
The  implements  of  Scottish  fray. 

The  buckler,  lance,  and  brand. 
Beneath  its  shade,  the  place  of  state, 
On  oaken  settle  Marmion  sate, 
And  view'd  around  the  blazing  hearth, 
His  followers  mix  in  noisy  mirth ; 
Whom  with  brown  ale,  in  jolly  tide, 
From  ancient  vessels  ranged  aside, 
Full  actively  their  host  supplied. 

IV. 

Theirs  was  the  glee  of  martial  breast, 
And  laughter  theirs  at  little  jest ; 


And  oft  Lord  Marmion  deign'd  to  aid, 
And  mingle  in  the  mirth  they  made ; 
For  though,  will)  men  of  high  degree. 
The  proudest  of  the  proud  was  he. 
Yet,  tram'd  in  camps,  lie  knew  the  art 
To  win  the  soldier's  hardy  heart. 
They  love  a  captain  to  obey, 
Boisterous  as  March,  yet  fresh  as  May; 
With  open  hand,  and  brow  as  free, 
Lover  of  wine  and  minstrelsy; 
Ever  the  first  to  scale  a  tower, 
Asvenlurous  in  a  lady's  bower:— 
Such  buxom  chief  shall  lead  his  host 
From  India's  fires  to  Zambia's  frost. 

V. 
Resting  upon  his  pilgrim  staff. 

Right  opposite  (he  Palmer  stood  ; 
His  thin  dark  visage  seen  but  half, 

Half  hidden  by  his  hood. 
Still  tix'd  on  .Marmion  was  his  look. 
Which  he,  who  ill  such  gaze  could  brook, 

Strove  by  a  frown  to  quell ; 
But  not  for  that,  though  more  than  once 
Full  met  their  stern  encountering  glance, 

The  Palmer's  visage  fell. 

VI. 

By  fits  less  frequent  from  the  crowd 
Was  heard  the  burst  of  laughter  loud ; 
For  slill,  as  squire  and  archer  stared 
On  that  dark  face  and  matted  beard, 

Their  glee  and  same  declined. 
All  gazed  at  length  in  silence  drear, 
Unbroke,  save  when  in  comrade's  ear 
Some  yeoman,  wondering  in  his  fear, 

Thus  whisper'd  forth  his  mind  :— 
"Saint  Mary !  saw'.-t  tliou  e'er  such  sight  7 
How  pale  his  cheek,  his  eye  how  bright. 
Whene'er  the  firebrand's  fickle  light 

Glances  beneath  his  cowl ! 
Full  on  our  Lord  he  sets  his  eye; 
For  his  best  palfrey,  would  not  I 

Endure  that  sullen  scowl." 

VII. 

But  Marmion.  as  to  chase  the  awe 
Which  thus  had  quell'd  I  heir  hearts,  who  saw 
The  ever-varying  fire-light  show 
That  figure  stern  and  face  of  woe, 

Now  call'd  upon  a  squire : — 
"  Fitz  Eustace,  know'st  thou  not  some  lay, 
To  speed  the  lingering  night  away  ? 

We  slumber  by  the  tire." — 

VIII. 

"  So  please  you,"  thus  the  youth  rejoin'd, 
'•  Our  choicest  minstrel's  left  l>ehind. 
Ill  may  we  hope  to  please  your  ear, 
Accustom'd  Constant's  strains  to  hear. 
The  harp  full  deftly  can  he  strike, 
And  wake  the  lover's  lute  alike; 
To  dear  Saint  Valentine,  no  thrush 
Sings  livelier  from  a  spring-tide  bush, 
No  nightingale  her  love-lorn  tune 
More  sweetly  warbles  to  the  moon. 
Woe  to  the  cause,  whate'er  it  be, 
Detains  from  us  his  melody, 
Lavish'd  on  rocks,  and  billows  stern. 
Or  duller  monks  of  Lindisfarne. 


from  Ihe  hills  of  L« 


94                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Now  must  I  venture,  as  I  may, 

To  sing  his  favourite  roundelay." 

XII. 

T  Y 

[t  ceased,  the  melancholy  sound  ; 

J  A. 

And  silence  sunk  on  all  around. 

A  mellow  voice  Fitz-Eustace  hail, 

The  air  was  sad  ;  but  sadder  still 

The  air  he  chose  was  wild  and  sad  ; 

It  fell  on  Marmion's  ear, 

Such  have  I  heard,  in  Scottish  laud, 

And  plain'd  as  if  disgrace  and  ill, 

Rise  from  the  busy  harvest  band, 

And  shameful  death,  were  near. 

When  falls  before  the  mountaineer, 

He  drew  his  mantle  past  his  face, 

On  Lowland  plains,  the  np«n'd  ear. 

Between  it  and  the  hand, 

Now  one  shrill  voice  the  notes  prolong, 

And  rested  with  his  head  a  space. 

Now  a  wild  chorus  swells  the  song  : 

Reclining  on  his  hand. 

Oft  have  I  listen'd,  and  stood  still, 

His  thoughts  I  scan  not  ;  but  I  ween. 

As  it  came  soften'd  up  the  hill, 

That,  could  their  import  have  been  seen, 

And  deem'd  it  the  lament  of  men 

The  meanest  groom  in  all  the  hall, 

Who  lansuish'd  for  their  native  glen; 

That  e'er  tied  courser  to  a  stall. 

And  thought  how  sad  would  be  such  sound 

Would  scarce  have  wish'd  to  be  their  prey, 

On  Susquehanria's  swampy  ground, 
Kentucky's  wood-encumber'd  brake, 

For  Lutterward  and  Foutenaye. 

Or  wild  Ontario's  boundless  lake. 

XIII. 

Where  heart-sick  exiles,  in  the  strain, 
Recall  M  fair  Scotland's  hills  again  1 

High  minds,  of  native  pride  and  force. 
Most  deeply  feel  thy  pangs.  Remorse  ! 

X. 

Fear,  for  their  scourge,  mean  villains  have, 

Thou  art  the  torturer  of  the  brave  ! 

SONG. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest, 
Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast 
Parted  for  ever  ? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high. 
Sounds  the  far  billow. 
Where  early  violets  die. 
Under  the  willow. 

Yet  fatal  strength  they  boast  to  steel 
Their  minds  to  bear  the  wounds  they  feel. 
Even  while  they  writhe  beneath  the  smart 
Of  civil  conflict  in  the  heart. 
For  soon  Lord  Marmion  raised  his  head, 
And,  smiling,  to  Fitz-Eustace  said,  — 
"  Is  it  not  strange,  that,  as  ye  sung, 
Seem'd  in  mine  ear  a  death-peal  rung, 
Such  as  in  nunneries  they  toll 
For  some  departing  sister's  soul  T 

CHORUS 

Say,  what  may  this  portend  ?"— 

Eleu  loro,  &c.  Soft  shall  be  his  pillow. 

Then  first  the  Palmer  silence  broke, 
(The  livelong  day  he  had  not  spoke,) 

There,  through  the  summer  day, 

"  The  death  of  a  dear  fnend."i 

Cool  streams  are  laving  ; 

XIV. 

There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving  ; 
There,  thv  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Marmion,  whose  steady  heart  and  eye 
Ne'er  changed  in  worst  extremity; 

Parted  for  ever. 

Marmion.  whose  soul  could  scantly  brook, 

Never  again  to  wake, 
Never,  O  never  ! 

Even  from  his  King,  a  haughty  look  : 
Whose  accent  of  command  controll'd. 

In  camps,  the  boldest  of  the  bold- 

CHORUS. 

Thought,  look,  and  utterance  fail'd  him  now. 

Eleu  loro,  due.    Never,  0  never  ! 

Fall'n  was  his  glance,  and  flush'd  liis  brow  : 

For  either  in  Hie  tone. 

XI. 

Or  something  in  the  Palmer's  look. 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

So  full  upon  his  conscience  strook, 
That  answer  he  found  none. 

Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 
Kuin,  and  leave  her  < 
In  the  lost  battle. 
Borne  down  by  the  flying. 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 
With  groans  of  the  dying. 

Thus  oft  it  haps,  that  when  within 
They  shrink  at  sense  of  secret  sin, 
A  feather  daunts  the  brave  ; 
A  fool's  wild  speech  confounds  the  wise, 
And  proudest  princes  veil  their  eyes 
Before  their  meanest  slave. 

CHORUS. 

XV. 

Eleu  loro,  &c.  There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Well  might  he  falter!—  By  his  aid 

Was  Constance  Beverley  betray'd. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

Not  that  he  augur'd  of  the  doom, 

O'er  the  false-hearted  ; 

Which  on  the  living  closed  the  tomb  : 

His  warm  blood  Hie  wolf  shall  lap, 

But,  tired  to  hear  the  desperate  maid 

Ere  life  be  parted. 

Threaten  by  turns,  beseech,  upbraid; 

Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

And  wroth,  because  in  wild  despair, 

By  his  grave  ever; 

She  practised  on  the  life  of  Clare  ; 

Blessing  shall  hallow  it,  — 

Its  fugitive  the  Church  he  gave, 

Never,  0  never  ! 

Though  not  a  victim,  but  a  slave  ; 

Eleu  loro,  ic.    Never,  O  never  ! 

1  8w  Appendix.  Mole  2  O. 

MAKMION.                                          95  j 

And  deem'd  restraint  in  convent  strange 

Their  Host  the  Palmer's  speech  had  heard, 

Would  hide  her  wrongs,  and  her  revenge. 

Ami,  talkative,  took  up  the  word, 

Himself,  proud  Henry's  favourite  peer, 
Held  Romish  thunders  idle  fear, 

"Ay,  reverend  Pilgrim,  you,  who  stray 
From  Scotland's  simple  land  away, 

Secure  his  pardon  he  might  hold. 

To  visit  realms  afar,                                            | 

For  some  slight  mulct  of  penance-gold. 

Full  often  learn  the  art  to  know 

Thus  judging,  he  gave  secret  way. 
When  the  stern  priests  surprised  their  prey. 
His  train  but  deem'd  the  favourite  page 

Of  future  weal,  or  future  woe, 
By  word,  or  sign,  or  star  ; 
Yet  might  a  knight  his  fortune  hear, 

Was  left  behind,  to  spare  his  age  ; 

If,  knight-like,  he  despises  fear, 

Or  other  if  they  deem'd,  none  dared 

Not  far  from  hence  ;  —  if  fathers  old 

To  mutter  what,  he  thought  and  heard  : 

Aright  our  hamlet  legend  told."  — 

Woe  to  the  vassal,  who  durst  pry 

These  broken  words  the  menials  move, 

Into  Lord  Marmion's  privacy  ! 

(For  marvels  still  the  vulgar  love,) 

And.  Marmion  giving  license  cold, 

XVI. 

Has  tale  the  host  thus  gladly  told  :  — 

His  conscience  slept—  he  deem'd  her  well. 

XIX. 

And  safe  secured  in  distant  cell  ; 

But.  waken'd  by  her  favourite  la)-. 

THE   HOST'S   TALE. 

And  that  strange  Palmer's  boding  say, 
That  fell  so  ominous  and  drear, 
Full  on  the  object  of  his  fear. 
To  aid  remorse's  venom'd  throes, 
Dark  tales  of  convent-vengeance  rose; 
And  Constance,  late  betray  'd  and  scorn'd, 
All  lovely  on  his  soul  return'd  ; 
Lovely  as  when,  at  treacherous  call, 
She  left  her  convent's  peaceful  wall, 
Crimson'd  with  shame,  with  terror  mute, 
Dreading  alike  escape,  pursuit, 
Till  love,  victorious  o'er  alarms, 

"  A  Clerk  could  tell  what  years  have  flown 
Since  Alexander  fill'd  our  throne. 
(Third  monarch  of  that  warlike  name,) 
And  eke  the  time  when  here  he  <;ame 
To  seek  Sir  Hugo,  then  our  lord  : 
A  braver  never  drew  a  sword  ; 
A  wiser  never,  at  the  hour 
Of  midnight,  spoke  the  word  of  power: 
The  same,  whom  ancient  records  call 
The  founder  of  the  Goblin-Hall.  1 
I  would,  Sir  Knight,  your  longer  stay 

Hid  fears  and  blushes  in  his  arms. 

Gave  you  that  cavern  to  survey. 
Of  lofty  roof,  and  ample  size, 

XVII. 

Beneath  the  castle  deep  it  lies: 

"Alas!"   he  thought,  "how  changed  that 

To  hew  the  living  rock  profound. 
The  floor  to  pave,  the  arch  to  round, 

mien  ! 

There  never  toil'd  a  mortal  arm, 

How  changed  these  timid  looks  have  been, 

It  all  was  wrought  by  word  and  charm; 

Since  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 
Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes! 
No  more  of  virgin  terror  speaks 

And  1  have  heard  my  grandsire  say. 
That  the  wild  clamour  and  affray 
Of  those  dread  artisans  of  hell. 

The  blood  that  mantles  in  her  cheeks  ; 

Who  laboui  'd  under  Hugo's  spell, 

Fierce,  and  unfeminine,  are  there, 

Sounded  as  loud  as  ocean's  war, 

Frenzy  for  joy,  for  grief  despair; 

Among  the  caverns  of  Duubar. 

And  1  the  cause  —  for  whom  were  given 

Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven!  — 

XX. 

Would."  thought  he,  as  the  picture  grows, 
"  I  on  its  stalk  had  left  the  rose  ! 
Oh,  why  should  man's  success  remove 
The  very  charms  that  wake  his  love  !  — 
Her  convent's  peaceful  solitude 
Is  now  a  prison  harsh  and  rude  : 
And,  pent  within  the  narrow  cell, 
How  will  her  spirit  chafe  and  swell  ! 
How  brook  the  stern  monastic  laws! 
The  penance  how  —  and  I  the  cause  !  — 
Vigil  and  scourge  —  perchance  even  worse  !"  — 
And  twice  he  rose  to  cry.  "  To  horse  !"  — 
And  twice  his  Sovereign's  mandate  came, 
Like  damp  upon  a  kindling  fl;ime  ; 
And  twice  he  thought,  "Gave  I  not  charge 
She  should  be  safe,  though  not  at  large? 
They  durst  not.  for  their  island,  shred 
One  golden  ringlet  from  her  head." 

"  The  King  Lord  Gilford's  castle  sought, 
Deep  labouring  with  uncertain  thought; 
Even  then  he  muster'd  all  his  host, 
To  meet  upon  the  western  coast  : 
For  Norse  and  Danish  galleys  plied 
Their  o;irs  wi  bin  the  frith  of  Clyde. 
There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim,* 
Above  Norweyan  warriors  grim, 
Savage  of  heart,  and  large  of  limb; 
Threatening  both  continent  and  isle, 
Bute,  Arran,  Cunninghame,  and  Kyle. 
Lord  Giffbrd,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 
Heard  Alexander's  bugle  sound. 
And  tarried  not  his  garb  to  change, 
Hut,  in  his  wizard  habit  strange.s 
Came  forth.  —  a  quaint  and  fearful  sight  ; 
His  mantle  lined  with  fox-skins  white  ; 
His  high  and  wrinkled  forehead  bore 

XVIII. 

A  pointed  cap,  such  as  of  yore 

Clerks  say  that  Pharaoh's  Magi  wore  : 

While  thus  in  Jlarmion's  bosom  strove 

His  shoes  were  mark'd  with  cross  and  spell, 

Repentance  and  reviving  love, 

Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle  ;* 

Like  whirlwinds,  whose  contending  sway 

His  zone,  of  virgin  parchment  thin, 

1'Te  seen  Loch  Vennachar  obey. 

Or,  as  some  tell,  of  dead  man's  skin, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  »K. 

3  See  Appendix,  «  ote  3  d.                                                               4  See  Appendix.  Mole  3  8 

96 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Bore  many  a  planetary  sign. 
Combust,  and  retrograde,  ami  trine; 
And  in  his  hand  he  held  prepared, 
A  naked  sword  without  a  guard. 

XXI. 

"Dire  dealing  with  the  fiendish  race 
Had  mark'd  stranee  lines  upon  his  face ; 
Visril  and  fast  had  worn  him  grim. 
His  eyesight  dazzled  seem'd  and  dim, 
As  one  unused  to  upper  day  ; 
Kven  his  own  menials  with  dismay 
Beheld,  Sir  Knight,  the  grisly  Sire, 
Iii  his  unwonted  wild  attire; 
l/n  wonted,  for  traditions  run. 
He  seldum  thus  beheld  the  sun. — 
'I  know,'  he  said — his  voice  was  hoarse, 
And  broken  seem'd  its  hollow  force, — 
'  I  know  the  cause,  although  untold. 
Why  the  Kinff  seeks  Ins  vassal's  hold : 
Vainly  from  me  my  liege  would  know 
His  kingdom's  future  weal  or  woe; 
But  yet,  if  strong  his  arm  and  heart, 
His  courage  may  do  more  than  art. 

XXII. 

" '  Of  middle  air  the  demons  proud. 
Who  ride  upon  the  ranking  cloud. 
Can  read,  in  fix'd  or  wandering  star, 
The  issue  of  events  afar; 
But  still  their  sullen  aid  withhold, 
Save  when  by  mightier  force  oontroll'd. 
Such  late  I  summon 'd  to  my  hall ; 
And  though  so  potent  was  the  call, 
That  scarce  the  deepest  nouk  of  hell 
I  deem'd  a  refuse  from  the  spell, 
Yet,  obstinate  in  silence  still, 
The  haughty  demon  mocks  my  skill 
But  thou— who  hull-  knows!  thy  might. 
As  born  upon  that  blessed  nighti 
When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan, 
Proclaim'd  hell's  empire  overthrown, — 
With  untaught  valour  shalt  compel 
Response  denied  to  magic  spell.' — 
'Gramercy.'  quoth  our  Monarch  free, 
'  Place  him  but  front  to  front  with  me. 
And.  by  this  good  and  honour'd  brand, 
Tue  giit  of  Coeur-de- Lion's  hand, 
Soothly  I  swear,  that,  tide  what  tide, 
The  demon  shall  a  buffet  bide.' — 
His  bearing  bold  the  wizard  view'd. 


The  rampart  seek,  whose  circling  crown 
Crests  the  ascent  of  yonder  down : 
A  southern  entrance  shalt  thou  find ; 
There  halt,  and  there  tby  bugle  wmd. 
And  trust  thine  elfin  foe  to  see, 
In  guise  of  thy  worst  enemy  : 
Couch  then  thy  lance,  and  spur  thy  steed — 
Upon  him  !  and  Saint  George  to  speed  ! 
It'  he  go  down,  thou  soon  shalt  know 
Whate'er  these  airy  sprites  can  show ; — 
If  thy  heart  fail  thee  in  the  strife, 
I  am  no  warrant  for  thy  life.' 

XXIII. 

"Soon  as  the  midnight  bell  did  ring. 
Alone,  and  arm'd,  forth  rode  the  King 


To  that  old  camp's  deserted  round  : 

Sir  Knight,  you  weii  might  mark  the  mound, 

Left  hand  the  town,— the  Pictish  race. 

The  trench,  long  since,  in  blood  did  trace  ; 

The  moor  around  is  brown  and  bare, 

The  space  wit  Inn  is  green  and  fair. 

The  spot  our  village  children  know. 

For  there  the  earliest  wild-flowers  grow; 

But  woe  betide  the  wandering  wight, 

That  treads  its  circle  in  the  night ! 

The  breadth  across,  a  bowshot  clear, 

Gives  ample  space  tor  full  career: 

Opposed  to  the  four  points  of  heaven. 

By  four  deep  gaps  are  entrance  given. 

The  southernmost  our  Monarch  past, 

Halted,  and  blew  a  gallant  blast ; 

And  on  the  norlh,  within  the  ring. 

Appear'd  the  form  of  England's  King, 

Who  then,  a  thousand  leagues  afar. 

In  Palestine  waged  holy  war: 

Yet  arms  like  England's  did  he  wield, 

Alike  the  leopards  in  the  shield, 

Alike  his  Syrian  courser's  frame, 

The  rider's  length  of  limb  the  same : 

Long  afterwards  did  Scotland  know, 

Fell  Edward  'J  was  her  deadliest  foe. 

XXIV. 

"  The  vision  made  our  Monarch  start, 
But  soon  he  mann'd  his  noble  heart, 
And  in  the  first  career  they  ran, 
The  Elfin  Knight  fell,  horse  and  man; 
Yet  did  a  splinter  of  his  lance 
Through  Alexander's  visor  glance. 
And  razed  the  skin — a  punv  wound. 
The  King,  light  leaping  to  the  ground, 
With  naked  blade  Ins  phantom  foe 
Compell'd  the  future  war  to  show. 
Of  I-args  he  saw  the  glorious  plain. 
Where  still  gigantic  bones  remain. 

Memorial  of  the  Danish  war ; 
Himself  he  saw,  amid  the  field, 
On  high  his  brandish'd  war-axe  wield, 

And  strike  proud  Haco  from  his  car, 
While  all  around  the  shadowy  Kings 
Denmark's  grim  ravens  cower'd  their  wings. 
'Tis  said.  that,  in  that  awful  night. 
Remoter  visions  met  his  sight, 
Foreshowing  future  conquests  far, 
When  our  sons'  sons  waae  northern  war; 
A  royal  city,  tower  and  spire, 
Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fire, 
And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 
Triumphant,  to  the  victor  shore. * 
Such  signs  may  learned  clerks  explain. 
They  pass  the  wit  of  simple  swam. 

XXV. 

"  The  joyful  King  tnnfd  home  again, 
Headed  his  host,  and  qut-ll'd  the  Dane; 
But  yearly,  when  return 'd  the  night 
Of  his  slrance  combat  with  the  sprite, 

His  wound  must  bleed  iiud  smart; 
Lord  Gifford  then  would  gibing  say, 
'  Bold  a*  ye  were,  my  liege,  ye  pay 

The  penance  of  your  siart  ' 
Long  since,  beneath  Dimfermline's  nave, 
King  Alexander  fills  his  grave, 

Our  Lady  give  him  rest! 


nbej'»  Life  of  Xrbou,  chap.  vii. 


MARMION.                                          97 

Vet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 

Blithe  would  I  battle,  for  the  right 

The  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield. 

To  ask  one  question  at  the  sprite:  — 

Upon  the  brown  lull's  breast;! 

Vain  thought  !  for  elves,  if  elves  there  be, 

And  many  a  knight  hath  proved  his  chance, 

An  empty  race,  by  fount  or  sea, 

In  the  charnrd  ring  to  break  a  lance, 

To  dashing  waters  dance  and  sing. 

But  all  have  foully  sped  ; 

Or  round  the  green  oak  wheel  their  ring." 

Save  two.  as  leeends  tell,  and  they 

Thus  speaking,  he  his  steed  bestrode, 

Were  Wallace  wight,  and  Gilbert  Hay.  — 

And  from  the  hostel  slowly  rode. 

Gentles,  my  tale  is  said." 

XXX. 

XXVI. 

Fitz-Eustace  followed  him  abroad, 

The  quaighs"  were  deep,  the  liquor  strong, 
And  on  the  tale  the  yeoman-throng 

And  mark'd  him  pace  the  village  road. 
And  hsten'd  to  his  horse's  tramp, 
Till,  by  the  lessening  sound, 

Had  made  a  comment  sage  and  long, 
But  Marmion  gave  a  sign  : 
And,  with  their  lord,  the  sqnires  retire  ; 
The  rest,  around  the  hostel  fire, 

He  judged  that  of  the  Pictish  camp 
Lord  Marmion  sought  the  round. 
Wonder  it  seem'd,  in  the  squire's  eyes, 
That  one,  so  wary  held,  and  wise,— 

Their  drowsy  limbs  recline  ; 

Of  whom  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 

For  pillow,  underneath  each  head, 

For  gospel,  what  the  church  believed,  — 

The  quiver  and  the  targe  were  laid. 

Should,  stirr'd  by  idle  tale, 

Deep  slumbering  on  the  hostel  floor, 
Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  snore  : 

Ride  forth  in  silence  of  the  night, 
As  hoping  half  to  meet  a  sprite, 

The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change. 
Threw  on  the  group  its  shadows  strange. 

Array'd  in  plate  and  mail. 
For  little  did  Fitz-Eustace  know, 

XXVII. 

That  passions,  in  contending  flow, 

Unfix  the  strongest  mind  : 

Apart,  and  nestling  in  the  hay 

Wearied  from  doubt  to  doubt  to  flee, 

Of  a  waste  loft,  Fitz-Eustace  lay  ; 

We  welcome  fond  credulity. 

Scarce,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  were  seen 

Guide  confident,  though  blind. 

The  foldings  of  his  mantle  green  : 

XXXI. 

Lightly  he  dreamt,  as  youth  will  dream, 
Of  sport  by  thicket,  or  by  stream. 
Of  hawk  or  hound,  of  ring  or  glove. 
Or.  lighter  yet,  of  lady's  love. 
A  cautious  tread  his  slumber  broke. 

Little  for  this  Fitz-Eustace  cared, 
But,  patient,  waited  till  he  heard, 
At  distance,  prick'd  to  utmost  speed, 
The  foot-tramp  of  a  flying  steed, 

And,  close  beside  him,  when  he  woke. 
In  moonbeam  half,  and  halt  in  gloom, 
Stood  a  tall  form,  with  nodding  plume; 
But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew. 
His  master  Mannion's  voice  he  knew. 

Come  town-ward  rushing  on  ; 
First,  dead,  as  if  on  turf  it  trode, 
Then,  clattering  on  the  village  road,  — 
In  oilier  pace  than  forth  he  yode,3 
Return'd  Lord  Marmion. 
Down  hastily  he  sprung  from  selle. 

XXVIII. 

—  "  Fitz-Eustace  !  rise,  I  cannot  rest  ; 
Yon  churl's  wild  legend  haunts  my  breast. 
And  graver  thoughts  have  chafed  mv  mood  : 
The  air  must  cool  my  feverish  blood  ; 
And  fain  would  I  ride  forth,  to  see 
The  scene  of  elfin  chivalry. 
Arise,  and  saddle  me  mv  steed  : 
And,  gentle  Eustace,  take  good  heed 
Thou  dost  not  rouse  these  drowsy  slaves  ; 
I  would  not,  that  the  prating  knaves 

And,  in  Ins  haste,  wellmgh  he  fell; 
To  the  squire's  hand  the  rein  he  threw, 
And  spoke  no  word  as  lie  withdrew: 
But  yet  the  moonlight  did  betray, 
The  falcon-crest  was  soil'd  with  clay; 
And  plainly  might  Filz-Eustace  see, 
By  stains  upon  the  charger's  knee. 
And  his  left  side,  that  oil  the  moor 
He  had  not  kept  his  footing  sure. 
Long  mu>ing  on  these  wondrous  signs, 
At  length  to  rest  the  squire  reclines. 
Broken  and  short  ;  for  still,  between 

Had  cause  for  saying,  o'er  their  ale, 
That  I  could  credit  such  a  tale."  — 
Then  softly  down  the  steps  they  slid, 
Eustace  the  stable  door  undid, 

Would  dreams  of  terror  intervene  : 
Eustace  did  ne'er  so  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  morning  lark. 

And.  darkling,  Marmion's  steed  arrav'd, 

•^v-W^^VNW^W^  >^~^V*n%^^^ 

While,  whispering,  thus  the  Baron  said  :  — 

XXIX. 

J&armton. 

"  Did'st  never,  good  my  youth,  hear  tell, 
That  on  the  hour  when  1  was  born. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 

Saint  George,  who  graced  mv  sire's  chapelle, 

Down  from  his  steed  of  marble  fell, 

TO 

A  weary  wight  forlorn  ? 
The  flattering  chaplains  all  agree. 

JAMES  SKENE,  EsQ.4 

The  cnampion  left  his  steed  to  me. 

Asfiestiel.  Ettnck  Forest. 

I  would,  the  omen's  truth  to  show, 

An  ancient  Minstrel  sagelv  said. 

That  1  could  meet  this  Elfiu  Foe  ! 

"  When-  is  tiie  life  which  'late  we  led  1" 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

4  Jamr«  Ske  ne,  K*q.,  of  Rubi.-law.  Abt-rdi-enshire.  wu 

3  A  wooden  cup.  composed  of  raves  hooped  together. 

CurnH  in  lh.-   Kova!  Kdiuliunjh    Licht   Hor.e  Volunteers  ; 

9  Yodt,  -i««u  by  old  poetH  for  wtnt. 

ai.d  Sir  Waller  S.-o;i  wa«  Uuartrrmaetrr  of  the  name  Corp.. 

9                                                               G 

98 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  motley  clown  in  Arden  wood. 

Whom  humorous  Jacques  with  envy  view'd, 

Not  even  that  clown  could  amplify, 

On  this  trite  text,  so  long  as  1. 

Eleven  years  we  now  may  lell. 

Since  we  have  known  each  other  well; 

Since.  riding  side  by  side,  our  hand 

Firs',  drew  the  voluntary  brand  ; 

And  sure,  through  imuiy  a  varied  scene, 

Unkiudness  uever  came  between. 

Away  these  winged  years  have  flown, 

To  join  the  mass  of  ages  gone ; 

And  though  deep  mark'd,  like  all  below, 

With  chequer'd  shades  of  joy  and  woe ; 

Though  thou  o'er  realms  ami  seas  hast  ranged, 

Mark'd  cities  lost,  and  empires  changed, 

While  here,  at  home,  my  narrower  ken 

Somewhat  of  manners  saw,  and  men; 

Though  varying  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears, 

Fever  d  the  progress  of  these  years. 

Yet  now,  days,  weeks,  and  months,  but  seem 

The  recollection  of  a  dream, 

So  still  we  slide  down  to  the  sea 

Of  fathomless  eternity. 

Even  now  it  scarcely  seems  a  day. 
Since  first  I  tuned  this  idle  lay; 
A  task  so  often  thrown  aside, 
When  leisure  graver  cares  denied, 
That  now,  November's  dreary  gale, 
Whose  voice  inspir'd  my  opening  tale. 
That  same  November  gale  once  more 
Whirls  the  dry  leaves  on  Yarrow  shore. 
Their  vex'd  boughs  streaming  to  the  sky, 
Once  more  our  naked  birches  sigh, 
And  Biackhouse  heights,  and  Ettrick  Pen, 
Have  donn'd  their  wintry  shrouds  again : 
And  mountain  dark,  and  flooded  mead, 
Bid  us  forsake  the  banks  of  Tweed. 
Earlier  than  wont  along  the  sky, 
Mix'd  with  the  rack,  the  snow  mists  fly ; 
The  shepherd,  who  in  summer  sun, 
Had  something  of  our  envy  won, 
As  thou  with  pencil.  1  with  pen, 
The  features  traced  of  hill  and  glen;— 1 
He  who,  outstretch'd  the  livelong  day, 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flowers  lay, 
View'd  the  light  clouds  with  vacant  look, 
Or  slumber'dVer  his  tatter'd  book, 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  lessen'd  tide ; — 
At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labour  for  the  swam. 

When  red  hath  set  the  heamless  sun, 
Through  heavy  vapours  dark  and  dun ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm, 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain. 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane: 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox. 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  warnings  which  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  tusk. 
Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain. 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain  ; 
Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below, 
Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow. 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 


Waller  Soon  from  dnici.a  by  Mr.  Skene,  ha 
publiKhrd. 
1  Compare  the  celebrated  description  of  a  n 


[xing,  with  dejected  look  and  whine, 

To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine; 

Whistling  and  cheering  them  to  aid, 

Around  his  buck  he  wreathes  the  plaid  : 

His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides, 

To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides, 

Where  fiercest  though  the  tempest  blow, 

Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 

The  blast,  that,  whistles  o'er  the  fells, 

Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles; 

Oft  he  looks  back,  while  streaming  far, 

His  cottage  window  seems  a  star,  — 

lx>ses  its  feeble  gleam.  —  and  then 

Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again, 

And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 

Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging  sheep. 

If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 

Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale  : 

His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown, 

Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 

close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 

The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen'd  swain:5 

The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale, 

His  orphans  raise  their  weeble  wail  ; 

And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow, 

Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe, 

Couches  upon  his  master's  breast, 

And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 


Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  healthy  fare,  his  rural  cot, 
His  summer  couch  by  greenwood  tree, 
His  rustic  kirn's  3  loud  revelry. 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high, 
To  Marion  of  the  blithesome  eye  : 
His  crook,  his  scrip,  his  oaten  reed, 
And  all  Arcadia's  golden  creed  ? 

Changes  not  so  with  us,  my  Skene, 
Of  human  life  the  varying  scene? 
Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see 
Dance  by  on  wings  of  game  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
Against  the  winter  of  pur  age  : 
As  he,  the  ancient  Chief  of  Troy, 
His  manhood  spent  in  peace  and  joy  ; 
But  Grecian  fires,  and  loud  alarms, 
Call'd  ancient  Priam  forth  to  arms. 
Then  happy  those,  since  each  must  drain 
His  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain.  — 
Then  happy  those,  beloved  of  Heaven, 
To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given; 
Whose  lenient  sorrows  find  relief. 
Whose  joys  are  chasten'd  by  their  grief. 
And  such'a  lot.  my  Skene.  was  thine, 
When  thou  of  late,  wert  doiim'd  to  twine, 
Just  when  thy  bridal  hour  was  by,— 
The  cypress  with  the  myrtle  tie 
Just  on  thy  bride  her  Sire  had  smiled, 
And  bless'd  the  union  of  his  child, 
When  love  must  change  its  joyous  cheer, 
And  wipe  affection's  filial  tear. 
Nor  did  the  actions  next  his  end, 
Speak  more  the  father  than  the  friend  : 
Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes*  paid 
The  tribute  to  his  Minstrel's  (hade; 
The  tale  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 
Ere  the  narrator's  heart  w  as  cold  — 


ttish  Hanreet-hf 


MARMION. 


99 


Far  may  we  search  before  we  find 
A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind  ! 
But  not  around  his  hunour'd  urn. 
Shall  friemls  alone  and  kindred  mourn; 
Tne  thousand  eyes  his  cure  had  dried, 
P,.ur  at  Ins  name  a  bitter  tide; 
And  frequent  rails  tin-  grateful  dew, 
Fur  benefits  the  world  ne'er  knew. 
If  mortal  charity  dare  claim 
The  Almighty's  attributed  name, 
Inscnb-  above  his  mouldering  clay, 
'•  The  widow's  shield,  the  orphan's  stay." 
Nor.  though  it  wake  thy  sorrow,  deem 
My  veise  intrudes  on  this  sad  theme; 
For  sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 
"Thy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not:" 
And  grateful  ti  le  may  I  plead. 
For  iimny  a  kindly  word  and  deed, 
To  bring  my  tribute  to  his  grave  : — 
'  l'is  little— but  'tis  all  I  have. 

To  thee.  perchance,  this  rambling  strain 
Recalls  our  summer  walks  again; 
When,  doing  nought,— and.  to  speak  true. 
Not  anxious  to  lind  aught  to  do. — 
The  wild  unbounded  hills  we  ranged, 
Whiie  oft  our  talk  rs  topic  changed, 
And,  desultory  as  our  way, 
Kanged.  nnconfined,  from  grave  to  gay. 
Even  when  it  flagu'd.  as  oft  will  chance, 
No  effort  made  to  break  its  trance, 
We  could  right  pleasantly  pursue 
Our  sports  in  social  silence  loo ; 
Thou  4;r,ivvlv  labouring  to  portray 
The  blighted  oak's  fantastic  spray  ; 
I  s.>e  Img  o'er,  wuh  much  delight. 
The  legend  of  that  antique  knight, 
Tirante  by  name,  yrlep'd  the  White. 
At  cither's  feet  a  trusty  squire, 
Pandour  and  Camp,'  with  eyes  of  fire, 
Jealous,  each  other's  motions  view'd. 
And  scarce  suppress'd  their  ancient  feud. 
The  laverock  whistled  from  the  cloud  ; 
The  stream  was  lively,  but  not  loud  ; 
From  the  white  thorn  the  May-flower  shed 
Its  dewy  fragrance  round  our  head  : 
Not  Ariel  lived  more  merrily 
Under  the  blossorn'd  bough,  than  we 

And  blithesome  nights,  too.  have  been  ours 
When  Winter  stript  the  summer's  bowers. 
Careless  we  heard,  what  now  I  hear, 
The  will  blast  sighing  deep  and  drear, 
When  tires  were  bright,  and  lamps  beam'dgay 
And  ladies  tuned  the  lovely  lay; 
And  he  was  held  a  laggard  soul, 
Who  shuim'd  to  quaff  the  sparkling  bowl. 
Then  he.  whose  absence  we  deplore,2 
Who  breathe*  the  gales  of  Devon's  shore, 
The  longer  miss'd  bewail'd  the  more ; 

And  thou,  :ml  Land  dear  loved  R ,3 

And  one  whose  name  I  may  not  say,* — 

For  not  Mimosa's  tender  tree 

Shrinks  sooner  from  the  touch  than  he, — 


In  merry  churns  well  combined, 

With  laughter drown'd  the  whistling  wind. 

Mirth  wns  within:  a.id  I'ure  without 
Might  gnaw  her  nails  to  hear  our  shout. 
>Jot  bu'  amid  the  buxom  scene 
Some  grave  discourse  might  intervene— 
if  the  sood  horse  that  bore  him  best, 
His  shoulder,  hoof,  and  arc.iing  crest : 
?or,  like  m  id  Tom's.*  our  chii-iest  care. 
Was  noise  to  r.de.  and  weapon  wear 
Such  nights  we've  had  :  and.  though  the  game 
)f  manhood  he  more  sober  tame, 
And  though  the  field-day,  or  the  drill, 
Seem  less  important  now— yet  still 
Such  may  we  hope  to  share  again. 
The  sprightly  thought  inspires  my  strain  ! 
And  mark,  how,  like  a  horseman  true, 
Lord  Marmiou's  march  1  thus  renew. 


f&armton. 


CAKTO    FOURTH. 


THE   CAMP. 

I. 

Eustace,  1  said,  did  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  merry  lark. 
The  lark  sang  shrill,  the  cock  he  crew, 
And  loudly  Marmion's  bugles  blew, 
And  with  their  light  and  lively  call, 
Brought  groom  and  yeoman  to  the  stall. 

Whistling  they  came,  and  free  of  heart, 
But  soon  their  mood  was  changed  ; 

Complaint  was  heard  on  every  part, 

Of  something  disarranged. 
Some  clamour'd  loud  for  armour  lost ; 
Some  brawl'd  and  wrangled  with  the  host ; 
"  By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  fear, 
That  some  false  Scot  has  stolen  my  spear !" — 
Young  Blount,  Lord  Marmion's  second  squire 
Found  Ills  steed  wet  with  sweat  and  mire  ; 
Although  the  rated  horse-boy  sware, 
L;ist  night  he  dress'd  him  sleek  and  fair. 
While  chafed  the  impatient  squire  like  thunder 
Old  Hubert  shouts,  m  fear  and  wonder,— 
"Help,  gentle  Blount!  help,  coincides  all  1 
Uevis  lies  dying  in  his  stall : 
To  Marnmm  who  the  plight  dare  tell, 
Of  the  good  steed  he  loves  so  well !" 
Gaping  for  fear  and  ruth,  they  saw 
The  charger  panting  on  liis  straw; 
Till  one,  who  would  seem  wisest,  cried,— 
"  What  else  but  evil  could  betide, 
With  that  cursed  Palmer  for  our  guide  7 
lietter  we  had  through  mire  and  bush 
Been  lanlern-led  bv  Friar  Rush."" 


of  extraordinary  «u'acity.     He  IB  introduced  ill  R'lel: 

p. M  rait  of  Sir  Waller  Scott,  now  at  UaUeilh  Palace  —  Kd 

1  Colin  Mark  'i.zie,  K-q.  nf  Portmore,  OIK  of  the  Ph 
p.l  <:!<Tk«  of  s,-,s,oi,  at  Kdiiil.iinth,  and  through  lif, 
n.  1  'iv..  friend  of  Sir  Waller  Scan,  died  on  loin  S.'i.i 
b-1,1830—  El. 

3  Sir   Willia-n    Rie   or    St.    C.ith.rine's,    Bart.,   MI 
qu  ,tly  Lotd  Advo.-nte  of  Scotland,  was   a  di-!ii:gii;»l.et 
" 


>  hill 


Iheir  family  mipper'-tables 

wan  the  lale  Sir  William  Korhe»  of  1'ilsligo,  B.irt.,  »on  I 
tlie  author  of  the  Life  of  Bealtie,  and  lirothr  r-in-law  of  M 
Skene.  Ihrouth  life  an  intimate,  and  latterly  i  geueroi 
fi  tend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott— died  21th  October,  16*.— Ed. 

a  See  Kine  Lear. 

C  See  Appendix,  Note  3  J* 


100 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Fit7.-Eustace.  who  the  cause  but  guess'd. 

Nor  wholly  understood. 
His  comrades'  clamorous  plaints  suppress'd  ; 

He  knew  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
Him,  ere  lie  issued  forth,  he  sought. 
And  found  deep  plunged  in  gloomy  thought, 

Ami  did  his  late  display 
Simply  as  if  he  knew  of  nought 

To  cause  such  disarray. 
Lord  Marinion  gave  attention  cold, 
Nor  marvell'd  at  the  wonders  told. — 
Pass'd  them  as  accidents  of  course. 
And  bade  his  clarions  sound  to  iiorse. 

III. 

Young  Henry  Blount.  meanwhile,  the  cost 
Had  reckon'd  with  their  Scottish  host; 
And,  as  the  charge  lie  cast  and  paid. 
"Ill  Hum  deserv'st  thy  hire,"  he  said  ; 
"Dost  see.  thou  knave,  my  horse's  plight? 
Fairies  have  ridden  him  all  the  night, 

And  left  him  in  a  foam ! 
I  trust  that  soon  a  conjuring  band, 
With  English  cross,  and  blazing  brand, 
Shall  drive  the  devils  from  this  land, 

To  their  infernal  home : 
For  in  this  haunted  den,  I  trow, 
All  night  they  trample  to  and  fro."— 
The  laughing  host,  look'd  on  the  hire,— 
"  Gramercy,  gentle  southern  squire. 
And  if  thou  coniesl  among  the  rest. 
With  Scottish  broadsword  to  be  blest. 
Sharp  be  the  brand,  and  sure  tiie  blow, 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo." 
Here  slay'd  their  talk, — lor  Marmion 
Gave  now  the  signal  to  set  on. 
The  Palmer  showing  forth  the  way 
They  journey 'd  all  the  morning  day. 

IV. 

The  green-sward  way  was  smooth  and  good. 
Through   Humbie's   and   through    Saltoua's 

wood ; 

A  forest  glade,  which,  varying  still, 
Here  gave  a  view  of  dale  and  lull. 
There  narrower  closed,  till  over  head 
A  vaulted  screen  the  branches  made. 
"  A  pleasant  path,"  Fuz-Eustaoe  said  ; 
"Such  as  where  errant-knights  might  see 
Adventures  of  high  chivalry  : 
Might  meet  some  damsel  flying  fast. 
With  hair  unbound,  and  looks  aghast ; 
And  smooth  and  level  course  were  here. 
In  her  defence  to  break  a  spear. 
Here,  too.  are  twilight  nooks  and  dells: 
And  ofi,  in  such,  the  story  tells. 
The  dam.-el  kind,  from  danger  freed. 
Did  grateful  pay  her  champion's  meed  " 
He  spoke  to  cheer  Lord  .Marmion's  mind  : 
Perchance  to  show  his  lore  design 'd  ; 

For  Eustace  much  had  poured 
Upon  a  huge  romantic  tome. 
In  the  hall  window  of  his  home, 
Imprinted  at  the  antique  dome 

Of  Caxton,  or  De  Wortte.l 
Therefore  he  spoke, — but  spoke  in  vain, 
For  Marmion  answer'd  nought  again. 

1  William  Cailno,  the  rarhest  Eneh.h  prialt r,  wax  hort 


V. 

Now  sudden,  distant  trumpets  shrill, 
In  notes  prolomr'd  by  wood  and  hill, 

Were  heard  to  echo  far : 
K;iclt  ready  archer  grasp'd  his  bow. 
But  \>v  the  flourish  soon  I  hey  know, 

They  breathed  no  point  of  war. 
Yet  cautious,  as  in  foe  man's  land, 
Lord  Marmion's  order  speeds  the  band, 

Some  opener  ground  to  gam  ; 
And  scarce  a  furious  had  they  rode. 
When  thinner  trees,  receding,  show'd 

A  little  woodland  plain. 
Just  in  that  advantageous  glade, 
The  halting  tronp  a  line  had  made, 
As  forth  from  the  opposing  shade 

Issued  a  gallant  tram. 

VI. 

First  came  the  trumpets,  at  whose  clang 
So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang  ; 
On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  press'd, 
With  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest: 
Each  at  his  trump  a  banner  wore, 
Which  Scotland's  royal  scutcheon  bore: 
Heralds  and  pursuivants,  by  name 
Bute,  Islay,  Marchmount,  Kothsay,  came, 
In  painted  tabards,  proudly  showing 
Gules,  Argent.  Or.  and  Azure  glowing, 

Attendant  on  a  King-at-arms, 
Whose  hand  the  armorial  truncheon  held, 
That  feudal  strife  had  often  quell'd, 

When  wildest  its  alarms. 

VII 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age ; 
In  aspect  manly,  grave  and  sage. 

As  on  King's  errand  come; 
But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 
A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 

Expression  found  its  home ; 
The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage. 
Which,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 
Branded  the  vices  of  the  age. 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Rome. 
On  milk  white  palfrey  forth  he  paced; 
His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

With  the  proud  heron-plume. 
From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and  breast, 

Silk  housings  swept  the  ground, 
With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest, 

Embroider'd  round  and  round. 
The  double  treasure  might  you  see, 

First  by  Acbains  borne. 
The  thistle  and  the  fleur-de-lis, 

And  gallant  unicorn. 
So  bright  the  King's  armorial  coat. 
That  scarce  the  dazzled  eye  could  note, 
In  living  colours,  blazon 'd  brave, 
The  Lion,  which  his  title  gave. 
A  train,  which  well  beseem'd  his  state, 
But  all  unarm'd.  around  him  wait. 
Still  is  thy  name  in  high  account, 

And  still  thy  verse  has  charms, 
Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 

Lord  Lion  King-at-arms!' 


•1  Set  Appenilii,  Note  1  Y. 


MARMION. 


101 


vni. 

Down  from  his  horse  did  Marmion  spring, 

Soon  ns  he  saw  the  Lion-Kin?  ; 

For  well  the  stately  Baron  knew 

To  him  such  courtesy  wax  due. 

Whom  royal  James  liina>*lf  had  crown'd, 

And  tin  his  temples  placed  the  round 

Of  Scotland's  ancient  Jjadeni  : 
And  wet  his  lirow  with  hallow'd  wine, 
And  on  his  finger  given  to  shine 

The  emblematic  gem. 
Their  mutual  greetings  duly  made, 
The  Lion  thus  his  message  said  : — 
"  Though  Scotland's  King  hath  deeply  swore 
Ne'er  lo  knit  faith  with  Henry  more, 
And  strictly  hath  forbid  resort 
Prom  England  In  his  royal  court : 
Yet,  for  he  knows  Lord  Marmion's  name, 
And  honours  much  his  warlike  fame. 
My  liege  hath  deemVl  it  shame,  and  lack 
Of  courtesy,  to  inrn  him  buck ; 
And.  by  his  order,  1.  your  guide, 
Must  lodging  fit  and  fair  provide, 
Till  finds  King  James  meet  time  to  see 
The  flower  of  English  chivalry." 

IX. 

Though  inly  chafed  at  his  delay, 
Lord  Marmion  bears  it  as  he  may. 
The  Palmer,  his  mysterious  guide, 
Beholding  thus  his  place  supplied, 

Sought  to  take  leave  in  vain  : 
Strict  was  the  Lion-King's  command, 
That  none,  who  rode  in  Marmion's  band, 

Should  sever  from  the  train  : 
"  England  has  here  enow  of  spies 
In  Lady  Heron's  witching  eyes:" 
To  Marchmount  thus,  apart,  he  said, 
But  fair  pretext  to  Marmion  made. 
The  right  hand  path  they  now  decline, 
And  trace  against  the  stream  the  Tyue. 

X. 
At  length  up  that  wild  dale  they  wind. 

Where  Cnchton  Castle'  crowns  the  bank  : 
For  there  the  Lion's  care  assigned 

A  lodging  meet  for  Marmion's  rank. 
That  Castle  rises  on  the  steep 

Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne  : 
And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep, 
From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 
Where  alders  moist,  and  willows  weep. 

You  hear  her  streams  repine. 
The  towers  in  different  ages  rose; 
Their  various  architecture  shows 

The  builders'  various  hands; 
A  mighty  mass,  that  could  oppose. 
When  deadliest  hatred  fired  its  foes. 

The  vengeful  Douglas  hands. 

XI. 

Crichtoun!  though  now  Ihy  miry  court 
But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep, 
Thy  turrets  rude,  and  totter'd  Keep, 

Have  been  the  minstrel's  loved  resort. 

Oft  have  I  traced,  within  thy  fort, 
Of  mouldering  shields  the  mystic  sense, 
Scutcheons  of  honour,  or  pretence, 

Quarter'd  in  old  armorial  sort. 
Remains  of  rude  magnificence. 

I  Set  Appendix.  Kele  3  Z:  and.  for  a  fuller  description 

of  i;rirhtou  Cattle,  see  Sir  Waller  Scotl'i  MuKell.UK.-OUJ 
Pro»e  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  167. 


Nor  wholly  yet  had  time  defaced 

Thy  lordly  gallery  fair ; 
Nor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced, 
Whose  twisted  knots,  with  roses  laced, 

Adorn  thy  ruin'd  stair. 
Still  rises  unimpair'd  below. 
The  court-yard's  graceful  portico; 
Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row 
Of  fair  hewn  facet*  richly  show 
Their  pointed  diamond  form, 
Though  there  hut  houseless  cattle  go, 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm. 
And,  shuddering,  still  may  we  explore, 

Where  oft  whilom  were  captives  pent, 
The  darkuess  of  thy  Massy  More  :» 

Or,  from  thy  grass-grown  battlement, 
May  trace,  m  undulating  line. 
The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 

XII. 

Another  aspect  Crichtoun  show'd. 
As  through  its  portal  Marmion  rode; 
But  yet  'twas  melancholy  state 
Keceived  him  at  the  outer  gate  ; 
For  none  were  in  the  Castle  then, 
But  women,  boys,  or  aged  men. 
With  eyes  scarce  dried,  the  sorrowing  dame, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion.  came ; 
Her  son.  a  stripling  twelve  years  old, 
Proffer'U  the  Baron's  rein  to  hold : 
For  each  man  that  could  draw  a  sword 
Had  march'd  that,  morning  with  their  lord, 
Earl  Adam  H«pburu. — he  who  died 
On  Flodden,  by  his  sovereign's  side, 3 
Long  may  his  Lady  look  in  vain  I 
She  ne'er  shall  see  his  gallant  train, 
Come  sweeping  back  through  Crichtoun- 

Dean. 

'Twas  a  hrave  race,  before  the  name 
Of  hated  Bothwell  stam'd  their  fame. 

xm. 

And  here  two  days  did  Marmion  rest, 
With  every  rite  that  honour  claims, 
Attended  as  the  King's  own  guest ; — 
Such  the  command  of  Koyal  James, 
Who  marshall'd  then  his  land's  array, 
Upon  the  Borough-moor  that  lay. 
Perchance  he  would  not  foeman's  eye 
Upon  his  gathering  host  should  pry." 
Till  full  prepared  was  every  band 
To  march  against  the  English  land. 
Here  while  they  dwelt,  did  Lmdesay's  wit 
Oft  cheer  the  Baron's  moodier  fit ; 
And,  in  his  turn,  he  knew  to  prize 
Lord  Marmion's  powerful  mind,  and  wise,— 
Tram'd  in  the  lore  of  Kome  and  Greece, 
And  policies  of  war  and  peace. 

XIV. 
It  chanced,  as  fell  the  second  night, 

That  on  the  battlements  they  walk'd, 
And.  by  the  slowly  fading  light, 

Of  varying  topics  talked; 
And,  unaware,  the  Herald-bard 
Said,  Marmion  might  his  toil  have  spared, 

In  travelling  so  far; 
For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 

Against  the  English  war  :•' 


4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 


102 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And.  closer  quest  jon'd,  thus  he  told 
A  tale,  which  chronicles  of  old 
In  Scottish  story  have  enroll'd  :— 

XV. 

SIR  DAVID  LINDESAY'S  TALE. 

"Of  all  the  pa  lanes  so  fair, 

limit  fur  I  lie  royal  dwelling, 
In  Scotland,  far  beyonj  compare 

Liulithgow  is  excelling :' 
And  in  its  park  in  jovial  June, 
How  sweet  the  merry  linnet's  tune, 

How  blithe  the  blackbird's  lav  ! 
The  wild-buck-tells*  from  ferny  brake, 
The  coot  dives  merry  on  the  lake, 
The  saddest  heart  might  pleasure  take 

To  see  all  nature  gay. 
But  June  is  to  our  sovereign  dear 
The  heaviest  month  m  all  the  year: 
Too  well  his  cause  of  frrief  von  know, 
June  saw  his  father's  overthrow. s 
Woe  to  the  traitors,  who  could  bring 
The  princely  boy  against  his  Kins'. 
Still  in  his  conscience  burns  the  sting. 
In  offices  as  strict  as  L«nt, 
King  James's  June  is  ever  spent. 

XVI. 

"  When  last  this  rnthful  month  was  come, 
And  in  Linlilhgow's  holy  dome 

The  King,  as  wont,  was  praying: 
While,  for  his  royal  father's  soul. 
The  chanters  sung,  the  bells  did  toll, 

The  Bishop  mass  was  saying — 
For  now  the  year  brought  round  again 
The  day  the  luckless  kin?  was  slain — 
In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  knelt, 
With  sackcloth-shirt,  and  iron  belt, 
And  eyes  with  sorrow  streaming; 
Amund  him  in  their  stalls  of  state, 
The  Thistle's  Knight-Companions  sate, 

Their  banners  o'er  them  beaming. 
I  too  was  there,  and.  sooth  to  tell, 
Bedeafen'd  with  the  jangline  knell, 
Was  watching  where  the  sunbeams  fell. 

Through  the  stain'd  casement  gleaming ; 
But,  while  I  mark'd  what  next  befell, 

It  seem'd  as  1  were  dreaming. 
Stepp'd  from  the  crowd  a  ghostly  wight, 
In  azure  gown,  with  cincture  white ; 
His  forehead  bald,  his  head  was  hare, 
Down  hung  at  length  his  yellow  hair. — 
Now.  mock  me  not.  when,  good  my  Lord, 
I  pledge  to  you  my  knightly  word, 
'  That,  when  I  saw  his  placid  grace, 
His  simple  majesty  of  fare. 
His  solemn  bearing,  and  his  pace 

1  ID  Scotland  there  are  about  twenty  palaces.  c««tle«,  and 

••  Where  Scotia'*  king*  of  other  yeara* 
had  their  royal  home. 

beauty  of  it*  suujnoi;,  muni  have  been  early  selected  as  a 
royal  residence.     David,  who  bought  the  title  of  .ami  by 

to  hii  town  of  UulllhapV;  and  In  that  of  Holyrood 
pretwly  bestow*  on  the  new  monastery  alt  the  skins  of 
rama,  ewe*,  and  Limbs  belonging  to  his  castle  of  Linli 
whirh  shall  die  during  the  year.  .  .  .  Thei-onvei.it 

lithgow  and  ill  fine  lake.     The  sport  of  hunting  was  also 
followed  with  success  in  the  neighbourhood,  from  which 


So  stately  gliding  on, — 
Seem'd  to  me  ne'er  did  limner  paint 
So  just  an  image  of  the  Saint, 
Who  propp'd  the  Virgin  in  her  faint, — 

The  loved  Apostle  John ! 

XVII. 

He  stepn'd  before  the  Monarch's  chair, 
And  stood  with  rustic  plainness  there, 

And  little  reverence  made: 
Nor  head,  nor  body,  bow'd  nor  bent, 
But  on  the  desk  his  arm  he  leant. 

And  words  like  these  he  said, 
In  a  low  voice,  hut  never  tone, 
So  thrill'd  through  vein,  and  nerve,  and 

bone : — 

My  mother  sent  me  from  afar, 
Sir  Kine.  to  warn  thee  not  to  war,— 

Woe  waits  on  thine  array ; 
If  war  t  liou  wilt,  of  woman  fair. 
Her  witching  wiles  and  wanton  snare, 
James  Stuart,  doubly  warn'd.  beware: 
God  keep  thee  as  he  may  !' — 
The  wondering  Monarch  seem'd  to  seelc 

For  answer,  and  found  none  : 
And  when  lie  raised  his  head  to  speak, 

The  monitor  was  gone. 
The  Marshal  and  myself  had  cast 
To  stop  him  as  he  outward  pass'd  ; 
Bat,  lighter  than  the  whirlwind's  blast, 

He  vanish'd  from  our  eyes, 

lake  sunbeam  on  the  billow  cast, 

That  glances  but,  and  dies." 

XVIII. 
While  Lindesay  told  his  marvel  strange. 

The  twilight  was  so  pale. 
He  mark'd  not  Marmion's  colour  change, 

While  listening  to  the  tale : 
But.  afier  a  suspended  pause, 
The  Baron  spoke :— "  Of  Nature's  laws 

So  strong  I  held  the  force. 
That  never  superhuman  cause 

Could  e'er  control  their  course. 
And.  three  days  since,  had  judged  your  aim 
Was  but  to  make  your  guest  your  game. 
But  I  have  seen,  since  past  the  Tweed. 
What  much  has  changed  my  sceptic  creed, 
And  made  me  credit  aught."— He  staid. 
And  seem'd  to  wish  his  words  unsaid  : 
But.  by  that  strong  emotion  press'd. 
Which  prompts  us  to  unload  our  breast, 

Even  when  discovery 's  pain. 
To  Lindesay  did  at  length  unfold 
The  tale  his  village  host  had  told, 

At  Gilford,  to  his  train. 
Nought  of  the  Palmer  says  he  there. 
And  nought  of  Constance,  or  of  Olare ; 


which  advance*  almost  into  the  mid»t  of  the  lake.  The 
form  is  that  of  a  square  court,  composed  of  buildings  of  four 
slorie.  high,  with  tower,  at  the  aniil™.  The  front*  within 
the  square,  and  the  windows,  are  highly  ornamented,  and 

qaet-room  is  ninety-four  feet  long,  thirty  feet  wide,  and 
thirty-three  feet  high,  with  a  gallery  for  mu.ic.  The  king's 
wardrobe  or  dressing-room,  looking  lo  the  west,  projects 
over  the  wall*,  so  as  to  have  a  delicious  prospect  on  three 

seen. "--Sir  Waller  Scon's  MunNaasom  Prat  Wvrtt,  vol. 
vii.  p.  3«2,  *c. 
t  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C.  3  Ibid.  Hole  »  I 


MARMION.                                        103 

The  thoughts,  which  broke  his  sleep,  he  seems 
To  mention  but  as  feverish  dreams. 

Dead  or  alive,  good  cause  had  ue 
To  be  my  mortal  enemy." 

XIX. 

XXII. 

"In  vain,"  said  he.  "to  rest  1  spread 

Marvell'd  Kir  David  of  the  Mount; 

j  Mv  burning  timbs.  and  conchy  my  head  : 

Then,  learn'd  in  story,  'gan  recount 

'Fantastic  thoughts  return  'd  ; 

Such  chance  had  hanp'd  «f  old. 

And.  by  their  wild  dominion  led, 

When  once,  near  Norliam,  there  did  fight 

iMy  heart  within  me  huru'd. 

A  spectre  fell  of  fiendish  might. 

So  wire  was  the  delirious  goad. 

In  likeness  of  a  Scottish  knight, 

I  took  my  steed,  a«id  forth  1  rode. 

Wun  Brian  Buiraer  bold. 

And,  as  the  moon  shone  bright  and  cold, 

And  train'd  him  nigh  to  disallow 

Soon  rench'd  the  camp  upon  the  wold. 

The  aid  of  his  baptismal  vow. 

The  southern  entrance  1  pass'd  through, 

"  And  such  a  phantom,  too,  'tis  said. 

And  halted,  and  my  bugle  blew. 

With  Highland  broadsword,  targe,  and  plaid, 

Methottght  an  answer  met  my  ear,  — 

And  fingers,  red  with  gore. 

Vet  was  the  blast  so  low  and  drear. 

Is  seen  in  Rotiiiemurcus  glade, 

So  hollow,  and  so  faintly  blown, 

Or  where  the  sable  pine-trees  shade 

It  might  be  echo  of  my  owu. 

Dark  Tomantoul,  and  Auchnaslaid, 

Dromouchtjr,  or  Glenmore.1 

XX. 

And  yet,  whate'er  such  legends  say. 

"  Thus  judging,  for  a  little  space 
I  listen'd,  ere  I  left  the  place. 
But  scarce  could  trust  my  eyes. 
Nor  vet  can  tlunk  they  served  me  true. 
When  sndden  in  the  ring  1  view. 
In  form  distinct  of  sliape  and  hue, 
A  mounted  champion  rise  — 
I've  fought.  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day. 

Of  warlike  demon,  ghost,  or  fay, 
On  mountain,  mow,  or  plain, 
Spotless  in  faith,  in  bosom  bold. 
True  son  o(  chivalry  should  hold, 
These  midnight  terrors  vain; 
For  seldom  have  such  spirits  power 
To  harm,  save  in  the  evil  hour. 
When  guilt  -we  meditate  within. 

In  single  fight,  and  mix'd  affray, 
And  ever,  I  myself  may  say, 
Have  born*  me  as  a  knight; 
But  when  this  unexpected  foe 
Seem'd  starting  from  the  gulf  below,— 
1  care  not  though  the  truth  I  show,  — 
I  trembled  with  affright: 
And  as  I  placed  in  rest  my  spear, 
My  hand  so  shook  for  verv  fear, 

Or  harbour  unrepented  sin."  — 
Lord  Marmion  tnrn'd  him  half  aside. 
And  twice  to  clear  his  voice  he  tried. 
Then  press'd  Sir  David's  hand.— 
But  nought,  at  length,  in  answer  said  ; 
And  here  their  farther  converse  staid, 
Each  ordering  that  his  band 
Sh<mld  bowne  them  with  the  rising  day. 
To  Scotland's  camp  to  take  their  way.— 

I  scarce  could  couch  it  right. 

Suca  was  the  King's  command. 

XXI. 

XXIII. 

"  Why  need  my  tongue  the  issue  tell  T 

Early  they  took  Dun-Edin's  road. 

We  ran  our  course.—  my  charger  fell  ;— 

And  1  could  trace  each  step  they  trode  : 

What  could  he  'gainst  the  shock  of  hell!— 

Hill,  brook,  nor  dell,  nor  rook,  nor  stone 

I  roll'd  upon  the  plaiu. 
Hisrh  o'er  my  head,  with  threatening  hand, 
The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand,  — 

Lies  on  the  path  to  me  unknown. 
Much  might  it  boast  of  storied  lore; 
But,  passing  such  digression  o^er. 

Yet  did  the  worst  remain  : 

Suffice  it  that  the  route  was  laid 

My  dazzled  eyes  I  upward  cast,  — 

Across  the  furzy  hills  of  Braid. 

Not  opening  hell  itself  could  blast 

They  pass'd  the  plen  and  scanty  rill. 

Their  sight,  like  what  I  saw  ! 

And  climb'd  the  opposing  bank,  until 

Full  on  lire  tine  the  moonbeam  strook,— 

They  jam'd  the  top  of  Blaekford  Hill. 

A  face  could  never  be  mistook  ! 

I  knew  the  stern  vindictive  look, 

XXIV. 

And  held  my  breath  for  awe. 
I  saw  the  face  of  one  who,  fled 
To  foreign  climes,  has  long  been  dead,  — 

Blaekford  1  on  whose  uncultured  breast. 
Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  whin, 
A  truant-toy,  1  sought  the  nest, 

1  well  believe  the  last; 

Or  listed,  as  1  lay  at  rest. 

For  ne'er,  from  vizor  raised,  did  stare 

While  rose,  on  breezes  thin, 

A  human  warrior,  with  a  glare 
So  grimly  and  so  ghast. 
Thrice  o'er  my  head  he  shook  the  blade  ; 
But  when  to  good  Saint  George  I  pray'd, 
(The  first  time  ere  1  ask'd  his  aid,) 

The  murmur  of  the  city  crowd. 
And,  from  liis  steeple  jangling  loud. 
Saint  Giles's  mingling  din. 
Now,  from  the  summit  to  the  plain, 
Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain; 

He  plunged  it  in  the  sheath  ; 

And  o'er  the  landscape  as  1  look, 

And.  on  his  courser  mounting  light, 

Nought  do  Isee  unchanged  remain. 

He  seem'd  to  vanish  from  my  sight  : 
The  moonbeam  droop'd,  and  deepest  night 
Sunk  down  upon  tho  heath.  — 

Save  the  rude  clitis  and  cliiming  brook. 
To  me  they  mak«  a  heavy  moan. 
Of  eariy  friendships  past  and  gmie. 

'Twere  long  U>  tell  what  cause  I  have 

To  know  his  face,  that  met  ma  there. 

Cail'd  by  his  hatred  from  the  grave, 

1  See  lh«  traditions  concerning  Bulmer.  and  the.  spectre 
called  Lhaimclrarp,  or  Bloody-hand,  in  a  note  on  canto  iii 

To  number  upper  air  : 

Appendix,  Note  1  U. 

104                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 

And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field, 

XXV. 

Where,  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 

But  different  far  the  change  has  been, 

The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold.* 

Since  Marniiou,  from  the  crown 

XXIX 

Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

Upon  the  bent  so  brown  • 

.onl  Marmion  view'd  the  landscape  bright,  — 

Thousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow. 

ie  view'd  it  with  a  chiefs  delight.  — 

Spread  all  the  Borough-moor  below,! 
Upland,  and  dale,  and  down  :— 

Until  within  him  bnrn'd  his  heart, 
And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  part, 

A  thousand  did  I  say  ?     I  ween, 
Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen. 

As  on  the  battle-day: 
Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart. 

That  chequer'd  all  the  heath  between 
The  streamlet  and  the  town  ; 

When  stoopins  on  his  prev. 
'Oh  !  well.  Lord-Lion,  hast  tlion  said, 

In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 

Thy  King  from  warfare  to  dissuade 

Forming  a  camp  irregular; 
Oft  givin?  way,  where  still  there  strxl 
Some  relics  of  the  old  oak  wood. 

W'ere  but  a  vain  essay  : 
For,  by  St.  George,  were  that  host  mine, 
Sot  power  infernal  nor  divine, 

That  darkly  huge  diii  intervene. 
And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green  : 
III  these  extended  lines  there  lay 
A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

Should  once  to  peace  my  soul  incline. 
Till  I  had  dimm'd  their  armour's  shine 
In  glorious  battle-fray  !" 
Answer'd  the  Bard,  of  milder  mood  : 
'•  Fair  is  the  sight,  —  and  yet  'twere  good, 

XXVI. 
For  from  Hebndes.  dark  wilh  rain, 

That  kings  would  think  withal, 
When  peace  and  wealth  their  laud  has  bless'd, 
Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest. 

To  eastern  Lodou's  fertile  plain, 

Thau  rise,  perchance  to  fall." 

And  from  the  southern  Redswire  edge. 

To  farthest  Kosse's  rocky  ledge; 

XXX. 

From  west  to  east,  from  south  to  north, 
Scotland  sent  all  her  warriors  forth. 
Marmion  might  hear  the  mingled  hum 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 
For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survev'd. 
When  sated  with  the  martial  show 

Of  mvriads  up  the  mountain  come  ; 
The  horses'  tramp.  ::nd  tingling  clank, 
Where  chiefs  review'd  their  vassal  rank, 
And  charger's  shrilling  neigh  ; 

That  peopled  all  the  plain  below. 
The  wandering  eve  could  o'er  it  go, 
And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 
With  eloomy  splendour  red  ; 

And  see  the  shiftin?  lines  advance. 

For  on  the  smoke-wreaths,  huge  and  slow, 

While  frequent  flash  'd,  from  shield  and  lance. 

That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow. 

The  suu's  reflected  ray. 

The  morning  beams  were  shed. 

And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud. 

xxvn. 

Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-  cloud. 

Thin  curling  in  the  morning  air, 
The  wreaths  of  failing  smoke  declare 

Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height, 
Where  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 

To  embers  now  the  brands  decay'd. 
Where  the  night-watch  their  fires  had  made. 
They  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain, 
Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  warn, 
And  dire  artillery's  clumsy  car, 
By  sluggish  oien  tugg'd  to  war  ; 
And  there  were  Borthwick's  Sisters  Seven,* 
And  culverins  which  France  had  j*iven. 
111-omen'd  gift  !  the  guns  remain 
The  conqueror's  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

And  all  the  steep  slope  down. 
Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky, 
Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 
Mine  own  romantic  town  ! 
But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze. 
On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays. 
And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kissed, 
It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 
Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw: 
Here  Preston-  Buy  and  Berwick-Law  : 
And.  broad  between  them  roll'd, 

XXVIII. 

The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 

Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 

Nor  mark'd  they  less,  where  in  the  air 

Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 

A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair; 
Various  in  shape,  device,  and  hoe. 

Fitz-L'us:  ace's  heart  felt  closely  peut  ; 
As  if  to  give  his  rapture  vent. 

Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red.  and  blue, 

The  spur  he  to  his  charger  lent, 

Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tail'd.  and  square, 

And  raised  his  bridle  baud. 

Scroll,  pennon,  pensil,  bandrol.3  there 

And,  making  demi-volte  in  air, 

O'er  the  pavilions  flew  « 

Cried,  "  Where  's  tiie  coward  that  would  not 

Highest  and  midmost,  was  descried 

dare 

The  royal  banner  floating  wide  ; 

To  fight  for  such  a  land  !" 

The  staff,  a  pine-tree,  stron?  and  straight, 

The  Lindesay  smiled  his  joy  to  see  ; 

Pitch  'd  deeply  in  a  massive  stone. 

Nor  Marmiou's  frown  repress'd  his  glee. 

Which  still  m  memory  is  shown. 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight 

XXXI. 

When'er  the  western  wind  unroll'd. 

Thus  while  they  look'd,  a  flourish  proud. 

With  toil,  the  huge  and.  cumbrous  fold. 

Where  mingled  trump,  and  clarion  loud, 

1  S«  Appendix,  Sole  3  K. 

S  Kach  of  Iheoe  feudal  nui«ci  intimated  the  diCeleol 

rank  of  those  entitled  to  display  them. 

a  Se*en  ctilTerini  ao  called,  cut  by  one  Borthwiek. 

4  Bee  Appendix,  Note  3  F.                  &  Ibid.  Note  3  O. 

MARMION.                                        105 

And  fife,  and  kettle-drum, 

A  cold  and  profitless  regard. 

And  sackbnt  deep,  and  psaltery, 

4ke  patron  on  a  needy  bard  ; 

And  war-pipe  with  discordant  cry, 

Wrten  silvan  occupation  's  done, 

And  cymbal  clattering  to  ihe  sky. 

And  o'er  the  chimney  rests  the  gun, 

Making  wild  music  bold  and  high. 

And  hang,  in  idle  trophy,  near. 

Did  up  the  mountain  come  ; 
The  whilst  the  bells,  with  distant  chime, 

The  game-pouch,  nshing-rod,  and  spear; 
When  wiry  terrier,  rough  and  grim, 

Merrily  toll'd  the  hour  of  prime. 

Aud  greyhound,  with  his  length  of  limb, 

And  thus  the  Undesay  spoke  : 

And  pointer,  now  employ  'd  m>  more, 

•'  Thus  clamour  .vtill  the  war-notes  when 

dumber  our  parlour's  narrow  floor  : 

The  king  to  mass  his  way  has  ta'en, 

When  in  Ins  stall  the  impatient  steed 

Or  to  St.  Katharine's  of  Sienue, 

Is  long  condemn'd  to  rest  and  feed  ; 

Or  Chapel  of  Saint  fiocque. 

When  from  our  snow-encircled  home. 

To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame  ; 

Scarce  cares  the  hardiest  step  to  roam, 

But  me  remind  of  peaceful  game, 

Since  path  is  none,  save  that  to  bring 

When  blither  was  their  cheer. 

The  needful  water  from  the  spring; 

Thrilling  in  Falkland-wood*  the  air. 

When  wrinkled  news-page,  thrice  conn'd  o'er, 

In  signal  none  his  steed  should  spare, 
But  strive  which  foremost  might  repair 
To  the  downfall  of  the  deer. 

Beguiles  the  dreary  hour  no  more, 
And  darkling  politician,  cross'd, 
Inveighs  against  the  lingering  post. 

And  answering  housewife  sore  complains 

XXXII. 

Of  carriers'  snow-impeded  wains  ; 

"  Nor  less,"  he  said,  —  "  when  looking  forth, 
I  view  yon  Empress  of  tlie  North, 
Sit  on  her  hilly  throne  ; 
Her  palace's  imperial  bowers. 
Her  castle,  proof  to  hostile  powers. 
Her  stately  halls  and  holy  towers  — 

When  such  the  couutrv  cheer.  1  come, 
Well  pleased,  to  seek  our  city  home  ; 
For  converse,  and  for  books,  to  change 
The  Forest's  melancholy  range. 
And  welcome,  with  renew'd  delight, 
The  busy  day  and  social  night. 

Nor  less."  he  said,  "I  moan, 

To  think  what  woe  mischance  may  bring, 
And  how  these  merry  bells  may  ring 
The  death-dirge  of  our  gallant  king; 
Or  with  the  larum  call 
The  burghers  forth  to  watch  and  ward, 
'Gainst  soul  hern  sack  and  fires  to  guard 
Dun-  Ellin's  leaguer'd  wall.  — 
But  not  for  my  presaging  thought, 

Not  here  need  my  desponding  rhyme 
Lament  the  ravages  of  time, 
As  erst  by  Newark's  riveq  towers, 
And  Etlrick  stripp'd  of  forest  bowers.* 
True,  —  Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed,* 
Since  on  her  dusky  summit  ranged. 
Within  its  sleepy  limits  pent, 
Bv  bulwark,  line,  and  battlement. 

Dream  conquest  sure,  or  cheaply  bought  ! 
Lord  Marmiim.  T  say  nay  : 
God  is  the  gutder  of  the  field, 
He  breaks  the  champion's  spear  and  shield,  — 
But  thou  thyself  shall  sav. 
When  joins  yon  host  in  deadly  stowre. 
That  England's  dames  must  weep  in  bower, 
Her  monks  the  death  mass  sing  ; 
For  never  saw'st  Ihou  such  a  power 
Led  on  by  such  a  King.''  — 
And  now,  down  winding  to  the  plain. 
The  barriers  of  the  camp  they  gam. 
And  there  they  made  a  stay.  — 

And  flanking  lowers,  and  laky  flood. 
Guarded  and  garrison'd  she  stood, 
Denying  entrance  or  resort. 
Save  at  each  tall  embattled  port  ; 
Above  whose  arch,  suspended,  hung 
Portcullis  spiked  with  iron  prong. 
That  long  is  gone.  —  but  not  so  long, 
Since,  earlv  closed,  and  opening  late, 
Jealous  revolved  the  Mudded  gate, 
Whose  task,  from  eve  to  morning  tide, 
A  wicket  churlishly  supplied. 
Stern  then,  and  steel-girt  was  thy  brow, 
Diin-Edin  !  O,  how  alter'd  now. 

There  stays  the  Minstrel,  till  he  fling 
His  hand  o'er  every  Border  string, 
And  fit  his  harp  the  pomp  to  sing, 
Of  Scotland's  ancient  Court  aud  IZiug, 
Tn  the  succeeding  lay. 

When  safe  amid  thy  mountain  court 
Thou  sit'st,  like  Empress  at  her  sport, 
And  liberal,  unconimed.  and  free, 
Flinging  thy  white  arms  to  the  sea,* 
Fi.i  thy  dark  cluud,  with  umber'd  lower. 

That  hung  o'er  cliff,  and  lake,  ami  tower, 

Thou  gleam'st  against  the  western  ray 
Ten  thousand  lines  of  brighter  day. 

i&atnTfoit. 

1  This  accomplished  gentleman,  the  well-known  comdju- 

lor  of  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr.  Frere  in  Ihe  ••  Anlijicoi.iu." 

—  —  — 

and  editor  of  "  Specimen*  of  Aucienl  English  Romances," 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIFTH. 

tc..  died  10th  April  1816,  aged  70  years:  being  succeeded 

in  his  estates  by  hi>  brother,  C'haile.  Ellis,  Esq.,  created,  in 

11-27,  Lord  Seaford  Ed. 

TO 

3  See  introduction  to  canto  ii. 

3  See  Appendix.  Note  3  R. 

GEORGE  ELLIS,  ESQ." 

4  Sine:-  writing  this  line.I  flnd  I  have  inadterlenllybor- 

Edinburgh. 

enTmeanrn^Ttom'^chor'ui^n""  Caraaacus*''—  "  *  ^SKC' 

When  dark  December  glooms  the  day, 
And  takes  our  autumn  joys  away  : 

"  Brilajn  heard  Ihe  descant  bold. 

When  short  and  scant  the  sunbeam  throws, 

She  flung  her  white  arms  o'er  the  tea, 
Proud  in  her  leafy  bosom  to  enfold 

Upon  the  weary  waste  of  snows, 

The  freight  of  harmony." 

r!06                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Not  she,  the  Championess  of  old, 

Jodings,  or  true  or  false,  to  change, 

In  Spenser's  magic  tale  enroll'd, 

•'or  Fiction's  fair  romantic  range, 

She  for  the  charmed  spear  reuown'd, 

Jr  for  tradition's  dubious  light, 

Which  forced  each  knight  to  kiss  the  ground; 

That  hovers  'twixt  the  day  and  night  : 

Not  she  more  changed,  when,  placed  at  rest, 

Dazzling  alternately  and  dim. 

What  time  she  was  Malbecco's  guest,! 

ler  wavering  lamp  I'd  rather  trim. 

She  gave  to  flow  her  maiden  vest  ; 

Knights,  squires,  and  lovely  dames  to  see, 

When  from  the  corslet's  grasp  relieved, 

Creation  of  my  fantasy, 

Free  to  the  sight  her  bosom  heaved  : 

Than  gaze  abroad  on  reeky  fen. 

Sweet,  was  her  blue  eye's  modest  smile, 

And  make  of  mists  invading  men. 

F.rst  hidden  by  the  aventayle: 

Who  loves  not  more  the  night  of  June 

And  down  her  shoulders  graceful  roll'd 
Her  locks  profuse,  of  paly  gold. 

Than  dull  December's  gloomy  noon  I 
The  moonlight  than  the  fog  of  frost  ? 

They  who  whilom,  in  midnight  fight, 

And  can  we  say,  which  cheats  the  most  T 

Had  marvell'd  at  her  matchless  might, 

No  less  her  maiden  charms  approved, 
Hut  looking  liked,  and  liking  loved  2 
The  sight  could  jealous  pangs  beguile, 
And  charm  Malbecco's  cares  a  while  : 
And  he,  the  wandering  Squire  of  Dames, 
Forgot  his  Columbella  s  claims. 
And  passion,  erst  unknown,  could  gain 
The  breast  of  blunt  Sir  Satyrane: 
Nor  durst  light  Paridel  advance. 
Bold  as  he  was.  a  looser  glance. 
She  charm'd,  at  once,  and  tamed  the  heart. 
Incomparable  Britomarle  ! 

But  who  shall  teach  my  harp  to  gain 
A  sound  of  Ihe  romantic  strain, 
Whose  Anglo-Norrnan  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear.' 
Famed  Beauclerc  call'd,  for  that  he  loved 
The  minstrel,  and  his  lay  approved  .' 
Who  shall  these  lingering  notes  redeem, 
Decaying  on  Oblivion's  stream  ; 
Sucli  notes  as  from  the  Breton  tongue 
Mane  translated,  Blondel  sung  ?  — 
O  !  horn.  Time's  ravage  to  repair, 
And  make  the  dying  Muse  thy  care; 

Who,  when  his  scythe  her  houry  foe 

So  thou,  fair  City  !  disarray'd 

Was  poising  for  the  final  blow, 

Of  battled  wall,  and  rampart's  aid, 

The  weapon  from  his  hand  could  wring, 

As  stately  seem'st.  but  lovelier  far 

And  break  his  glass,  and  shear  his  wing, 

Than  in  that  panoply  of  war. 

And  bid,  reviving  in  his  strain. 

Nor  deem  that  from  thy  fenceless  throne 
Strength  and  security  are  flown  : 
Still,  as  of  yore.  Queen  of  the  North  ! 

The  gentle  poet  live  again  ; 
Thou,  who  canst  give  to  lightest  lay 
An  unpedantic  moral  gay, 

Still  canst  thou  send  thy  children  forth. 

Nor  less  the  dullest  theme  bid  flit 

Ni-'er  readier  at  alarm-bell's  call 
Thy  burghers  rose  to  man  thy  wall, 
Than  now.  in  danger,  shall  be  thine, 

On  wings  of  unexpected  wit  ; 
In  letters  as  in  lite  approved, 
Example  honour'd,  and  beloved,— 

Thy  dauntless  voluntary  line  ; 

Dear  Ellis  !  to  the  bard  impart 

For  fosse  and  turret  proud  to  stand, 

A  lesson  of  thy  magic  art, 

Their  breasts  the  bulwarks  of  the  land. 

To  win  at  once  the  head  and  heart.— 

Thy  thousands,  train'd  to  martial  toil, 

At  once  to  charm,  instruct  and  mend. 

Full  red  would  stain  their  native  soil, 
Ere  from  thy  mural  crown  there  fell 

My  guide,  my  pattern,  and  my  friend  !« 

The  slightest  kuosp,  or  pinnacle. 
And  if  it  come,  —  as  come  it  may. 

Such  minstrel  lesson  to  bestow 

Dun-Edin  !  that  eventful  day,— 

Be  long  thy  pleasing  task,—  but,  0! 

Kenowu'd  for  hospitable  deed. 
That  virtue  much  with  Heaven  may  plead, 
In  patriarchal  times  whose  care 
Descending  angels  deign'd  to  share; 
That  claim  may  wrestle  blessings  down 

No  more  by  thy  example  teach, 
—  What  few  can  practise,  all  can  preach,— 
With  even  patience  to  endure 
Lingering  disease,  and  painful  cure, 
And  Ixiast  affliction's  pangs  subdued 

On  those  who  tight  for  The  (iood  Town, 

By  mild  and  manly  fortitude. 

Destined  in  every  age  to  be 

Enough,  the  lesson  has  been  given  : 

Refuge  of  injured  royalty; 

Forbid  the  repetition,  Heaven  ! 

Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 

To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose,  3 
Till  late,  with  wonder,  grief,  and  awe, 
Great  Bourbon's  relics,  sad  she  saw.* 

Come  listen,  then  !  for  thou  hast  known, 
And  loved  the  Minstrel's  varying  tone, 
Who.  like  his  Bonier  sires  of  old, 

Waked  a  wild  measure  rude  and  bold. 

Truce  to  these  thoughts  !—  for,  as  they  rise, 

Till  Windsor's  oaks,  and  Ascot  plain. 

How  gladly  I  avert  mine  eyes. 

With  wonder  heard  the  northern  strain  1 

1  See  ••  The  Fairy  Queen,"  book  iii  .  cuilo  Ix. 

unfortunate  1-rince,  with  all  the  immediate  member,  of  hi. 

3  •'  For  erery  one  her  liked,  and  every  one  her  loved.** 

Stuar'u,  anu  remained  there  until  lain  September  ItS'J. 

Spenter,  at  above 

6  Se.:  Appendix,  Jiole  3  K. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 

0      "  Come  then,  my  friend,  my  ijeniu.,  come  alooj, 

Oh  '  raaaler  of  the  poet  and  the  song  '" 

4  In  January  1786.  the  exiled  Count  d'Arto!  a,  afterwards 

Pope  to  Bulixgbroki. 

Charlen  X.  of  France,  took  up  hi«  residence  in   Holvrood 

where  he  remained  until  August  1790      When  a;ajn  dnvei 

1  At  Sunnini-hill.  Mr.  F.tlift's  Kit,  near  Windsor,  part  of 

MARMION.                                        107 

Come  listen!  hold  in  thy  applause, 

Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight, 

The  Bard  shall  scorn  pedantic  laws; 

Two-handed  swords  they  wore. 

And,  as  ihe  ancient  art  could  stain 

And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight, 

Achievements  on  the  storied  pane, 

And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 

Irregularly  traced  and  plann'd, 

But  yet  so  glowing  and  so  grand,  — 

III. 

So  shall  he  strive,  in  changeful  hue, 
Field,  feast,  and  combat,  to  renew, 
And  loves,  arid  arms,  and  harpers'  glee, 
And  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry. 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too.  bnt  dress'd 
In  his  steel  jack,  a  swarthy  vest. 
With  iron  quilted  well: 
Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 

His  forty  days'  provision  bore, 

As  feudal  statutes  tell. 

WMWWMtAMffiWIMMMWVWMWWV* 

His  arms  were  halbert.  axe.  or  spear,* 

A  crossbow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 

A  dagger-knife,  and  brand. 

.ptarmfon. 

Sober  he  seem'd,  and  sad  of  cheer, 

As  loth  to  leave  his  cottage  dear, 

And  march  to  foreign  strand: 

Or  musing,  who  would  guide  his  steer, 

CANTO    FIFTH. 

To  till  the  fallow  land. 

Vet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 

Did  aught  of  dastard  terror  lie  ; 

THE    COURT. 

More  dreadful  far  his  ire. 
Than  theirs,  who,  scorning  danger's  name, 

T 

In  eager  mood  to  battle  came, 

1. 

Their  valour  like  light  straw  on  flame, 

The  train  has  left  the  hills  of  Braid  , 

A  fierce  but  fading  fire. 

The  barrier  guard  have  open  made 

(So  Lindesay  bade)  the  palisade. 

IV. 

That  closed  the  tented  ground  ; 
Their  men  the  warders  backward  drew, 
And  carried  pikes  as  they  rode  through, 
Into  its  ample  hound. 
Fast  ran  the  Scottish  warriors  there, 
Upon  the  Southern  band  to  stare. 
And  envy  with  their  wonder  rose. 
To  see  such  well-appointed  foes; 
Such  length  of  shafts,  such  mighty  bows, 
So  huge,  that,  many  simply  thought. 
But  for  a  vaunt  such  weapons  wrought  ; 
And  little  deem'd  their  force  to  feel, 

Not  so  the  Borderer:—  bred  to  war, 
He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar, 
And  joy'd  to  hear  it  swell. 
His  peaceful  day  was  slothful  ease  : 
Nor  harp,  nor  pipe,  his  ear  could  please 
Like  t  lie  loud  slogan  yell. 
On  active  steed,  with  lance  and  blade, 
The  light-arm'd  pricker  plied  his  trade,  — 
Let  nobles  fight  for  fame  ; 
Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead. 
Burghers  to  guard  their  townships  bleed, 

Through  links  of  mail,  and  plates  of  steel. 
When  rattling  upon  Flodden  vale. 
The  cloth-yard  arrows  flew  like  hail.i 

Their  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight, 
To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  the  night, 
O'er  mountain,  moss,  arid  moor  : 

Joyful  to  light  they  took  their  way. 

. 

Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  day, 

Nor  less  did  Marmion's  skilful  view 

Their  booty  was  secure. 

Glance  every  line  and  squadron  through; 
And  much  he  marvell'd  one  small  land 

These,  as  Lord  Marmiou's  train  pass'd  by, 
Look'd  on  at  first  with  careless  eye. 

Could  marshal  forth  such  various  band  : 

Nor  marvell'd  aught,  well  taught  to  know 

For  men-at-arms  were  here, 

The  form  and  force  of  English  bow. 

Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate. 
Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 
On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height, 
With  battle-axe  and  spear. 

But  when  ihev  saw  Ihe  Lord  array  'd 
In  splendid  anus  and  rit  h  brocade. 
Each  Borderer  to  his  kinsman  said,  — 
"  Hist,  Rinvan  !  see'st  thou  there  ! 

Young  knights  and  squires,  a  lighter  train. 
Practised  their  chargers  on  the  plain, 
By  aid  of  leg.  of  hand,  and  rein. 

Canst  guess  which  road  they'll  homeward 
ride  ?— 
0!  could  we  but  on  Border  side. 

Each  warlike  feat  to  show. 

By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Liddell's  tide, 

To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  crou|«  to  gain, 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair  ! 

And  high  curvett,  that  not  in  vain 
The  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 
On  foeman's  casque  below.  2 

That  I'a'igless  Lion,  too,  their  guide, 
Might  chance  to  lose  his  glistering  hide  ; 
Brown  Maudlin,  of  that  doublet  pied, 

He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 

Could  make  a  kirtle  rare." 

March  arm'd,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare,' 

Kor  vizor  they  wore  none. 

V. 

Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight; 

Next.  Mannion  mark'd  the  Celtic  race, 

But  burnished  were  their  corslets  bright, 

Of  different  language,  form,  and  face. 

Their  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light, 

A  various  race  of  man  ; 

Like  very  silver  shone. 

Just  then  the  Chiefs  their  tribes  array'd. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I.. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  S  N. 

y  Bra  Appendix,  Note  3  M. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 

108                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  wild  and  garish  semblance  made. 

King  James  within  her  princely  bower. 

The  chequer'd  trews,  and  belted  plaid. 

Feasted  the  Chiefs  of  Scotland's  power, 

And  varying  notes  the  war-pipes  bray'd, 

Summon'd  to  spend  the  parting  hour; 

To  everv  vary  ins  clan; 

For  lie  hud  charaed,  that  his  array 

Wild  through  their  red  or  sable  hair 

Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 

Look'd  out  their  eyes  with  savage  stare, 

Well  loved  that  splendid  monarch  aye 

On  Marmun  as  he  pass'd  ; 

The  banquet  and  the  song, 

Their  leas  above  the  knee  were  bare: 

By  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 

Their  frame  was  sinewv.  short,  aud  spare, 

The  merry  dance,  traced  fast  and  light. 

And  harden  'd  to  the  blast  ; 

The  maskers  quaint,  the  pageant  bright, 

Of  taller  race,  the  chiefs  they  own 

The  revel  loud  and  long 

Were  by  the  eagle's  plumage  known. 
The  hunted  red-deer's  untiress'd  hide 

This  feast  outshone  his  banquets  past, 
It  was  his  blithest—  and  his  last. 

Their  hairv  buskins  well  supplied  ; 
The  graceful  bonnet  deck'd  their  head  : 

The  dazzling  lamps,  from  gallery  gay, 
Cast  on  the  Court  a  dancing  ray  ; 

Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid  ; 

Here  to  the  harp  did  minstrels  sing; 

A  broadsword  of  unwieldly  length. 

Their  ladies  touch  'd  a  softer  string  ; 

A  dagger  proved  for  edge  and  strength, 

With  long-ear'd  cap,  and  motley  vest, 

A  studded  targe  they  wore, 

The  licensed  fool  retail'd  his  jest  ; 

And  quivers,  |M>WS.  and  shafts,  —  but,  O  ! 

His  magic  tricks  the  juggler  plied  ; 

Short  was  the  shaft,  and  weak  the  bow, 

At  dice  and  draughts  the  gallants  vied  ; 

To  that  which  Ensland  bore. 

While  some,  in  close  recess  apart. 

The  Isles-men  carried  at  their  backs 

Courted  the  ladies  of  their  heart, 

The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 

Nor  courted  them  in  vain; 

They  raised  a  wild  and  wondering  cry, 

Nor  oflen,  in  the  parting  hour, 

As  with  his  guide  rode  Marmion  by. 
Loud  were  their  clamouring  tongaes,  as  when 

Victorious  Love  asserts  his  power 
O'er  coldness  and  disdain; 

The  clanging  sea-fowl  leave  the  fen. 

And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 

And,  with  their  cries  discordant  mix'd, 

To  battle  march  a  lover  true  — 

Grumbled  and  yell'd  the  pipes  betwixt. 

Can  hear,  perchance,  his  last  adieu, 

VI. 

Nor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

Thus  throueh  the  Scottish  camp  they  pass'd, 

VIII. 

And  reach'd  the  City  gate  at  last, 
Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard, 
Arm'd  burghers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 

Through  this  mix'd  crowd  of  glee  and  game, 
The  King  to  greet  Lord  Marmion  came, 
While,  reverent,  all  made  room. 

Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear. 

An  easy  task  it  was,  1  trow, 

When  lay  encamp'd,  in  field  so  near, 

King  James's  manly  form  to  know. 

The  Borderer  and  the  Mountaineer. 

Although,  his  courtesy  to  show. 

As  through  the  bustling  streets  they  go, 

He  ilorfil,  to  Mannion  bending  low, 

All  was  alive  with  martial  show: 

His  broider'd  cap  and  plume. 

At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clansr, 

For  royal  was  his  garb  and  mien. 

The  armourer's  anvil  clasU'd  and  rang  ; 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  piled, 

Or  toil'd  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 
The  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel  : 

Trimm'd  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild  ; 
His  vest  of  chanceful  satin  sheen, 

Or  axe,  or  falchion,  to  the  side 

The  dazzled  eve  beguiled  ; 

Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 

His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown. 

Page,  groom,  and  squire,  with  hurrying  pace, 
Through  street,  and  lane,  and  market-place. 

Wrought  with  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown, 
The  thistle  brave,  of  old  renown  : 

Bore  lance,  or  casque,  or  sword  ; 
While  burghers,  with  important  face. 

H:s  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right. 
Descended  from  a  baldric  bright  ; 

Described  each  new-come  lord, 

White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 

Discuss'd  his  lineage,  told  Ins  name, 
His  following,!  and  his  warlike  fame. 

His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel  ; 
His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair, 

The  Lion  led  to  lodging  meet. 
Which  high  o'erlook'd  the  crowded  street  ; 
There  must  the  Baron  rest, 
Till  past  the  hour  of  vesper  tide. 

Was  button  °d  with  a  ruby  rare  : 
And  Mannion  deem'd  he  ne'er  had  seen 
A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

Aud  then  to  Holy-Kood  must  rule.— 

TX. 

Such  was  the  King's  behest. 

The  Monarch's  form  was  middle  size  ; 

Meanwhile  the  Lion's  care  assigns 

For  feat  of  strength,  or  exercise, 

A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines, 
To  Marmion  and  his  tram  ;2 

Shaped  in  proportion  fair; 
And  hazel  was  his  eagle  eye. 

And  when  the  appointed  hour  succeeds, 

And  auburn  of  the  darkest  dye, 

The  Baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds, 

His  short  curl'd  beard  and  hair. 

And  following  Liudesay  as  he  leads 
The  palace-halls  they  gain. 

Light  was  Ins  footstep  >n  the  dance. 
And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lists  ; 

vn. 

And,  oh  !  he  had  that  merry  glance, 

Old  Holv-Rood  rung  merrilv. 

Lightly  from  fair  to  fair  he  flew. 

That  night,  with  wassell.  mirth,  and  glee  : 

And  loved  to  plead,  lament,  and  sue  :  — 

1  FoUoteiBf—  Feudal  retainers.—  Taia  word,  by  the  way, 
baa    been,  since   the  Author  of    Marraion    used    it,   aud 

English,  and  especially  into   Parliamentary   psuUuice.-* 

thought  it  called  for  explanation,  completely  adopted  into 

2  See  Appendix,  Sole  I  F. 

MAKMION. 


109 


Suit  lightly  wim,  nnd  short-lived  pain, 
For  inonafchs  seldom  si^h  in  vain. 

1  said  he  joy 'd  in  Iwnquet  bower; 
But.  'mid  his  mirth,  'twas  often  stnmge, 
How  suddenly  his  cheer  would  change, 

His  look  o'ercast  and  lower, 
tf.  in  a  sudden  turn,  he  felt 
The  pressure  of  his  iron  belt. 
That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 
In  memory  of  his  father  slam.' 
Even  so  'twas  strange  how.  evermore, 
Soon  as  the  passing-  pan?:  was  o'er 
Forward  he  rush'd,  with  double  flee, 
Into  the  stream  of  revelry: 
Thus,  dim-seen  object  of  affright 
Startles  the  courser  in  his  (tight, 
And  half  he  halts,  half  springs  aside : 
But  feels  the  quickening  spur  applied, 
And,  straining  on  the  tighten'd  rein, 
Scours  doubly  swift  o'er  hill  and  plain. 

X. 

O'er  James's  heart,  the  courtiers  say, 
Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife  held  sway:' 

To  Scotland's  Court  she  came,  § 

To  be  a  hostage  for  her  lord. 
Who  Cessford's  gallant  heart  had  gored, 
And  with  the  King  to  make  accord. 

Had  sent  his  lovely  dame. 
Nor  to  that  lady  free  alone 
Did  the  gay  King  allegiance  own ; 

For  the  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  slove. 
And  charged  him.  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance ; 
And  strike  three  strokes  with  Scottish  brand,3 
And  march  three  miles  on  Southron  land, 
Anil  hid  the  banners  of  his  band 

In  English  breezes  dance. 
And  thus,  for  France's  Queen  he  drest 
His  manly  limbs  in  mailed  rest; 
And  thus' admitted  English  fair 
His  inmost  counsels  still  to  share ; 
And  thus,  for  both,  he  madly  planu'd 
The  ruin  of  himself  and  land  ! 
And  yet,  the  sootu  to  tell, 

Nor  England's  fair,  nor  France's  Queen, 

Were  worth  one  pear-drop,  bright  and  sheen, 

From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell, — 
His  own  Queen.  Margaret,  who,  in  Lithgow's 

bower, 
All  lonely  sut,  and  wept  the  weary  hour. 

XI. 
The  Queen  sits  lone  in  Lithgow  pile, 

And  weeps  the  weary  day, 
The  war  against  her  native  soil, 
Her  Monarch's  risk  in  battle  broil  :— 
And  in  gay  Holy-Rood,  the  while, 
Dame  Heron  rises  with  a  smile 

Upon  the  harp  to  play. 
Fair  was  her  rounded  arm,  as  o'er 

The  strings  her  fingers  flew : 
And  as  she  touch'd  and  tuned  them  all, 
Ever  her  bosom's  rise  and  fall 

Was  plainer  given  to  view; 
For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimple, and  her  hood  untied 


1  Sec  Appendix,  Note  3  Q. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 


2  Ibid.  Hole  8  R. 


foondnl  on  a  ballad  called  '•  Katharine  Jufarir,"  whirh 


nd  first  she  pitch'd  her  voice  to  sing, 
'hen  glanced  her  dark  eye  on  the  King, 

Ami  then  around  the  silent  ring: 
nd  laugh 'd,  and  blush'd,  and  oft  dkl  say 

ler  pretty  oath,  by  Yea,  and  Nay, 

She  could  not,  would  not,  durst  not  play  ! 

At  length,  upon  the  harp,  with  glee, 

Mingled  with  arcli  simplicity, 

A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rung, 

While  thus  the  wily  lady  sung:— 

XXII. 

LOCHINVAR.4 

LADY  HERON'S  SONG. 

O.  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 

Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the 
best: 

And  »ave  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons 
had  none. 

He  rode  all  uiiarm'd,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 

So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 

There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lo- 
chinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopp'd  not  for 

stone, 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was 

none ; 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The  bride  haid  consented,  the  gallant  came 

late: 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  enter'd  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bride's-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  bro- 
thers, and  all : 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his 
sword, 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a 

word,) 
O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochin- 
var f" — 

"  1  lonsf  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  de- 
nied ; — 

Love  swells  like  the  Solway.  but  ebbs  like  its 
tide — 6 

And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of 
mine, 

To  lead  hut  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of 
wine. 

There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by 
far. 

That  would  eladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lo- 
clnuvar." 

The  bride  kiss'd  the  goblet :  the  knight  took 

it  up. 
He  quafTd  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down 

the  cup. 
She  look'd  down  to  blush,  and  she  look'd  up 

to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her 

eye. 

may  be  found  in  Ibc  "  Minslreliy  of  the  Scottish  Border,1 
the  Solway  Frnh. 


-  —  II 
110                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS.                           )j 

He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could 

mean  that  Douglas,  sixth  of  yore, 

Who  coronet  of  Angus  bore. 

"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  1"  said  young  Lo- 

nd,  when  bis  blood  and  heart  were  high, 

chmvar. 

Jid  the  third  James  in  camp  defy. 

nd  all  his  minions  led  to  die 

So  statelv  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat  : 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace  : 

rinces  and  favourites  long  grew  tame 

W7hile  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did 

nd  trembled  at  the  homely  name 

fume. 

Of  Archibald  Bell-t  he-Cat  ;' 

And  the  bndeeroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet 

'he  same  who  left  the  dusky  vale 

and  plume  ; 

Of  Hermitage  in  Liddisdale, 

And  the    bride-maidens  whisper'd,  "'Twere 

Us  dungeons,  and  its  towers. 

better  by  far, 

Vhere  Bothwell's  turrets  brave  the  air, 

To  have  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young 

And  Bothwell  bank  is  blooming  fair. 

Lochmvar." 

To  fix  his  princely  bowers. 

"hough  now.  in  age,  he  had  laid  down 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her 

Iis  armour  for  the  peaceful  gown, 

ear. 

And  for  a  staff  his  brand, 

When  they  reach'd  the   hall-door,  and   the 

ret  often  would  flash  forth  the  fire. 

charger  stood  near  ; 

'hat  could,  in  youth,  a  monarch's  ire 

So  light  to  "the  croupe  the  fair  ladv  he  swung, 

And  minion's  pride  withstand; 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung  ! 

And  even  that  day,  at  council  board, 

"She  is  won!  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush, 

Unapt  to  soothe  his  sovereign's  mood, 

and  scaur; 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood, 

They  '11  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth 

And  chafed  his  royal  lord.2 

young  Lochinvar. 

XV. 

There   was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the 

His  giant-form,  like  ruin'd  tower, 

Netherby  clan  ; 

Though  fall'n  its  muscles'  brawny  vaunt. 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode 

luge-boned,  and  tall,  and  grim,  and  gaunt, 

and  they  ran  : 

Seem'd  o'er  the  gaudy  scene  to  lower  : 

There  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie 

-iis  locks  and  beard  in  silver  grew; 

Lee, 

lis  eyebrows  kept  their  sable  hue. 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they 

Xear  Douglas  when  the  Monarch  stood, 

see. 

^is  bitter  speech  he  thus  pursued  : 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 

"  Lord  Marmion.  since  these  letters  say 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  vf  gallant  like  young  Lo- 

That in  the  North  you  needs  must  stay. 

chinvar  7 

While  slightest  hopes  of  peace  remain, 

XIII. 

Dncourteous  speech  it  were,  and  stern, 

To  say  —  Return  to  Lindisfarne, 

The  Monarch  o'er  the  siren  hung 

Until  my  herald  come  again.  — 

And  beat  the  measure  as  she  sung; 

Then  rest  you  in  Tantallon  Hold  :' 

And.  pressing  closer,  and  more  near. 

Your  host  shall  be  the  Douglas  bold,— 

He  whisper'd  praises  in  her  ear. 

A  chief  unlike  his  sires  of  old. 

In  loud  applause  the  courtiers  vied  ; 

He  wears  their  motto  on  his  blade,* 

And  ladies  wink'd.  and  spoke  aside. 
The  witching  dame  to  Marmion  threw 
A  glance,  where  seem'd  to  reign 
The  pride  that  claims  applauses  due, 
And  of  her  royal  conquest  too, 

Their  blazon  o'er  his  towers  display'd; 
Yet  loves  his  sovereign  to  oppose, 
More  than  to  face  his  country's  foes. 
And,  I  bethink  me.  by  St.  Stephen. 
But  e'en  this  morn  to  me  was  given 

A  real  or  feign  'd  disdain  : 

A  prize,  the  first  fruits  of  the  war, 

Familiar  was  the  look,  and  told, 
Marmion  and  she  were  friends  of  old. 

Ta'en  by  a  galley  from  Dunbar, 
A  bevV  of  the  maids  of  Heaven. 

The  King  observed  their  meeting  eyes, 
With  something  like  displeased  surprise  ; 

Under  your  guard,  these  holy  maids 
Shall  safe  return  to  cloister  shades, 

For  monarchs  ill  can  rivals  brook. 

And.  while  they  at  TantaHon  stay, 

Even  in  a  word,  or  smile,  or  look. 
Siraight  took  he  forth  the  parchment  broad, 

Kequiem  for  Cochran's  soul  may  say." 
And,  with  the  slangliter'd  favourite's  name, 

Which  Marmion's  high  commission  show'd  : 

Across  the  Monarch's  brow  there  came 

"Our  Borders  sack'd  by  many  a  raid, 

A  cloud  of  ire,  remorse  and  shame. 

Our  peaceful  liege-men  rohb'd,"  he  said  : 

"  On  day  of  truce  our  Warden  slain, 

XVI. 

Stout  Barton  kill'd.  his  vassals  ta'en— 

In  answer  nought  could  Angus  speak  ; 

I'nworihy  were  we  here  to  reign. 

His  proud  heart  swell'd  wellnigli  10  break  : 

Should  these  for  vengeance  cry  in  vain; 

He  turn'd  aside,  and  down  his  cheek 

Our  full  defiance,  hale,  and  scorn, 

A  burning  tear  there  stole. 

Our  herald  has  to  Henry  borne." 

His  hanil  the  Monarch  sudden  took. 

That  sight  his  kind  heart  could  not  brook  . 

XIV. 

••  Now,  by  the  Bruce  's  soul. 

He  paused,  and  led  where  Douglas  stood. 

Angus,  my  hasty  speech  forgive  ! 

And  with  stern  eye  the  pageant  view'd  : 

For  sure  as  doth  his  spirit  live. 

1  Eell-lhl-Cal,  see  Appendix,  Nole  ST.                                                           3  See  Appendix,  Nole  3  V. 

t  See  Appendix,  Nole.  3V.                                                                          '.  See  A|>KM,.,X.  Nole  3  W. 

MARMION. 


Ill 


As  he  said  of  the  Douglas  old, 

I  well  may  say  of  yim, — 
That  never  king  did  subject  hold, 
In  speech  more  free,  in  war  more  bold, 

More  tender  and  mure  true  :' 
Forgive  me,  Douglas,  mice  again." — 
And,  while  the  King  his  hand  did  strain, 
The  old  man's  tears  fell  down  like  ram. 
To  seize  the  moment  Marniion  tried, 
And  whisper'd  to  the  King  aside  : 
"Oh  !  let  such  tears  unwonted  plead 
For  respite  short  from  dubious  deed  I 
A  child  will  weep  a  bramble's  smart, 
A  maid  to  see  her  sparrow  part, 
A  stripling  for  a  woman's  heart : 
But.  woe  awaits  a  country,  when 
She  sees  the  tears  of  bearded  men. 
Then,  oh !  what  omen,  dark  and  high, 
When  Douglas  wets  his  manly  eye !" 

XVII. 

Displeased  was  James,  that  stranger  viewM 
And  tamper'd  with  his  changing  mood. 
"Laugh  those  that  can,  weep  those  that 

may.'' 

Thus  did  the  fiery  Monarch  say. 
"  Southward  I  inarch  by  break  of  day  ; 
And  if  within  Tantallon  stroug, 
The  good  Lord  Marniion  tarries  long. 
Perchance  our  meeting  next  may  full 
At  Tamwdrth,  in  his  castle-hall.'' — 
The  haughly  Marniion  felt  the  taunt, 
And  answer'd,  grave,  the  royal  vaunt : 
"Much  honour'd  were  my  humble  home, 
If  in  its  halls  King  James  should  come ; 
But  Nottingham  has  archers  good, 
And  Yorkshire  men  are  stern  of  mood  : 
Northumbrian  prickers  w,ld  and  rude. 
On  Derby  Hills  the  paths  are  steep; 
In  Ouse  and  Tyne  the  fords  are  deep ; 
And  many  a  banner  will  be  torn, 
And  many  a  knight  to  earth  be  borne, 
And  many  a  sheaf  of  arrows  spent, 
Kre  Scotland's  King  shall  cross  the  Trent : 
Yet  pause,  brave  Prince,   while  yet  you 

may !" — 

The  Monarch  lightly  turn'd  away, 
And  to  Ills  nubjes  loud  did  call, — 
"  Lords,  to  the  dance.— a  hall !  a  hall !"' 
Himself  his  cloak  and  sword  flung  by, 
And  led  Dame  Heron  gallantly; 
And  minstrels,  at  the  royal  order, 
Rung  out — "  Blue  Bonnets  o'er  the  Border." 

XVIII. 

Leave  we  these  revels  now,  to  tell 
What  to  Saint  Hilda's  maids  befell, 
Whose  galley,  as  they  sail'd  again 
To  Whilby.  by  a  Scot  was  ta'en. 
Now  at  Dun-Edm  did  they  bide, 
Till  James  should  of  their  fate  decide; 

And  soon,  by  his  command. 
Were  genliy  summon 'd  to  prepare 
To  journey  under  Marmion's  care, 
As  escort  honour'd,  safe,  and  fair, 

Again  to  English  laud 
The  Abbess  lold  her  chaplet  o'er. 
Nor  knew  which  saint  slie  should  implore; 
For,  when  she  thought  of  Constance,  sore 


"O,  Do»g]a«!  Dowgla 


She  fear'd  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
And  judge  what  Clara  must  have  felt ! 
The  sword,  that  hung  in  Marmion's  belt, 

Had  drunk  De  Wilton's  biood. 
Unwittingly,  King  James  had  given, 

As  guard  to  Whitby's  shades. 
The  man  most  dreaded  under  Heaven 

By  these  defenceless  maids : 
Yet  what  petition  could  avail, 
Or  who  would  listen  to  the  tale 
Of  woman,  prisoner,  and  nun, 
'Mid  bustle  of  a  war  begun? 
They  deem'd  it  hopeless  to  avoid 
The  convoy  of  their  dangerous  guide. 

XIX. 

Their  lodging,  so  the  King  assign'd. 
To  Marmion's,  as  their  guardian,  join'd ; 
And  thus  it  fell,  that,  passing  nigh. 
The  Palmer  caught  the  Abbess'  eye, 

Who  warn'd  him  by  a  scroll, 
She  had  a  secret  to  reveal. 
That  much  concern'd  the  Church's  weal, 

And  health  of  sinner's  soul ; 
And,  with  deep  charge  of  secrecy, 

She  named  a  place  to  meet, 
Within  an  open  balcony, 
That  hung  from  dizzy  pitch,  and  high, 

Above  the  stalely  street; 
To  which,  as  common  to  each  home, 
At  night  they  might  in  secret  come. 


At  night,  in  secret,  there  they  came, 
The  Palmer  and  the  holy  Daine. 
The  moon  among  the  clouds  rose  high, 
And  all  the  city  hum  was  by. 
Upon  the  street,  where  late  before 
Did  din  of  war  and  warriors  roar. 

You  might  have  heard  a  pebble  fall, 
A  beetle  hum,  a  cricket  sing. 
An  owlet  flap  his  boding  wing 

On  Giles's  steeple  tall 
The  antique  buildings,  climbing  high. 
Whose  Gothic  frontlets  sought  the  sky, 

Were  here  wrapt  deep  in  shade : 
There  on  their  brows  the  moon-beam  broke, 
Through  the  faint  wreaths  of  silvery  smoke, 

And  on  the  casements  play'd. 

And  other  light  was  none  to  see, 
Save  torches  gliding  far. 

Before  some  chieftain  of  degree, 

Who  left  the  royal  revelry 

To  bowne  him  for  the  war. — 
A  solemn  scene  the  Abbess  chose ; 
A  solemn  hour,  her  secret  to  disclose. 

XXI. 

"  O.  holy  Palmer !"  she  began, — 
"  For  sure  he  must  be  sainted  man, 
Whose  blessed  teet,  have  trod  the  ground 
Where  the  Redeemer's  tomb  is  found, — 
For  His  dear  Church's  sake,  my  tale 
Attend,  nor  deem  of  light  avail, 
Though  I  must  speak  of  worldly  love,— 
How  vain  to  those  who  wed  above  ! — 
De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marniion  woo'd 
Clara  de  Clare,  of  Gloster's  blood  ; 
(Idle  it  were  of  Whitby's  dame. 
To  say  of  that  same  blood  I  came  ;) 
And  once,  when  jealous  rage  was  high, 
Lord  Marniion  said  despiteously. 


112                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Wilton  was  traitor  in  his  heart, 

By  every  martyr's  tortured  limb. 

And  had  made  league  with  Martin  Swart.i 

By  anEel,  saint,  and  seraphim, 

When  he  camo  here  on  Snnnel's  part: 

And  bv  the  Church  of  God  ! 

And  only  oowardir-e  did  restrain 

For  mark  :—  When  Wilton  was  betray'd, 

His  rebel  aid  on  Stokefield's  plain.  — 

And  with  his  squire  forged  letters  laid, 

And  down  he  threw  his  glove  :—  the  thin? 

She  was.  alas!  that  smtul  maid, 

Was  trim),  as  wont,  before  Hie  king; 

By  whom  the  deed  was  done.  — 

Where  frankly  did  E)«  Wilton  own. 

0  !  shame  and  horror  to  be  said  I— 

That  Swart  in  Gneldres  he  had  known  : 

She  was  a  perjured  nun  ! 

And  that  between  them  then  there  went 

No  clerk  in  all  the  land,  like  her. 

Some  scroll  of  courteous  compliment. 

Traced  quaint  and  varying  character. 

For  this  he  to  his  castle  sent; 

Perchance  you  may  a  marvel  deem, 

But  when  his  messenger  return'd. 

That  Mannion's  paramour 

Judge  how  de  Wilton's  fury  burn'd  ! 

(For  such  vile  thing  she  was)  should  scheme 

For  in  his  packet  there  was  laid 

Her  lover's  nuptial  hour; 

Letters  that  claim'd  disloyal  aid, 
And  proved  King  Henry's  cause  betray'd. 
His  fame,  thus  blighted,  in  the  field 

But  o'er  him  thus  she  hoped  to  gain, 
As  privy  to  his  honour's  stain. 
Illimitable  power: 

He  strove  to  clear,  by  spear  and  shield  ;  — 

For  this  she  secretly  retain'd 

To  clear  his  fame  in  vain  he  strove. 
For  wondrous  are  His  ways  above  ! 

Each  proof  that  might  the  plot  reveal, 
Instructions  with  his  hand  and  seal; 

Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved  ; 

And  thus  Saint  Hilda  deign  'd, 

Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved  ;2 
Else  how  could  guiltless  champion  quail, 

Through  sinner's  perfidy  impure, 
Her  house's  glory  to  secure, 

Or  how  the  blessed  ordeal  fail  ? 

And  Clare's  immortal  weal. 

XXII. 

XXIV. 

"  His  sqaire,  who  now  De  Wilton  saw 

"  'Twere  long,  and  needless,  here  to  tell. 

As  recreant  doom'd  to  suffer  law, 

How  to  my  hand  these  papers  fell; 

Repentant,  own'd  in  vain. 

With  me  they  must  not  stay. 

That,  while  he  had  the  scrolls  in  care. 

Saint  Hilda  keep  her  Abbess  true  ! 

A  stranger  maiden,  passing  fair, 

Who  knows  what  outrage  he  might  do, 

Had  drench'd  him  with  a  beverage  rare  ; 

While  journeying  by  the  way  (  — 

His  words  no  faith  could  gam. 

0,  blessed  Saint,  if  e'er  again 

With  Clare  alone  he  credence  won, 

1  venturous  leave  thy  calm  domain. 

Who,  rather  than  wed  Marmion, 

To  travel  or  by  land  or  main. 

Did  to  Saint  Hilda's  shrine  repair. 

Deep  penance  may  1  pav  !  — 

To  give  our  house  her  livings  fair 

Now.  saintly  Palmer,  mark  my  prayer: 

And  die  a  vestal  vot'ress  there. 

I  give  this  packet  to  thy  care. 

The  impulse  from  the  earth  was  given, 

For  thee  to  stop  they  will  not  dare  ; 

But  bent  her  to  the  paths  of  heaven. 

And  O  !  with  cautious  speed. 

A  purer  heart,  a  lovelier  maid. 

To  Wolsey's  hand  the  papers  bring. 

Ne'er  shelter'd  her  in  Wlntby's  shade, 

That  he  may  show  them  to  the  King  : 

No.  not  since  Saxon  Edelfled  ; 

And,  for  thy  well  earn'd  meed, 

Only  one  trace  of  earthly  strain, 

Thou  holy  man.  at  Whithy's  shrine 

'1  hat  for  her  lover's  loss 

A  weekly  mass  shall  still  be  thine, 

She  cherishes  a  sorrow  vain, 

While  priests  can  sing  and  read.  — 

And  murmurs  at  the  cross.  — 

What  ail'st  tliou?  —  Speak  .'"—For  as  he  took 

And  then  her  heritage  :  —  it  goes 

The  charge,  a  strong  emotion  shook 

Along  the  banks  of  Tame; 

His  frame  ;  and,  ere  reply. 

Deep  fields  of  grain  the  reaper  mows, 

They  heard  a  faint,  yet  shrilly  tone. 

In  meadows  rich  the  heifer  lows. 

Like  distant  clarion  feebly  blown, 

The  falconer  and  huntsman  knows 

That  on  the  breeze  did  die  : 

Its  woodlands  for  the  game. 

And  loud  the  Abbess  shiiek'd  in  fear. 

Shame  were  it  to  Saint  Hilda  dear, 

'•  Saint  Withold,  save  us  !—  What  is  uere  1 

And  1.  her  humble  vot'ress  here. 

Look  at  yon  City  Cross  ? 

Should  do  a  deadly  sin. 

See  on  its  battled  tower  appear 

Her  temple  spoil'd  before  mine  eyes, 
If  this  false  Marmion  such  a  prize 

Phantoms,  that  scutcheons  seem  to  rear, 
And  blazou'd  banners  toss  !"  — 

By  my  consent  should  win  ; 

Yet  hath  our  boisterous  monarch  sworn 

XXV. 

That  Clare  shall  from  our  house  be  torn; 
And  grievous  cause  have  1  to  fear, 
Such  mandate  doth  Lord  Marmion  bear. 

Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone, 
Rose  on  a  turret  octagon  ; 
(But  now  is  razed  that  monument, 

XXIII 

Whence  royal  edict  rang. 

And  voice  of  Scotland's  law  was«ent 

"  Now,  prisoner,  helpless,  and  betray'd 
To  evil  power.  I  claim  thine  aid. 

In  glorious  trumpet-clang. 
O  !  be  his  tomb  as  lead  to  lead. 

Bv  every  step  that  thou  hast  trod 
To  holy  shrine  and  grolto  dim. 

Upon  its  dun  destroyer's  head  !  — 
A  minstrel's  malison^  is  said  <)  — 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

3  i.  I.  Curee. 

2  See  Appendix,  Mote  3  Y. 

4  See  Appendix.  Note  3  Z. 

MARMION.                                        113 

Then  on  its  battlements  they  saw 

The  tottering  child,  the  anxious  fair. 

A  vision,  passing  Nature's  law, 

The  grey-hair'd  sire,  with  pious  care. 

Strange,  wild,  and  dimly  seen; 

To  chapels  and  to  shrines  repair  — 

Figures  that  seem'd  to  rise  and  die, 

Where  is  the  Palmer  now  I  aud  where 

Gibber  and  sign,  advance  and  flv, 

The  Abbess,  Marmion.  and  Claret  — 

While  nought  confirm'd  could  ear  or  eye 

Bold  Douglas  !  to  Tantailon  fair 

Discern  of  sound  or  mien 

They  journey  in  thy  charge: 

Yet  darkl7  did  it  seem,  as  there 

Lord  Marmion  rode  on  his  right  hand. 

Heralds  and  Pursuivants  prepare. 

The  Palmer  still  was  with  the  band  ; 

With  trumpet  sound  and  blazon  fair. 

Angus,  like  Lindesay,  did  command. 

A  summons  to  proclaim; 

That,  none  should  roam  at  large. 

But  indistinct  the  pageant  proud. 

But  in  that  Palmer's  alter'il  mien 

As  fancy  forms  of  midnight  cloud, 

A  wondrous  change  might  now  be  seen, 

When  flings  the  moon  upon  her  shroud 

Freely  he  spoke  of  war. 

A  wavering  tinge  of  flame  ; 

Of  marvels  wrought  by  single  hand, 

It  flits,  expands,  and  shifts,  till  loud. 

When  lifted  for  a  native  land  ; 

From  midmost  of  the  spectre  crowd. 

And  still  look'd  high,  as  if  he  plann'd 

This  awful  summons  came  ;  —  1 

Some  desperate  deed  afar. 

His  courser  would  he  feed  and  stroke. 

XXVI. 

And.  tucking  up  his  sable  frocke. 

"  Prince,  prelate,  potentate,  and  peer, 
Whose  names  I  now  shall  call, 
Scottish,  or  foreigner,  give  ear  ; 
Subjects  of  him  who  sent  me  here, 
At  his  tribunal  to  appear, 

Would  first  his  mettle  bold  provoke, 
Then  soothe  or  quell  his  pride. 
Old  Hubert  said,  that  never  one 
He  saw.  except  Lord  Marmion, 
A  steed  so  fairly  ride. 

1  summon  one  and  all  : 

I  cite  you  by  each  deadly  sin, 

XXVIII. 

That  e'er  hath  soil'd  your  hearts  within: 
I  cite  you  by  each  brutal  lust, 
That  e'er  defiled  your  earthly  dust,  — 
By  wrath,  by  pride,  by  fear. 
By  each  o'er-mastering  passion's  tone. 
By  the  dark  grave,  and  dying  groan  ! 
When  forty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone, 
I  cite  you,  at  your  Monarch's  throne. 

Some  half-hour's  march  behind,  there  came, 
By  Eustace  govern'd  fair, 
A  troop  escorting  Hilda's  Dame, 
With  all  her  nuns,  and  Clare. 
No  audience  had  Lord  Marmion  sought; 
Ever  he  fear'd  to  aggravate 
Clara  de  Clare's  suspicious  hate  ; 

And  safer  'twas,  lie  thought, 

Then  thunder'd  forth  a  roll  of  names  : 
The  first  was  thine,  unhappy  James! 
Then  all  thy  nobles  came  ; 
Crawford,  Glencairn,  Montrose,  Argyle, 

To  wajt  till,  from  the  nuns  removed, 
The  influence  of  kinsmen  loved, 
And  suit  by  Henry's  self  approved. 
Her  slow  consent  had  wrought. 

Koss,  Bothwell,  Forbes,  Lennox,  Lyle,—  — 

His  was  no  flickering  flame,  that  dies 

Why  should  I  tell  their  separate  style  ; 
Each  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 

Unless  when  fann'd  by  looks  and  sighs, 
And  lighted  oft  at  lady's  eyes  ; 

Of  Lowland.  Highland,  Border,  Isle, 

He  long'd  to  stretch  his  wide  command 

Fore-doom'd  to  Flodden's  carnage  pile, 
Was  cited  there  by  name  ; 

O'er  luckless  Clara's  ample  land  : 
Besides,  when  Wilton  with  him  vied, 

And  Marmion,  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterwaid.  and  Scrivelbaye  ; 

Although  the  pang  of  humbled  pride 
The  place  of  jealousy  supplied. 

De  Wilton,  erst  of  Aberley, 
The  selfsame  thundering  voice  did  say.  — 

Vet  conquest  by  that  meanness  won 
He  almost  loath'd  to  think  upon, 

But  then  another  spoke  : 
"  Thy  fatal  summons  I  deny. 

Led  him  at  times,  to  hate  the  cause, 
Which   made  him  burst  through  honour's 

And  thine  infernal  Lord  defy. 

laws. 

Appealing  me  to  Him  on  High. 

If  e'er  lie  lov'd,  'twas  her  alone. 

Who  hurst  the  sinner's  yoke." 

Who  died  within  that  vault  of  stone. 

At  that  dread  accent,  with  a  scream,             9 

Parted  the  pageant  like  a  dream, 

XXIX. 

The  summoner  was  gone. 
Prone  on  her  face  the  Abbess  fell. 
And  fast,  and  fast,  her  beads  did  tell  ; 
Her  nuns  came,  startled  by  the  yell, 
And  found  her  there  alone. 

And  now,  when  close  at  hand  they  saw 
North  Berwick's  town,  and  lofty  Law, 
Fitz-Eustace  bade  them  pause  a  wliile. 
Before  a  venerable  pile.2 

She  niark'd  not,  at  the  scene  aghast. 
What  time,  or  how,  the  Palmer  pass'd. 

Whose  turrets  view'd,  afar. 
The  lofty  Bass,  the  Laiubie  Isle, 

The  ocean's  peace  or  war. 

XTVIL 

At  tolling  of  a  bell,  forth  came 

The  convent's  venerable  Dame, 

Shift  we  the  scene.—  The  camp  doth  move, 

And  pray'd  Saint  Hilda's  Abbess  rest 

Dun-Edin's  streets  are  empty  now. 

With  her,  a  loved  and  honour'd  guest, 

Save  when,  for  weal  of  those  they  love. 

Till  Douglas  should  a  bark  prepare 

To  pray  the  prayer,  and  vow  the  vow. 

To  waft  her  back  to  Whitby  fair. 

1  S<*  Aiipruclix,  Note  4  A. 

114                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Glad  was  the  Abbess,  you  may  guess, 

Drove  the  Monks  forth  of  Coventry.1 

And  thank'd  tlie  Scottish  Prioress; 

Bid  him  his  fate  explore  ! 

And  tedious  were  to  tell.  I  ween. 

Prancing  in  prxle  of  earthly  trust. 

The  courteous  speech  that  pass'd  Iwtiveen. 

His  charger  liurl'd  him  to  the  dust. 

O'erjoy'd  the  nuns  their  palfreys  leave  ; 

And,  by  a  base  plebeian  thrust, 

But  when  fair  Clara  did  intend. 

He  died  his  band  before. 

Like  them,  from  horseback  to  descend. 

God  judge  'twixt  Marmion  and  me  ; 

Fitz-Eustace  said.  —  "1  grieve. 

He  is  a  Chief  of  high  degree, 

Fair  lady,  grieve  e'en  from  my  heart, 

And  I  a  poor  recluse  : 

Such  senile  company  to  part  ;  — 

Yet  ott,  in  holy  writ,  we  see 

Think  not  discourtesy, 

Even  such  weak  minister  as  me 

But  lords'  commands  must  be  obey'd; 

May  the  oppressor  bruise  : 

And  Marmion  and  the  Douglas  said, 

For  thus,  inspired,  did  Judith  slay 

That  you  must  wend  wiih  me. 

The  mighty  in  his  sin. 

Lord  Marmion  hath  a  letter  broad. 

And  Jael  thus,  and  Deborah"  • 

Which  to  the  Scottish  Earl  he  show'd, 

Here  hasty  Blounl  broke  in  : 

Commanding,  that,  beneath  his  care, 

"  Fitz-Eustace,  we  must  march  our  band  : 

Without  delav.  vou  shall  repair 

St.  Anton'  fire  thee  !  wilt  thou  stand 

To  your  good  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare." 

All  day,  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand. 

To  hear  the  Lady  preach  ? 

XXX. 

By  this  good  light  !  if  thus  we  stay, 

The  startled  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd  : 
But  she.  at  whom  the  blow  was  ann'd, 
Grew  pale  as  death,  and  cold  as  lead,  — 
She  deem'd  slie  heard  her  death-doom  read. 

Lord  Marmion.  for  our  fond  delay, 
Will  sharper  sermon  teach. 
Come,  d'on  thy  cap.  and  mount  thy  horse; 
The  Dame  must  patience  take  perforce."— 

"  Cheer  thee.  my  child  !r  the  Abbess  said, 

YYYII 

"  They  dare  not  tear  thee  from  my  hand. 

AAA1J. 

To  ride  alone  with  armed  band."  — 

-Submit  we  then  to  force."  said  Clare, 

"  Nav.  holv  mother,  nay," 

"  But  let  this  barbarous  lord  despair 

Fitz-Eustace  said,  "the  lovely  Clare 

His  purposed  aim  to  win  : 

Will  be  in  Lady  Angus'  care. 

Let  him  take  living,  land,  and  life  ; 

In  Scotland  while  we  stay  ; 

But  to  be  Marmion's  wedded  wife 

And.  when  we  move,  an  easy  >ide 

In  me  were  deadly  sin  : 

W  ill  bring  us  to  the  English  side, 

And  if  it  be  the  King's  decree. 

Female  attendance  to  provide 

That  I  must  find  no  sanctuary. 

Befitting  Gloster's  heir  : 

In  that  inviolable  dome. 

Nor  thinks  nor  dreams  my  noble  lord. 
By  slightest  look,  or  act,  or  word. 

Where  even  a  homicide  might  come, 
And  safely  rest  his  head. 

To  harass  Lady  Clare. 

Though  at  its  open  portals  stood. 

Her  faithful  guardian  he  will  be, 

Thirsting  to  pour  forth  blond  for  blood, 

Nor  sue  for  slightest  courtesy 

Tlie  kinsmen  of  the  dead  : 

That  e'en  to  stranger  falls. 

Yet  one  asylum  is  my  own 

Till  he  shall  place  her.  safe  and  free, 

Against  the  dreaded  hour; 

Within  her  kinsman's  halls." 

A  low,  a  silent,  and  a  lone, 

He  spoke,  and  blush  'd  with  earnest  grace; 

Where  kings  have  little  power. 

His  faith  was  painted  on  his  face, 

One  victim  is  Itefore  me  there  — 

Ami  Clare's  worst  fear  relieved. 
The  Lady  Abbess  loud  excluim'd 

Mother,  your  blessing,  and  in  prayer 
Kemember  your  unhappy  Clare  !'* 

On  Henry,  and  the  Douglas  blamed, 

Loud  weeps  the  Abbess,  and  bestows 

Entreated,  threaten  'd,  grieved  ; 

Kind  blessings  many  a  one  : 

To  martyr,  samt,  and  prophet  pray'd. 
Against  Ijord  Marmion  inveigli'd. 

Weeping  and  waiting  loud  arose, 
Kound  patient  Clare,  the  clamorous  woes 

And  call'd  the  Prioress  to  aid. 

Of  every  simple  nan. 

To  curse  with  candle,  bell,  and  hook. 
Her  head  the  grave  Cistertian  shook  : 

His  eyes  the  gentle  Eustace  dried, 
And  scarce  rude  Bloont  the  sight  could  bide. 

"The  Douglas,  and  the  King,"  she  said. 

«  Then  took  the  squire  her  rein. 

Grieve  not,  nor  dream  that  harm  can  fall 
The  maiden  m  Tantallon  hall." 

And  gently  led  away  her  steed, 
And,  by  each  courteous  word  and  deed, 
To  cheer  her  strove  in  vain. 

XXXI. 

XXXItl. 

The  Abl>ess.  seeing  strife  was  vain. 

But  scant  three  miles  the  band  had  rode 

Assumed  her  wonted  state  again,  — 

When  o'er  a  height  tl»ey  pass'd. 

For  much  of  state  she  had*,— 

And.  sudden,  close  before  them  shovv'd 

Composed  her  veil,  and  rai.-ed  her  head, 

His  lowers,  Tantallon  vast  :-' 

And—"  Bid,"  in  solemn  voice  slie  said, 

Broad,  massive,  high,  and  stretching  far, 

"  Thy  master,  bold  and  bad. 
The  records  of  his  noose  turn  o'er. 

And  held  impregnable  in  war. 
On  a  projecting  rock  they  rose. 

And,  when  lie  shall  there  written  see, 

And  roii»d  three  sides  the  ocean  flows. 

That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 

The  fourth  did  battled  wails  eix-lose. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  & 

2  For  the  origin  of  M»i:n,<m'»  ii.it  te  Tanralton  Uulle, 

In  the  Form,  Ke  Zj/*  Iff  Scott,  nol    in.  p.  17. 

MARMION.                                       115 

And  double  mound  and  fosse.! 

By  narrow  drawliridge.  outworks  strong, 
Through  studded  gates,  an  entrance  long, 

i&nrmfon. 

To  the  main  court  they  cross. 

It  was  a  wide  and  stately  square  : 



Around  were  lodgings,  tit  and  fair, 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SIXTH. 

And  towers  of  various  form. 

^, 

Which  on  the  court  projected  fur. 

And  broke  its  lines  quadrangular. 

TO 

Here  w:is  square  keep,  there  turret  high, 

Or  pinnacle  that  sought  the  sky. 
1  Whence  oft  the  Warder  could  descry 

RICHARD  HEBER,  E3Q. 

The  gathering  ocean-storm. 

Mertoun-House*  Christmas. 

Heap  on  more  wood  !—  the  wind  is  chill  ; 

XXXIV. 

But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will. 

We'll  keep  our  Christinas  merrv  still. 

Here  did  they  rest.  —  The  princely  care 
Of  Douglas,  why  should  1  declare, 
Or  say  they  met  reception  fair? 
Or  why  the  tidings  say, 
Which,  varying,  to  Tantallon  came. 
By  hurrying  posts  or  fleeter  fame, 
With  ever  varying  day  ? 
Ami.  first  thev  heard  King  James  had  won 
Etall.  and  Wark,  and  Ford  :  and  then, 
That  Norham  Castle  strong  was  ta'en. 
At  that  sore  marvell'd  Marmion;  — 
And  Douglas  hoped  his  .Monarch's  hand 
Would  soon  subdue  Northumberland: 
But  whisper'd  news  there  came. 
That,  while  his  host  inactive  lay, 
And  melted  l»v  degrees  away. 
King  James  was  dallying  off  the  day 
With  Heron's  wily  dame  — 
Such  acts  to  chronicles  I  yield  ; 
Go  seek  them  there,  and  see  : 

Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  year 
The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer  : 
Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 
At  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain  ;3 
High  on  the  beach  his  galleys  drew, 
And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew; 
Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  hall, 
Where  shields  and  axesdeck'd  the  wall; 
They  gorged  upon  the  half-dress'd  steer; 
Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer: 
While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 
The  half-gnaw'd  rib,  and  marrow-bone  : 
Or  listen'd  all,  in  grim  delight. 
While  Scalds  yell'd  out  the  joys  of  fight. 
Then  forth,  in  frenzy,  would  they  hie, 
While  wildly-loose  their  red  locks  fly, 
And  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile. 
They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while, 
As  best  might  to  the  mind  recall 
The  boisterous  joys  of  Odin's  hall. 

Mine  is  a  tale  of  Fiodden  Field, 

And  not  a  history.  — 

And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 

At  length  they  heard  the  Scottish  host 

Loved  when  the  year  its  course  had  roll'd. 

On  that  high  ridge  had  made  their  post, 
Which  frowns  o'er  Millfield  Plain  : 

And  brought  blithe  Christmas  back  again. 
With  all  his  hospitable  train 

And  that  brave  Surrey  many  a  band 
Had  gather'd  in  the  Southern  land. 

Domestic  and  religious  rite 
Gave  honour  to  the  holy  night  ; 

And  march'd  into  Northumberland, 

On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rung; 

And  camp  at  Wooler  ta'en. 

On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  sung  : 

Marmion.  like  charger  in  the  stall, 

That  only  night  in  all  the  year. 

That  hears,  without,  the  trumpet-call. 

Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear.* 

Began  to  chafe,  and  swear  :  — 

The  damsel  doun'd  her  kirtle  sheen  ; 

"  A  sorry  thing  to  hide  my  head 

The  hall  was  dress'd  with  holy  green; 

In  castle,  like  a  fearful  maid, 

Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry-men  go, 

When  such  a  field  is  near  ! 

To  gather  in  the  misletoe. 

Needs  must  I  see  this  battle-day  : 

Then  open'd  wide  the  Baron's  hall 

Death  to  my  fame  if  such  a  fray 

To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all  ; 

Were  fought,  and  Marmion  away  I 

Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 

The  Douglas,  too.  I  wot  not  why, 

And  Ceremony  dofTd  his  pride. 

Hath  'bated  of  his  courtesy  : 

The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 

No  longer  in  his  halls  I'll  stay." 
Then  bade  his  baud  they  should  array 

That  night  might  village  partner  choose; 
The  Lord,  underogating,  share 

For  march  against  the  dawning  day. 

The  vulgar  game  of"  post  and  pair." 

the  lords  and  barons,  who   inclined  to  the  reformed  faith 

it  as  well  as  any  you  ran  place  there.'  "-Sir  Waller  Scott's 

and  to  secure  by  citadels  the  sea-coast  of  the  Frilh  of  Forth 

Xisctltantoiu  Prat  Warla,  Tol.  ».i.  p.  438. 

For  this  purpose,  the  Urgent,  lo  use  the  phrase  of  the  time 

•dealed  with'  the  (then)  Karl  of  Angus  fo-  his  consent  10 

3  Menoun-Hoo.se,  the  seat  of  Hugh  Scott,  E«q.  of  Har- 

th«- proposed  measure.    He  occupied  himself,  while  she  was 

den,  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  Twead,  about  two  miles 

ouly  replied  by  addressing  The  b  rd,  but  leaving  the  Queen 

to  make  the  application.  •  The  devil    «  in  this  irre-dy  tint- 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C. 

she  will  never  be  fou.'     But  when  the  Queen,  without  ap- 

pear,,* to  notice  this  hint,  continued  to  pre»  her  obnoxious 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  4  D. 

116 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


All  hail'd.  with  iinoontroll'd  delight. 
And  general  voice,  the  happy  night. 
That  to  the  cottage,  as  Ihe  crown. 
Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied, 
Went  roarine  up  the  chimney  wide ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face. 
Scruhh'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace, 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
By  old  blue-coated  serving-man  ; 
Then  the  grim  boar's  head  frown'd  on  high, 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
Well  can  the  green-garb'd  ranker  tell. 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell ; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore. 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar. 
The  wassel  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnish'd  witli  ribbons,  blithely  trowls. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reek'd  ;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  slood.  and  Christmas  pie; 
Nor  tail'd  old  Scotland  to  produce. 
At  such  high  tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  maskers  in. 
And  carols  roar'd  with  blithesome  diii; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  sons.', 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery; ' 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade. 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made ; 
But,  0 !  what  maskers  richly  diglit, 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light! 
England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again 
Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale; 
Twas  Christmas  told  the  mernest  tale ; 
A  Christinas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger,  in  our  northern  clime, 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  tune; 
And  still,  within  our  valleys  here, 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear. 
Even  when,  perchance,  its  far-fetch'd  claim 
To  Southron  ear  sounds  empty  name; 
For  course  of  blood,  our  proverbs  deem, 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain-stream. 2 
And  thus,  my  Christmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair.' 
And  reverend  apostolic  air — 
The  feast  and  holy-tide  to  share. 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine: 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time 
E'er  to  be  hitch'd  into  a  rlivme. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note4  E. 

2  "  BlooJ  it  warmer  than  water,"— a  proverb  me 
Tiiidicate  our  family  predilection*. 

3  See  Appendix,  Sole  4  F 

1-  \  lady  of  noble  German  decent,  born  Co 
Harriet  Bruhl  of  Martm»kirchen.  married  to  H 
E>q.  of  II»rdeu,  (now  Lord  Polwarth),  the  author' 
ti«e  ui,i  much  valued  friend  almo.t  from  iufan 
Border  Xiiutrtll,.  »ol.  IT.  p.  59. 

6  "Hannibal  wan  a  pretty  fellow,  air  — a  Terr 
fellow  in  nil  day."— old  Bfeltaor. 


Scott, 
cy." — 

pretty 


bir  \v,i 


Scott  in  Ihe    prepa 


of  the  Border  Mln 


The  simple  sire  could  onlv  boast, 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost ; 
The  banish'd  race  of  kings  revered. 
And  lost  his  land,— but  kept  his  beard. 

In  these  dear  halls,  where  welcome  kind 
Is  with  fair  liberty  combined  ; 
Where  cordial  friendship  gives  the  hand. 
And  flies  constraint  the  magic  wand 
Of  the  fair  dame  that  rules  the  land  ;  •» 
Little  we  heed  the  tempest  drear. 
While  music,  mirth,  and  social  cheer, 
Speed  on  their  wings  the  passing  year. 
Arid  Mertoun's  halls  are  fair  e'en  now, 
When  not  a  leaf  is  on  the  bough. 
Tweed  loves  them  well,  and  turns  again, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  sweet  domain. 
And  holds  his  mirror  to  her  face. 
And  clips  her  with  a  close  embrace  : — 
Gladly  as  he.  we  seek  the  dome, 
And  as  reluctant  turn  us  home. 

How  just  that,  al  this  time  of  glee, 
My  thoughts  should,  Heber,  turn  to  Ihee ! 
For  many  a  merry  hour  we've  known. 
And  heard  the  chimes  of  midnight's  tone. 
Cease,  then,  my  friend  !  a  moment  cease. 
And  leave  these  classic  tomes  in  peace  1 
Of  Roman  and  of  Grecian  lore. 
Sure  mortal  brain  can  hold  no  more. 
These  ancients,  as  Noll  Bluff  might  say, 
"Were  pretty  fellows  in  their  day  ,-"6 
But  time  and  tide  o'er  all  prevail- 
On  Christmas  eve  a  Christmas  tale — 
Of  wonder  and  of  war — "  Profane  ! 
What !  leave  the  lofty  Latian  strain, 
Her  stately  prose,  her  verse's  charms, 
To  hear  the  clash  of  rusty  arms; 
In  Fairy  Land  or  Limbo  lost, 
To  jostle  conjurer  and  ghost, 
Goblin  and  wilch  !" — Nay,  Heber.  dear. 
Before  you  touch  my  charter,  hear : 
Though  Leyden  6  aids,  alas!  no  more, 
Xfy  cause  with  many-Ianguaged  lore. 
This  may  1  say ;— in  realms  of  death 
Ulysses  meets  Alcides'  wraith  ; 
jEneas,  upon  Thracia's  shore, 
The  ghost  of  murder'd  Polydore  ; 
For  omens,  we  in  l.ivy  cross, 
At  every  turn,  locittus  Bus. 
As  grave  and  duly  speaks  that  ox, 
As  if  he  told  the  price  of  stocks; 
Or  held,  in  Home  republican. 
The  place  of  common-councilman. 

All  nations  have  their  omens  drear, 
Their  legends  wild  of  woe  and  fear. 
To  Cambria  look — the  peasant  see, 
Bethink  him  of  Glendowerdy, 
And  shun  "  the  spirit's  Blasted  Tree."* 


"Scene*  (rang  by  hii 


Lori  of  Ike  Ilia.   CtnU  IV.  T»U. 
See  a  notice  of  hii  life  in  rh«  Author1.   Mucellaneoui 


T  See  Appendix,  Hole  4  O. 


MARMION.                                        117 

The  HiEhlander.  whose  red  claymore 

Yet  who  of  all  who  thus  employ  them. 

The  battle  turn'U  on  Maida's  shore, 

Can  like  the  owner's  self  enjuy  themj— 

Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale, 

But,  hark  !  I  hear  the  distant  drum! 

If  ask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale  :' 

The  day  of  Flodden  Field  is  come.  — 

He  fears  the  vengeful  Elfin  King, 

Adieu,  dear  Heber  !  life  and  health, 

Who  leaves  that  day  his  grassy  ring: 

And  store  of  literary  wealth. 

Invisible  to  human  ken. 

He  walks  among  the  sons  of  men. 

Did'st  e'er,  dear  Heber,  pass  along 

Beneath  the  towers  of  Francheiiiout, 

Which,  like  an  eagle's  nest  in  air, 
Hang  o'er  the  streams  and  hamlet  fair  I 

IfSarmfon. 

Deep  in  their  vaults,  the  peasants  say. 

A  mighty  treasure  buried  lay. 

Amass'd  through  rapine  and  through  wrong 

CANTO   SIXTH. 

By  the  last  Lord  of  Francheinont.  » 

The  iron  chest  is  bolted  hard, 

A  huntsman  sits,  its  constant  guard  ; 

THE    BATTLE. 

Around  his  neck  his  horn  is  hung, 

His  hanger  in  his  belt  is  slung; 

I. 

Before  his  feet  his  bloodhounds  lie  : 

While  great  events  were  on  the  gale, 

An  'twere  not  for  his  gloomy  eye. 
Whose  withering  glance  no  heart  can  brooK, 

And  each  hour  brought  a  varying  tale, 
And  the  demeanour,  changed  and  cold, 

As  true  a  huntsman  doth  he  look, 

Of  Douglas,  fretted  Marmion  bold; 

As  bugle  e'er  in  brake  did  sound, 

And,  like  the  impatient  steed  of  war, 

Or  ever  holloo'd  to  a  hound. 

He  snufTd  the  battle  from  afar  : 

To  chase  the  fiend,  and  win  the  prize, 

And  hopes  were  none,  that  back  again 

In  that  same  dungeon  ever  tries 

Herald  should  come  from  Terouenne, 

An  aged  necromantic,  priest; 

Where  England's  King  in  leaguer  lay, 

It  is  an  hundred  years  at  least, 

Before  decisive  battle-day; 

Since  'twixt  them  first  the  strife  begun. 

Whilst  these  things  were,  the  mournful  Clare 

And  neither  yet  has  lost  nor  won. 

Did  in  the  Dame's  devotions  share  : 

And  oft  the  Conjuror's  words  will  make 
The  stubborn  Demon  groan  and  quake  ; 

For  the  good  Countess  ceaseless  pray'd 
To  Heaven  and  Saints,  her  sons  to  aid, 

And  oft  the  bands  of  iron  break. 

And,  with  short  interval,  did  pass 

Or  bursts  one  lock,  that  still  amain, 

From  prayer  to  book,  from  book  to  mass, 

Fast  as  'tis  open  d,  shuts  again. 

And  all  in  high  Baronial  pride,  — 

That  magic  strife  within  the  tomb 

A  life  both  dull  and  dignified;— 

May  last  until  the  day  of  doom. 

Yet  as  Lord  Marmion  nothing  press'd 

Unless  the  adept  shall  learn  to  tell 

Upon  her  intervals  of  rest. 

The  very  words  that  clenoh'd  the  spell, 
When  Franch'mont  lock'd  the  treasure  cell. 
An  hundred  years  are  pass'd  and  gone, 
And  scarce  three  letters  has  he  won. 

Dejected  Clara  well  could  bear 
The  formal  state,  the  lengtheu'd  prayer, 
Though  dearest  to  her  wounded  iieart 
The  hours  that  she  might  spend  apart. 

Such  general  superstition  may 

II. 

Excuse  for  old  Pitscottie  say  ; 

1  said,  Tantallon's  dizzy  steep 

Whose  gossip  history  has  given 
My  song  the  messenger  from  Heaven,' 
That  warn'd,  in  Lithgow,  Scotland's  King, 

Hung  o'er  the  margin  of  the  deep. 
Many  a  rude  tower  and  rampart  there 
Repell'd  the  insult,  of  the  air. 

Nor  less  the  infernal  summoning  ;' 
May  pass  the  Monk  of  Durham's  tale, 

Which,  when  the  tempest  vex'd  the  sky. 
Half  breeze,  half  spray,  came  whistling  by. 

Whose  demon  fought  in  Gothic  mail; 

Above  the  rest,  a  turret  square 

May  pardon  plead  for  Fordun  grave, 

Did  o'er  its  Gothic  entrance  bear, 

Who  told  of  Gilford's  Goblin-Cave. 

Of  sculpture  rude,  a  stony  shield  : 

But  why  such  instances  to  you, 

The  Bloody  Heart  was  in  the  Field, 

Who,  in  an  instant,  can  renew 

And  in  the  chief  three  mullets  stood, 

Your  treasured  hoards  of  various  lore, 

The  cognizance  of  Douglas  blood. 

And  furnish  twenty  thousand  more  ' 

The  turret  held  a  narrow  stair. 

Hoards,  not  like  theirs  whose  volumes  rest 

Which,  mounted,  gave  you  access  where 

Like  treasures  in  the  Franch'mont  chest, 

A  parapet's  embattled  row 

While  gripple  owners  still  refuse 

Did  seaward  round  the  castle  go. 

To  others  what  they  cannot  use; 

Sometimes  in  dizzy  steeps  descending. 

Give  them  the  priest's  whole  century. 

Sometimes  in  narrow  circuit  bending. 

They  shall  not.  spell  you  letters  three  ; 
Their  pleasure  in  the  books  the  same 

Sometimes  in  platform  broad  extending, 
Its  varying  circle  did  combine 

The  magpie  takes  in  pilt'er'd  gem. 

Bulwark,  and  bartizan,  and  line, 

Thy  volumes,  open  as  thy  heart, 

And  bastion,  tower,  and  vantase-coign  ; 

Delight,  amusement,  science,  art, 

^Above  the  booming  ocean  leant 

To  every  ear  and  eye  impart  ; 

Th«  far-projecting  element  ; 

1  Set;  Appendix,  Note  4  H. 

3  See  Appendix.  Note  3  B. 

1  See  Appendix,  No[e  4  1. 

4  See  Appendix,  Mote  4  A  . 

118                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  billows  hurst,  in  ceaseless  flow. 

>  lie  my  warm  anVclums  low, 

Upon  the  precipice  below. 

With  him,  that  taught  them  first  to  glow  ? 

Where'er  Tantailon  faced  the  land. 

Yet,  gentle  Abbess,  well  I  knew 

Gate-w'orKs.  and  walls,  were  strongly  mann'd  ; 

I'n  pay  thy  kindness  grateful  due. 

No  need  upon  the  sea-gin  side  : 

And  well  could  brook  the  mild  command, 

The  sleepy  rock,  and  frantic  tide, 

That  ruled  tliy  simple  maiden  band. 

Approach  of  human  step  denied  ; 

How  different'  now  !  condemn'il  to  hide 

And  thus  these  lines  and  ramparts  rude 

My  doom  from  this  dark  tyrant's  pride.  — 

Were  left  m  deepest  solitude. 

But  Marmiim  has  to  learn,  ere  long, 

That  constant  mind,  and  hate  of  wrong, 

III. 

Descended  to  a  feeble  girl. 

And,  for  thev  were  so  lonelv,  Clare 

From  Red  De  Clare,  stout  Gloster's  Earl  : 

Would  to  these  battlements  repair, 

Of  such  a  stem,  a  sapling  weak, 

And  muse  upon  her  sorrows  there. 

He  ne'er  shall  bend,  although  he  break. 

And  list  the  sea-bird's  cry; 

Or  slow,  like  noontide  ghost,  would  glide 

V. 

Along  the  dark-grey  bulwarKs'  side, 

And  ever  on  the  heaving  tide 

"  But  see!—  what  makes  this  armour  here?1'  — 

Look  down  with  weary  eve. 

For  in  her  path  there  lay 

Oft  did  the  cliff  and  swelling  main. 

Targe,  corslet,  helm  ;—  she  view'd  them  near  — 

Recall  the  thoughts  of  Whilby's  lane,  — 

"The  breast-plate  pierced  !—  Ay.  much  1  fear. 

A  home  she  ne'er  might  see  again  ; 

Weak  fence  wert  thou  'gainst  foemau's  spear, 

For  she  had  laid  atlown. 

That  hath  made  fatal  en:  ranee  here, 

So  Douglass  bade,  the  hood  and  veil, 

As  these  dark  blood  gouts  sav  — 

And  frontlet  of  the  cloister  paie, 

Thus  Wilton  !—  Oh  !  not  corslet's  ward, 

And  Benedictine  gown  : 

Not  truth,  as  diamond  pure  and  hard, 

It  were  unseemly  sight,  he  said. 

Could  lie  thy  manly  bosom's  guard, 

A  novice  out  of  convent  shade.  — 

On  yon  disastrous  day  !"  — 

Now  her  bright  locks,  with  sunny  glow, 

She  raised  her  eves  in  mournful  mood,— 

Again  adorn'd  her  brow  of  snow  ; 

Wilton  himself  before  her  stood  ! 

Her  mantle  rich,  whose  borders,  round, 
A  deep  and  fretled  broidery  bound. 

It  might  have  seem'd  his  passing  ghost, 
For  everv  youthful  grace  was  lost  ; 

In  golden  foldings  sought  the  ground  ; 

And  jov  unwonted,  and  surprise, 

Of  holy  ornament,  alone 

Gave  their  strange  wildness  to  his  eyes.— 

Remam'd  a  cross  with  ruby  stone  ; 

Expect  not,  noble  dames  and  lords. 

And  often  did  she  look 

That  I  can  tell  such  scene  in  words: 

On  that  which  in  her  hand  she  bore. 

What  skilful  limner  e'er  would  choose 

With  velvet  hound,  and  broider'd  o'er  — 

To  paint  the  rainbow's  varying  hues, 

Her  breviary  book. 

Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given 

In  such  a  place,  so  lone,  so  grim, 

To  dip  his  brush  in  dyes  of  heaven  1 

At  dawning  pale,  or  twilight  dim, 

Far  less  can  my  weak  line  declare 

It  fearful  would  have  been 
To  meet  a  form  so  richly  dress'd, 
With  book  in  hand,  and  cross  on  breast, 

Each  changing  passion's  shade  ; 
Brightening  to  rapture  from  despair. 
Sorrow,  surprise,  and  pity  there,                        , 

And  such  a  woeful  mien. 

And  joy.  with  her  angelic  air. 

Fitz-Eustace,  loitering  with  his  bow, 

And  hope,  that  paints  the  future  fair, 

To  practise  on  the  gull  and  crow. 
Saw  her,  at  distance,  gliding  slow, 

Their  varying  hues  display'd  : 
Each  o'er  its  rival's  ground  extending. 

And  did  by  Mary  swear,  — 
Some  love-lorn  Fay  she  might  have  been, 

Alternate  conquering,  shifting,  blending, 
Till  all,  fatigued,  the  conflict  'yield, 

Or.  in  Romance,  some  spell-bound  Queen  ; 

And  mighty  Love  retains  the  field. 

For  ne'er,  in  work-day  world,  was  seen 

Shortly  I  tell  what  then  he  said. 

A  form  so  witching  fair. 

By  many  a  tender  word  delay  "d. 

And  modest  blush,  and  bursting  sigh, 

IV7. 
Once  walking  thus,  at  evening  tide, 

And  question  kind,  and  fond  reply  :  — 

It  chanced  a  gliding  sail  she  spied, 

And,  sighing,  thought—  ••  The  Abbess,  there, 

VI. 

J'erchance,  does  to  her  home  repair  ; 

Her  peaceful  rule,  where  Duty,  free, 

DE    WILTON    S    HISTORY. 

Walks  hand  in  hand  with  Charity; 

Where  oft  Devotion's  tranced  glow 

"  Forget  we  that  disastrous  day, 

Can  such  a  glimpse  of  heaven  bestow, 
That  the  enraptured  sisters  see 
High  vision  and  deep  mystery  ; 
The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 

When  senseless  in  the  lists  1  lay. 
Thence  dragg'd,—  but  how  1  cannot  know, 
For  sense  and  recollection  fled,— 
I  found  me  on  a  pallet  low, 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 
And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer.  1 

Within  my  ancient  beadsman's  shed. 
Austin,—  remember'st  thou,  my  Clare, 

O  !  wherefore,  to  mv  duller  eve 

How  thou  didst,  blush,  when  the  old  man. 

Did  still  the  Saint  her  form  deny  ! 

When  first  our  infant  love  begun. 

Was  it.  that,  sear'd  by  sinful  scorn. 

Said  we  would  make  a  matchless  pair?  — 

My  heart  couU  neither  melt  nor  burn? 

Menials,  and  friends,  and  kinsmen  fled, 
From  the  degraded  traitor's  bed,  — 

1  Be*  Approdn,  Note  4  K. 

He  only  held  my  burning  he:id. 

MARMION.                                        119 

And  tended  me  for  many  a  day. 

The  heavy  debt  of  vengeance  paid,  — 

While  wounds  and  fever  held  their  sway 

My  hand  the  thought  of  Austin  staid  ; 

But  far  more  needful  was  his  care, 

I  left  him  there  alone.— 

When  sense  returu'd  to  wake  despair; 

0  good  old  man  !  even  from  the  grave 

For  I  did  tear  the  closing  wound. 

Thy  spirit  could  thy  muster  save  : 

And  dash  me  frantic  on  the  ground, 

1!  1  had  slain  my  foeman,  ne'er 

If  e'er  1  heard  the  name  of  Clare. 

Had  Whitby's  Abbess,  in  her  fear. 

At  length,  to  calmer  reason  brought, 

Given  to  my  ham!  this  packet  dear 

Much  by  his  kind  attendance  wrought, 
With  him  I  left  my  native  strand, 

Of  power  to  clear  my  injured  fame, 
And  vindicate  De  Wilton's  name.  — 

And,  in  a  palmer's  weeds  array  'd, 

Perchance  you  heard  the  Abbess  tell 

My  hated  name  and  form  to  shade, 

Of  the  strange  pageantry  of  Hell. 

I  journey'd  many  a  land  : 

That  broke  our  secret  speech  — 

No  more  a  lord  of  rank  and  birth. 

It  rose  from  the  infernal  shade,                            . 

But  mingled  with  the  dregs  of  earth. 

Or  featly  was  some  juggle  play'd, 

Oft  Austin  for  my  reason  fear'd. 

A  tale  of  peace  to  teach. 

When  1  would  sit.  and  deeply  brood 

Appeal  to  Heaven  1  judged  was  best. 

On  dark  revenge,  and  deeds  of  blood. 

W  hen  my  name  came  among  the  rest. 

Or  wild  mad  schemes  uprear'd. 

;  My  friend  at  length  fell  sick,  and  said, 

TV 

God  would  remove  him  soon  : 

l.V. 

And,  while  upon  his  dying  bed, 
He  begg'd  of  me  a  boon— 
If  e'er  my  deadliest  enemy 
Beneath  my  brand  should  conquer'd  lie, 
Even  then  'my  mercy  should  awake, 
And  spare  his  life  for  Austin's  sake. 

"Now  here,  within  Tantallon  Hold, 
To  Douglas  late  my  tale  I  told, 
To  whom  my  house  was  known  of  old. 
Won  by  my  proofs,  his  falchion  bright 
This  eve  anew  shall  dub  me  knight. 
These  were  the  arms  that  once  did  turn 

The  tide  of  fight  on  Otterburne, 

VII. 

And  Harry  Hotspur  forced  to  vield. 

"  Still  restless  as  a  second  Cain. 

When  the  Dead  Douglas  won  the  field.  1 

To  Scotland  next  my  route  was  ta'en, 
Full  well  the  paths  I  knew. 
Fame  of  my  fate  made  various  sound. 
That  death  in  pilgrimage  I  found. 
That  I  had  perished  of  my  wound.  — 
None  cared  which  tale  was  true  : 
And  living  eye  could  never  guess 
De  Wilton  in  his  Palmer's  dress  ; 
For  now  that  sable  slough  is  shed, 
And  trimm'd  my  shaggy  beard  and  head, 
1  scarcely  know  me  in  the  glass. 

These  Angus  gave—  his  armourer's  care, 
Ere  morn  shall  every  breach  repair; 
For  nought,  he  said,  was  in  his  halls, 
But  ancient  armour  on  the  walls, 
And  aged  chargers  in  the  stalls. 
And  women,  priests,  anil  grey-hair'd  men; 
The  rest  were  all  in  Twisel  glen." 
And  now  I  watch  my  armour  here. 
By  law  of  arms,  till  midnight's  near; 
Then,  once  again  a  belted  knight. 
Seek  Surrey's  camp  with  dawn  of  light. 

A  chance  most  wondrous  did  provide, 

That  I  should  l«  that  Baron's  guide— 

X. 

I  will  not  name  his  name  !— 

Vengeance  to  God  alone  belonss  ; 

"There  soon  again  we  meet,  my  Clare! 

But,  when  I  think  on  all  my  wrongs, 

This  Baron  means  to  guide  thee  there  : 

My  blood  is  liquid  flame! 

Douglas  reveres  his  King's  command. 

And  ne'er  the  time  shall  I  forget, 

Else  would  he  take  thee  from  his  band. 

When,  in  a  Scottish  hostel  set. 

And  there  thv  kinsman,  Surrey,  too 

Dark  looks  we  did  exchange  : 

Will  give  De  'Wilton  justice  diie. 

What  were  his  thoughts  I  cannot  tell  ; 

Now  meeter  far  for  martial  broil, 

But  in  my  bosom  muster'd  Hell 

Firmer  my  limbs,  and  strung  by  toil, 

Its  plans  of  dark  revenge. 

Once  more"  "O  Wilton  !  must  we  then 

Risk  new-found  happiness  again, 

VIII. 

Trust  fate  of  arms  once  more  ? 

And  is  there  not  an  humble  glen, 

"  A  word  of  vulgar  augury, 

Where  we,  content  and  poor, 

That  broke  from  me.  1  scarce  knew  why, 

Might  build  a  cottage  in  the  shade. 

Brought  on  a  village  tale  : 

A  shepherd  thou,  arid  I  to  aid 

Which  wrought  upon  his  moody  sprite, 

Thy  task  on  dale  and  moor?  

And  sent  him  armed  forth  by  night. 

That  reddening  brow  !—  loo  well  I  know, 

1  borrow'd  steel  and  mail. 

Not  even  thy  Clare  can  peace  bestow, 

And  weapons,  from  his  sleeping  band  : 

While  falsehood  stains  thy  name  : 

And.  passing  from  a  postern  door. 

Go  then  to  fight  !  Clare  bids  thee  go  ! 

We  met.  and  'counter'd  hand  to  hand,  — 

Clare  can  a  warrior's  feelings  know, 

He  fell  on  Gilford  moor 

And  weep  a  warrior's  shame  ; 

For  the  death-stroke  my  brand  I  drew, 
(0  then  my  helmed  head  he  knew, 

Can  Ked  Earl  Gilbert's  spirit  feel, 
Buckle  the  spurs  upon  thv  heel. 

The  Palmer's  cowl  was  gone.) 

And  belt  thee  with  thy  brand  of  steel, 

Then  had  three  inches  of  my  blade 

And  send  thee  forth  to  fame!" 

1  See  lh«  ballad  of  Otterbourne,  in    Hie   Bonier  Min- 

2  Where  James  encamped  before  taking  post  on  Flod- 

•trelsy,  vol.  i.  p.  345. 

den. 

120                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

have  two  sons  in  vender  field  ; 

XI. 

nd.  if  thon  meet's't  them  under  .shield. 

That  night,  upon  the  rocks  and  bay, 
The  miilitieht  moon-beam  slumbering  lay. 

pon  them  bravely—  do  thy  worst; 
.nd  foul  fall  him  that  blenches  first  !" 

And  pour'd  its  silver  light,  and  pure. 

•VTIT 

Through  loop-hole,  and  through  embrazure, 

Upon  Taiitallon  tower  and  hall  ; 

'Jot  far  advanced  was  morning  dajr, 

Jut  chief  where  arched  windows  wide 

When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

Illuminate  the  chapel's  pride, 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride  : 

The  sober  glances  fall. 

le  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band. 

Much  was  there  need;   though  seam'd  with 

Jeneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand. 

scars, 

And  Douglas  save  a  guide  : 

Two  veterans  of  the  Douglas'  wars, 

'he  ancient  Earl,  with  stately  grace. 

Though  two  grey  priests  were  there, 

Vould  <-  lara  on  her  palfrey  place, 

And  each  a  blazing  torch  held  high, 

And  whisper'd  in  an  under  tone. 

Yon  could  not  by  their  blaze  descry 

Let  the  hawk  stoop,  his  prey  is  flown."  — 

The  chapel's  carving  fair. 

'he  train  from  out  the  castle  drew, 

Amid  that  dim  and  smoky  light. 

iut  Marmion  stopp'd  to  bid  adieu  :  — 

Chequering  the  silver  mmm-shine  bright. 

"Though  something  1  might  plain,"  he  said, 

A  bishop  by  the  altar  stood,' 

'  Of  cold  respect,  to  stranger  guest, 

A  noble  lord  of  Douglas  blood. 

Sent  hither  by  your  King's  behest. 

With  mitre  sheen,  and  rorquet  white. 

While  in  Tautallou's  towers  1  staid  ; 

Yet  show'd  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 

'art  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 

But  little  pride  of  prelacy  : 

And.  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand."— 

More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 

Jut  Doaelas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 

He  gave  rude  Scotland  Virgil's  page. 

•"olded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke  :— 

Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 

•  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers,  shall  still 

The  bishopric  of  fair  Dunkeld 

Je  open,  at  my  Sovereign's  will. 

Beside  him  ancient  Angus  stood. 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

DoiTd  his  furr'd  gown,  and  sable  hood: 

Jnineet  to  be  the  owner's  peer. 

O'er  his  huge  form  and  visage  pale, 

My  castles  are  mv  King's  alone. 

He  wore  a  cap  and  shirt  of  mail; 

•'rom  turre!  to  foundation-stone  — 

And  lean'd  his  large  and  wrinkled  hand 

The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own  ; 

Upon  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 
Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray. 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp."  — 

His  foeman's  limbs  to  shred  away, 

As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray.' 

XIV. 

He  seem'd  as.  from  the  tombs  around 
Rising  at  judgment-day. 

Burn'd  Marmion  's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  fnr  ire. 

Some  giant  Douglas  may  be  found 

And  —  "This  to  me!"  he  said.  — 

In  all  his  old  array  ; 
So  pale  his  face,  so  huie  his  limb, 

"  An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Mannion's  had  not  spared 

So  old  h.s  arms,  his  look  so  grim. 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head  ! 

And,  first.  I  tell  thee.  haughty  Peer, 

xn. 

He,  who  does  England's  message  here, 

Then  at  the  altar  Wilton  kneels, 

Although  the  meanest  in  her  state. 

And  Clare  the  spurs  hound  on  his  heels  ; 

May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate  : 

And  think  what  next  he  must  have  felt, 

And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

At  buckling  of  the  falchion  belt  ! 

Even  in  thy  pilch  of  pride. 

And  judge  how  Clara  changed  her  hue. 

Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 

While  fastening  to  her  lover's  side 

(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord. 

A  friend,  which,  though  in  danger  tried. 

And  lay  your  hands  upon  vour  sword,) 

He  once  had  found  untrue  ! 

1  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied  ! 

Then  Douglas  struck  him  with  his  blade  : 

And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 

"Saint  Michael  and  Suiut  Andrew  aid. 

To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 

I  dub  thee  knight. 

Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Arise.  Sir  Ralph.  De  Wilton's  heir! 

Lord  Aneus,  thou  hast  lied1"  — 

For  King,  for  Church,  for  Lady  fair. 

On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  Hush  of  rage 

See  that  thou  fight."  — 

O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age  : 

And  Bishop  Gawain,  as  he  rose. 

Fierce  he  broke  forth,  —  '•  And  darest  thou  then 

Said—"  Wilton  !  grieve  not  lor  thy  woes, 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

Disgrace,  and  trouble  ; 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 

For  He.  who  honour  best  bestows, 

And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ?  — 

May  give  thee  double." 

No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothvvell,  no  ! 

De  Wilton  sobb'd.  for  sob  he  must  — 

Up,  drawbridge,  grooms—  what,  Warder,  ho  ! 

"  Where'er  I  meet  a  Douglas,  trust 

Let  the  portcullis  fall."—3 

That  Douglas  is  my  brother  !"  — 

Lord  Marmion  turn'd.—  well  was  his  need, 

"  Nay,  nay,"  old  Ang'us  said,  "  not  so  ; 

And  dash'd  the  rowels  in  his  steed. 

To  Surrey's  camp  thou  now  must  go, 

Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung. 

Thy  wrongs  no  longer  smother. 

The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung: 

1  The  well-known  Gawain  Douglas,  Bishop  of  Dunkeld 

many  other  poetical  pieces  of  great  merit.     He  had  no)  a 

anil  of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat,  Earl  of  Aneui.     He  wa.  an 

this  period  attained  the  mitre. 

thorof  a  Srom.h  metrical  vemou  of  the  JEDe  d,  aDd  0 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  41..                3  Ibid.  Note  4  H. 

MARMION.                                       121 

To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 

XVII. 

The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

"  In  brief,  my  lord,  we  both  descried 

XV. 

(For  then  I  stood  by  Henry's  side) 

The  palmer  mount,  and  outwards  ride, 

The  steed  along  th  i  drawbridge  flies, 

Upon  the  Earl's  own  favourite  steed  : 

Just  as  it  trembled  an  the  rise; 

All  sheathed  he  was  in  armour  bright. 

Nor  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

And  much  resembled  that  same  knight, 

Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim  : 

Subdued  by  you  in  Cotswold  fight  : 

And  when  Lord  Marmion  reach'd  his  band. 

Lord  Angus  wish'd  him  speed."  — 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand. 

The  instant  that  Fitz-Eustace  spoke, 

And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours. 

A  sudden  lieht  on  Marmion  broke  ;  — 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 

"  Ah  !  dastard  fool,  to  reason  lost  !'' 

"Horse!    horse!"    the   Douglas   cried,  "and 

He  mutter'd  ;  "  'Twas  nor  fay  nor  ghost 

chase  !" 

1  met  upon  the  moonlight  wold, 

But  soon  he  rein'd  his  fury's  pace  : 

But  living  man  of  earthly  mould.  — 

"  A  royal  messenger  he  came. 

O  dotage  blind  and  gross! 

Though  most  utiworihy  of  I  he  name.  — 

Had  I  but  fought  as  wont,  one  thrust 

A  letter  forged  !  St.  Jude  to  speed  I 

Had  laid  De  Wilton  in  the  dust, 

Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed  !  ' 

My  path  no  more  to  cross.— 

At  first  in  heart  it  liked  me  ill. 

How  stand  we  now  !—  he  told  his  tale 

When  the  king  praised  his  clerkly  skill. 

To  Douglass  ;  and  with  some  avail  ; 

Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan.  son  of  mine, 

'Twas  therefore  gloom'd  his  rugged  brow.  — 

Save  Gawain.  ne'er  could  pen  a  line. 

Will  Surrey  dare  to  entertain. 

So  swore  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 

'Gainst  Marmion,  charge  disproved  and  vain  7 

Let  my  boy-bishop  fret  his  fill  — 

Small  risk  of  that,  1  trow. 

Saint  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood  ! 
Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood, 

Yet  Clare's  sharp  questions  must  I  shun  : 
Must  separate  Constance  from  the  Nun— 

I  thought  to  slay  him  where  he  stood. 
'Tis  pity  of  him  too,"  he  cried  : 

O.  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave, 
W'hen  first  we  practice  to  deceive  ! 

"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride, 

A  Palmer  too!—  no  wonder  why 

I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 

I  felt  rebuked  l>eneath  his  eye  : 

With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 

I  might  have  known  there  was  but  one, 

And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  halls. 

Whose  look  could  quell  Lord  Marmiou." 

XVI. 

XVIII. 

The  day  in  Marmion's  journev  wore  ; 

Stung  with  these  thoughts,  he  urged  to  speed 
His  troop,  and  reach'd,  at  eve,  the  Tweed. 

Yet,  ere  his  passion's  gust  wa's  o'er, 

Where  Lennel's  convent  3  closed  their  march  ; 

They  cross'd  the  heights  of  Stanng-moor. 
His  troop  more  closely  there  he  scann'd, 

(There  now  is  left  but  one  frail  arch, 
Yet  mourn  thou  not  its  cells  ; 

And  miss'd  the  palmer  from  the  hand.  — 

Our  time  a  fair  exchange  has  made  ; 

"  Palmer  or  not."  young  Blount  did  say, 

Hard  by,  in  hospitable  shade, 

"  He  parted  at  the  peep  of  day  ; 

A  reverend  pilgrim  dwells. 

Good  sooth,  it  was  in  strange  array."  — 

Well  worth  the  whole  Bernardine  brood, 

"In  what  array  1"  said  Marmion,  quick. 

That  ere  wore  sandal,  frock,  or  hood.) 

"  My  lord,  I  ill  can  spell  the  trick  ; 

Yet  did  Saint  Bernard's  Abbot  there 

But  all  night  long,  with  clink  and  bang, 

Give  Marmion  entertainment  fair. 

Close  to  my  couch  did  hammers  clang; 
At  dawn  the  falling  drawbridge  rang, 

And  lodging  for  his  train  and  Clare. 
Next  morn  the  Huron  climb'd  the  tower, 

And  from  a  loophole  while  I  peep. 
Old  Bell-the  Cat  came  from  the  Keep, 

To  view  afar  the  Scottish  power, 
Encamp'd  on  Flodden  edge  : 

Wrapp'd  in  a  gown  of  sables  fair, 

The  white  pavilions  made  a  show. 

As  fearful  of  the  morning  air; 

Like  remnants  of  the  winter  snow. 

Beneath,  when  that  was  blown  aside, 

Along  the  dusky  ridge. 

A  rusty  shirt  of  mail  I  spied. 

Long  Marmion  look'd—  at  length  his  eye 

By  Archibald  won  in  bloody  work, 
Against  the  Saracen  and  Turk  : 

Unusual  movement  mighl  descry 
Amid  the  shifting  lines  : 

Last  night  it  hung  not  in  the  hall  ; 

The  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears, 

1  thought  some  marvel  would  befall. 
And  next  I  saw  them  saddled  leaxj 

For,  flashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears 
The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 

Old  Cheviot  forth,  the  Earl's  best  steed  : 

Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending; 

A  matchless  horse,  though  something  old. 
Prompt  in  his  par.es,  cool  and  bold. 

Their  flank  inclining,  wheeling,  bending. 
Now  drawing  hacK,  and  now  descending, 

I  heard  the  Sheriff  Sholto  say, 

The  skilful  Marmion  well  could  know,  * 

The  Earl  did  much  the  Master  2  pray, 

They  watched  the  motions  of  sou.e  foe, 

To  use  him  on  the  battle-day  ; 
But  he  preferr'd  "  •'  Nay.  Henry,  cease  ! 

Who  traversed  on  the  plain  below. 

Thou  sworn  horse-courser',  hold  thv  peace.  — 

XIX. 

Eustace,  thou  bear'st  a  brain—  I  pray. 

Even  so  it  was.    From  Flodden  ridge 

What  did  Blouut  see  at  break  of  day  ?"— 

The  Scots  beheld  the  English  host 

1  See  Appendix.  Nole  4  I»  . 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  4  O. 

9  Hie  eldeat  son,  the  Master  of  Angui. 

122                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Leave  Barmore-wood.  their  evening  post, 

Stint  in  thy  prate."  quoth  Bluunt,  "  thou'dst 

And  heedful  watcli'd  them  as  they  cross'd 
The  Till  bv  Twisel  Bridge  < 
High  sigiit  it  is.  and  haughty,  while 
They  dive  into  tlie  deep  defile  ; 
Beneath  the  cavern'd  cliff  they  fall, 
Beneath  the  castle's  airy  wall. 
Bv  n>ck.  hv  oak.  by  hawthorn-tree. 
Troop  after  troop  are  disappearing  : 
Troop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing, 
Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 

best. 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest."  — 
Vith  kindling  brow  Lord  Marmion  said,  — 
This  instant  be  our  hand  array'd  ; 
'he  river  must  be  quickly  cross'd, 
'hat  we  mav  join  Lord  Surrey's  host, 
f  fight  King'James.—  as  well  I  trust, 
'hat  fight  he  will,  and  fight  he  must,— 
"he  Lady  Clare  behind  our  lines 
Shall  tarry,  while  the  battle  joins." 

Still  poiirme  down  the  rocky  den, 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till. 

xxn. 

And  rising  from  the  dim-wood  glen, 
Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men, 

limself  he  swift  on  horseback  threw, 
Scarce  to  the  Abbot  bade  adieu  ; 

In  slow  succession  still. 
And.  sweeping  o'er  the  Gothic  arch, 
And  pressing  on.  in  ceaseless  march, 
To  gain  the  opposing  hill. 
That  morn,  to  many  a  trumpet  clang, 
Twisel  !  thv  nick's  deep  echo  rang; 
And  many  a  chief  of  birth  and  rank. 
Saint  Hefen  !  at  thv  fountain  drank. 
Thy  hawthorn  glade,  which  now  we  see 
In  spring-tide  bloom  so  lavishly. 
Had  then  from  many  an  axe  its  doom, 
To  give  tlie  inarching  columns  room. 

'ar  less  would  listen  to  his  prayer, 
To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 
)own  to  the  Tweed  his  band  he  drew. 
And  mutter'il  as  the  flood  they  view, 
•The  pheasant  in  the  falcon's  claw, 
ie  scarce  will  yield  to  please  a  daw  : 
>>rd  Angus  may  the  Abbot  awe. 
So  Clare  shall  hide  with  me." 
Then  on  that  dangerous  ford,  and  deep, 
Where  to  the  Tweed  Leat's  eddies  creep. 
He  ventured  desperately  : 
And  not  a  moment  will  he  bide. 

J'ill  squire,  or  groom,  before  him  ride  ; 

XX. 

Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide, 

And  stems  it  gallau'lv. 

And  whv  stands  Scotland  idly  now. 
Dark  Flodden  !  on  thy  airy  brow. 

Eustace  held  Clare  upon  her  horse, 
Old  Hubert  led  her  rein. 

Since  England  gains  the  pass  the  while, 

Stoutlv  thev  braved  the  current's  course, 

And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile  ? 

And,  though  far  downward  driven  per  force, 

What  checks  the  fieri-  soul  of  James? 

The  southern  bank  they  gain  : 

Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Behind  them  straggling,  came  to  shore. 

Inactive  on  his  steed. 
And  sees,  between  him  and  his  land. 
Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand. 

As  best  they  might,  the  tram  : 
Each  o'er  his  head  his  yew-bow  bore, 
A  caution  not  in  vain: 

His  host  lx>rd  Surrey  lead  ? 
What  'vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand? 
—  O.  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand  ! 

Deep  need  that  day  that  every  string, 
By  wet  unharm'd.  should  sharply  ring. 
A  moment  then  Lord  Marmion  staid, 

Fierce  Randolph,  for  thy  speed  ! 

And  breathed  Ins  steed,  his  men  array'd, 

O  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight. 

Then  forward  moved  his  band. 

Or  well-skill'd  Bruce,  to  rule  the  fight. 
And  cry  —  "  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right  !" 
Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn. 

Until,  Lord  Surrey's  rear-guard  won, 
He  halted  by  a  Cross  of  Stone, 
That,  on  a  hillock  standing  lone, 

From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn. 

Did  all  the  field  command. 

And  Hodden  had  been  Bamiockbonrne!— 

The  precious  hour  has  pass'd  in  vain. 

XXTIT. 

And  England's  host  has  gain'd  the  plain  ; 

Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still, 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Around  tlie  base  of  Flodden  Hill. 

Of  either  host,  for  deadlv  fray  :  2 

Their  marshall'd  lines  stretch'd  east  and  west, 

XXI. 

And  fronted  north  and  south, 

And  distant  salutation  pass'd 

Ere  yet  the  bands  met  Marmion'*  eye, 

From  the  loud  cannon  mouth  ; 

Fit7.-Eustace  shouted  loud  and  hish. 

Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle, 

"  Hark  !  hark  !  my  lord,  an  English  drum! 

That  breathes  the  voice  of  modern  battle. 

And  see  ascending  squadrons  come 

But  slow  and  far  between  — 

Between  Tweed's  nver  and  the  hill. 

The  hillock  gain'd.  Lord  Marmion  staid  : 

Foot,  horse,  and  cannon  :—  hap  what  hap. 

"  Here  hy  thus  Cross."  he  gently  said, 

My  basnet  to  a  prentice  cap. 

'•  You  well  mav  view  the  scene. 

ford  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till  !— 

Here  shall  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare  : 

Yet  mure  !  yet  more  !  —  how  far  array'd 

O!  think  of  Marmion  in  thy  prayer!— 

They  file  from  out  the  hawthorn  shade, 

Thou  wilt  not?—  well,  no  less  my  rare 

And  sweep  so  gallant  by  ! 

Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  wenl  prepare.— 

With  all  their  banners  bravely  spread, 

You.  Rloiinl  and  Ensure,  are  her  guard. 

And  all  their  armour  flushing  high. 

With  ten  pick'd  archers  of  my  train  ; 

,  Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead, 

With  England  if  the  day  eo  hard, 

To  see  fmr  England's  standards  fly."  — 

To  Berwick  speed  amain  — 

1  Se»  Apr^n.lix.  Note  4  F. 

1  Srr  Apprndil.  y  alt  40, 

MARMION.                                        123 

But  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid, 

0  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout, 

My  spoils  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid, 

iecoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout, 

When  here  we  meet  again." 

And  iriuinph  and  despair. 

He  waited  not  for  answer  there. 

U>ng  look  d  the  anxious  squires  ;  their  eye 

And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair. 

Could  m  the  darkness  nought  descry. 

Nor  heed  the  discontented  look 

From  either  squire  ;  butspuir'd  amain, 

XX  v  1. 

And.  dashing  through  the  battle  plain, 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 

HJS  way  to  Surrey  took. 

Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast; 

And.  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears 

XXIV. 

Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears; 

"  The  good  Lord  Marmion,  by  my  life  ! 
Welcome  to  danger's  hour  !  — 

And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  flew, 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 

Short  greeting  serves  in  time  of  strife:  — 
Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power  : 
Mvself  will  rule  this  central  host. 
Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right, 

Then  mark'd  they,  dashing  broad  and  far, 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war, 
And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave, 
Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave; 

My  sons  command  the  vawurii  post. 

But  nought  distinct  thev  see  : 

With  Brian  Tunstall.  staimess  knight;  1 

Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain  ; 

Lord  Dacre,  with  his  horsemen  light, 

Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flash  'd  amain  ; 

Shall  Ire  in  rear-ward  of  the  fight. 

Fell  England's  arrow-flignt  like  ram  ; 

And  succour  those  that  need  it.  most. 

Crests  rose,  and  stoop'd,  and  rose  again, 

Now.  gallant  Marmion,  well  1  know, 

Wild  and  disorderly. 

Would  gladlv  to  the  vanguard  go  ; 
Edmund,  the  Admiral,  Tunstall  there, 

Amid  Ihe  scene  of  tn'mult,  high 
They  saw  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly: 

With  thee  their  charge  will  blithely  share  : 

And  stainless  Tunslall  s  banner  white, 

There  fight  thine  own  retainers  too, 

And  Edmund  Howard's  lion  bright, 

Beneath  De  Burg,  thy  steward  true."— 

Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  light: 

"Thanks,  noble  Surrey  !"  Marmion  said, 

Although  ag  iinsi  th.-m  come. 

Nor  farther  greeting  there  he  paid; 
But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt, 
First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt, 
Where  such  a  shout  there  rose 

Of  gallant  Gordons  many  a  one. 
And  many  a  stubborn  Badenuch-man,1 
And  manv  a  rugged  Border  clan, 
With  Iluiitly,  and  with  Home. 

Of  "  Marmion  !  Marmion  !''  that  the  cry, 

Up  Flodden  mountain  shrilling  high, 

XXVII. 

Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 

Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while. 

Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Arsyle; 

XXV. 

Though  there  the  western  mountaineer 

Biount  and  Fitz-Enstace  rested  still 

Rush'd  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear, 

With  Ladv  Clare  upon  the  hill  ! 

And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 

On  which,  (for  far  the  day  was  spent.) 

And  with  both  hands  the  broadsword  plied. 

The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent. 

'Twas  vain  :  —  hut  Fortune,  on  the  rigtit, 

The  crv  thev  tiennl,  its  meaning  knew. 

With  tioKle  smile  nicer  'd  Scotland's  fight. 

Could  plain  their  distant,  comrades  view: 

Then  fell  that  spoMess  banner  white. 

Sadly  to  Biount  did  Eustace  say. 

The  Howard's  lion  fell: 

"  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay  ! 

Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 

No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day.— 
But  see!  look  up—  on  Flodden  bent 

With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 
Around  ihe  battle-yell 

The  Scottish  foe  has  tired  his  tent." 

The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky  ! 

And  sudden,  as  he  spokr. 

A  Home  !  a  Gordon  !  was  the  cry  : 

From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill. 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows; 

All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till, 

Advanced.  —  forced  back,—  now  low,  now  high, 

Was  wreathed  in  sable  srnoke. 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose: 

Volumed  and  fast,  and  rolling  far. 

As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale. 

The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war. 

Whtn  ren   are  rigging,  shmuds,  and  sail. 

As  down  ;he  hill  they  broke  ; 

It  wavur'd  'mid  ihe  foes. 

Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone, 

No  longer  Biount  the  view  could  bear: 

Announced  their  march  ;  their  tread  alone, 

"By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints!  I  swear 

At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown, 

1  will  not  see  it  lost  ' 

At  times  a  stifled  hum. 

Fitz-Eustace,  you  with  Lady  Clare 

Told  England,  from  his  mountain-throne 

May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter  prayer,  — 

King  James  did  rushing  come.— 

1  gallop  to  the  host.r 

Scarce  could  they  hear,  or  see  their  foes, 

And  tu  the  fray  he  rode  amain. 

Until  at  weaoou-point  they  close.— 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust. 

Follow  'd  by  all  the  archer  train. 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 

With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust  ; 

Made,  fur  a  space,  an  opening  large,— 

And  such  a  veil  was  there, 

The  reached  banner  rose,— 

Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 

But  durkiy  closed  the  war  around, 

As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth, 

Like  p.ne-tree.  rooted  from  th  •  ground, 

And  fiends  in  upper  air; 

h  sunk  among  the  foes. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  R. 

correction  of  tlic  author'*  interleaved  copy  of  the  frlitjoQ 

2  In  all  former  editions.  HigManlmnn.     BrndauOi  ii  Ihe 

of  1630. 

124 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  Eustace  immnteci  too:— yet  staid 
As  luatii  to  leave  (lie  helpless  maid, 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly. 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread, 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red. 

Lord  Ma  ration's  steed  rush'd  by ; 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 

A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast 

To  mark  lie  would  return  in  haste. 
Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

xxvm. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  lhat  dreadful  hour  alone : 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own, 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone. — 
The  scatter'd  van  of  England  wheels ; — 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 
The  tumult  roar'd.  "  Is  Wilton  there  V— 
They  flv.  or,  madden'd  by  despair, 
Fight  but  to  die,—"  Is  Wilton  there  ?" 
Wjtli  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 
Two  horsemen  drench'd  with  gore. 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  stram'cJ  the  broken  brand  ; 
His  arms  were  smear'd  with  blood  and  sand  : 
bragg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet. 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone, 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion  !  .  .  . 
Young  Btount  his  armour  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face, 

Said — "  By  Saint  George,  he's  gone  ! 
That  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head  I 

Good-night  to  Marmion." — 
"  Unnurtured  Blount !  thy  brawling  cease : 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace ;  "  peace '." 

XXIX. 

When,  doff 'd  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air, 
Around  'aran  Marmiou  wildly  stare:— 
••  Where's  Harry  Blount?  Fitz-Kustace  where 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ! 
Redeem  my  pennon, — charge  again ! 
Cry—'  Marmion  to  the  rescue !'— Vain ! 
Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  he  heard  again! — 
Yet  niy  last  thought  is  England's — fly, 
To  Caere  bear  my  signet-ring  : 
Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring  — 
Fitz-Eustacp,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie ; 
Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field. 
His  life  Wood  stains  the  spotless  shield: 
Edmund  is  down  :— my  life  is  reft; 
The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 
Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 
With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, 
Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host, 
Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 
Must  1  hid  twice  ?— hence,  varlets  !  fly ! 
Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." 
They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay : 
Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away. 
Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan. 
And  half  he  niurmur'd. — "Is  there  none, 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst. 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  wafer  from  the  spring, 
To  slake  my  dying  thirst '.'' 


XXX. 

0,  Woman  !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 

And  variable  as  the  shade 

By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made; 

When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 

A  ministering  angel  thou  !  — 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 

When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran  : 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears, 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 
She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  side, 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew  ; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-  red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  ?—  behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain  cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark, 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 

Brfnfe.  toearg.  pilgrim.  fcrfnfe.  anto. 


Jor.  tf)c.ftfnti.  soul.  of. 


.  tmflt.  tjns.  cross.  antJ.  todL 

She  fill'd  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  Monk  supporting  Mansion's  head  : 
A  pious  man.  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought. 

To  shrive  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave, 
And.  as  she  stoop'd  Ins  brow  to  lave— 
"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 
"Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head  2" 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose,  — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shritl  or  prayer! 

1  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  spare  ; 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare  !"  — 

"  Alas  !"  she  said,  "  the  while,  — 
0,  think  of  your  immortal  weal  ! 
In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal  ; 

She  --  -died  at  Holy"  Isle."— 
Lord  Marmion  started  from  the  ground, 
As  light  as  if  he  felt  no  wound  ; 
Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 
In  torrents,  from  Ins  wounded  side. 
"Then  it  was  truth,"  —  he  said  —  "I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  lie  true  — 
I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 
The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs, 

Would  spare  me  hut  a  day  ! 
For  wasting  fire,  and  dying  groan. 
And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 

Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 
It  may  not  be  !  —  this  dizzy  trance  — 
Curse  on  yon  base  marauder's  lance, 
And  doubly  cursed  my  failing  brand  ! 
A  sinful  heart  makes  feeble  hand  " 
Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sunk, 
Supported  by  the  trembling  Monk. 

XXXII. 

With  fruitless  labour.  Clara  bound, 
And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound  : 


MARMION.                                        125 

The  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares, 

Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghastly  blow. 

Exhausted  ail  the  Church's  prayers. 

Unbroken  was  the  ring  : 

Ever,  he  said.  that,  close  and  near, 

The  stubborn  .-.pear-men  still  made  good 

A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear, 

1'heir  dark  impenetrable  wood, 

And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear; 

t)ach  stepping  where  Ills  comrade  stood, 

For  that  she  ever  sung. 

The  instant  that,  he   fell. 

'•  In  tlie  lost  buttle,  borne  doom  by  the  flying. 

No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight; 

Where  ming'tx  war's  rattle  wit/i  yroaiis  of  the 

Link'd  in  tlie  serried  phalanx  tight. 

dyiny  .'" 

Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

So  the  notes  run?  :  — 

As  fearlessly  and  well; 

'•  Avoid  thee.  Fiend!—  with  cruel  hand, 

Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 

Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand  !— 

J'er  their  thin  host  and  wounded  King. 

O,  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 

Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 

Of  the  Redeemer's  trracK  divine  ; 

Led  back  from  strife  his  shatter'd  bands; 

O,  tlimk  on  fiiith  and  bliss!— 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew. 

By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
Ar.d  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 
But  never  aut^ht  like  this."  — 

As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lauds, 
Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  tiieir  loss  his  foemen  know; 

The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
'They  melted  from  i  he  Held  as  snow, 

And—  Stanley  !  was  the  cry  ; 

When  streams  are  swoln   and  south  winds 

A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

blow, 

And  tired  his  glazing  eye  : 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 

With  dying  hand,  al«>ve  his  head, 

Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash, 

He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

While  many  a  broken  band, 

And  shouted  *'  Victory  !  — 

Disorder'd,  through  her  currents  dash, 

Charge,  Chester,  charge  !    On.  Stanley,  on  !" 

To  gam  tlie  Scottish  land  : 

Were  tlie  last  words  of  Marmion. 

To  town  and  tower,  to  town  and  dale, 

To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale. 

XXXTII. 

And  raise  the  universal  wail. 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell, 
For  still  the  Scots,  around  their  King, 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring. 
Where's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing. 
Where  Huntlv.  and  where  Home!— 
O,  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 

'Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song, 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong: 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  he  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 
Of  Flodden's  fatal  field. 
Where  shiver'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 
And  broken  was  her  shield  ! 

On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne. 

XXXV. 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come, 
When  Rowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  fieer. 

Day  dawns  upon  the  mountain's  side  :  —  1 
'There,  Scotland  !  lay  thy  bravest  pride, 
Chiefs,  knights,  and  nobles,  many  a  one  : 

On  Roncesvalles  died  ! 
Such  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain, 

The  sad  survivors  all  are  gone  — 
View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully. 

To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain. 

Defaced  and  mangled  though  it  be  ; 

And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again, 

Nor  to  yon  Border  castle  high, 

While  yet  on  FJodden  side. 
Afar,  the  Royal  Standard  Hies, 
And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies, 
Our  Caledonian  pride  ! 
In  vain  the  wish  —  for  far  away. 

Look  norihward  with  upbraiding  eye; 
Nor  cherish  hope  in  vain, 
That,  journeying  far  on  foreign  strand, 
The  Royal  Pilgrim  to  his  land 

While  spoil  and  havock  mark  their  way, 
Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray.  — 
"0.  Lady."  cried  the  Monk,  "away!" 
And  placed  her  on  her  steed, 
And  led  her  to  the  chapel  fair, 
Of  Tilmouth  upon  Tweed. 

He  saw  the  wreck  his  rashness  wrought: 
Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 
And  fell  on  Flodden  plain  : 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Finn  clench'd  within  his  manly  hand, 
Beseem'd  the  monarch  slain.  2 

There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 
And  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 

But,  O  !  how  changed  since  yon  blithe  night  !  — 
Gladly  1  turn  me  from  the  sight, 
Onto  my  tale  again. 

XXXIV. 

XXXVI. 

But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  hpath. 

Short  is  my  tale  :—  Fitz-Eustace'  care 

More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 

A  pierced  and  mangled  body  bare 

The  tngiish  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd. 

To  moated  Lidificld's  lofty  pile; 

In  headlong  charge  their  horse  ass.iil'd  : 

And  there,  beneath  the  southern  aisle, 

Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep 

A  tomb,  with  Gothic  sculpture  fair. 

To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

Did  long  Lord  Marmion's  image  hear. 

That  fought  around  their  King. 

(Now  vainly  for  its  sight  you  look; 

But  yet.  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow. 

'Twas  leveil'd  when  fanatic  Brook 

Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go. 

The  fair  cathedral  storm'd  and  took; 

1  "  Day  Dimmers  on  the  dying  and  the  drad, 

The  clorcn  cuiraw  and  the  helmlen  head,  &c. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  S. 

Byron's  Lara. 

126                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But,  thanks  to  Heaven  anil  good  Saint  Chad, 
A  guerdon  inee.:  tlie  sinnler  lmd!,i 
There  erst  was  mailial  Mnrini"ii»  found, 
His  feet  upon  a  couchant  hound. 
His  hands  to  heaven  upraised; 
And  all  uround.  on  wsotcheoa  rich. 
And  talilel  carved,  and  fretted  niche, 
His  arms  and  feats  were  blazed. 
And  vet.  though  all  was  carved  so  fair. 
And  'priest  for  Marniion  breathed  the  prayer, 
The  last  Lord  Marmion  lay  not  there. 
From  Ettnck  woods  a  peasant  swam 
Follow'd  his  lord  to  Flodden  plain,— 
One  of  those  flowers,  whom  plaintive  lay 
In  Scotland  mourns  as  "  wede  away  :" 
Sore  wounded.  Sybil's  Cross  he  spied, 
And  dragg'd  him  to  its  foot,  and  died. 
Close  liy  the  noble  Marmion's  side. 
The  spoilers  stripp'd  and  gash'd  the  slain, 
'•.  And  thus  their  corpses  were  mista'en; 
And  tluis.  in  the  proud  Karon's  tomb. 
The  lowly  woodsman  took  the  room. 

XXXVII. 
Less  easy  task  it  were,  to  show 
Lord  Marmion's  nameless  grave,  and  low. 
They  dug  his  grave  e'en  where  he  lay. 
But  every  mark  is  gone  ; 
Time's  wasting  hand  lias  done  away 
The  simple  Cross  of  Sybil  Grey, 
And  broke  her  font  of  stone  : 
But  yet  from  out  the  little  lull 
Oozes  the  slender  springlel  still. 
Oft  halts  the  stranger  there, 
For  thence  may  hest  his  curious  eye 
The  memorable  field  descry  ; 
And  shepherd  boys  repair 
To  seek  the  water-flag  and  rush. 
And  rest  them  by  the  hazel  bush, 
And  plait  their  garlands  fair; 
Nor  dream  thev  sit  upon  the  grave. 
That  holds  the"  bones  of  Marniion  brave.— 
When  thou  shall  find  the  little  hill, 
With  thy  heart  commune,  and  be  still. 
If  ever,  in  temptation  strong, 
Thou  left'st  the  right  path  for  the  wrong; 
If  everv  devious  step,  thus  trod. 
Still  led  thee  farther  from  ihe  road  : 
Dread  then  to  speak  presumptuous  doom 
On  noble  Marmion's  lowlv  tomb  ; 
But  say.  "He  died  a  galla'nt  knight. 
With  sword  in  hand,  fur  England's  right." 

XXXV111. 

I  do  not  rhyme  to  that  dull  elf, 
Who  cannot  image  to  himself, 

1/\/V^^WN/\^W\/^/N/W*/VN*\/W«. 

APPE 

That  all  through  Hodden's  dismal  night, 
Wilton  w;is  foremost  in  trie  right  ; 
Tha'.  >•  i;en  brave  Surrey's  steed  was  slain, 
'Twas  Wilton  mounted  him  again; 
'Twas  Wjlion's  brand  that  deepest  hew'd, 
Amid  the  spearmen's  stubborn  wood: 
Unnamed  by  Huilinshed  or  Hall, 
He  was  the  living  soul  ol  all  : 
That,  after  fight.  Ins  faith  made  plain, 
He  won  his  rank  and  lands  again  : 
And  charged  his  old  paternal  shield 
With  bearings  won  on  Flodden  Field. 
Nor  sing  1  to  that  simple  maid, 
To  whom  it  must  in  terms  be  said, 
That  King  and  kinsmen  did  agree, 
To  bless  fair  Clara's  constancy  ; 
Who  cannot,  unless  I  relate. 
Paint  to  her  mind  Ihe  bridal's  state; 
That  Wolsey's  voice  the  blessing  spoke, 
More,  Sands,  and  Deunv,  piiss'd  the  joke: 
That  bluffKing  Hal  the  curtain  drew, 
And  Catherine's  hand  the  slocking  threw; 
And  afterwards,  for  many  a  day. 
That  it  was  held  enough  to  say, 
In  blessing  to  a  wedded  pair. 
"  Love  they  like  Wiltou  and  like  Clare  !" 

L  '  E  N  V  O  T. 

TO    THE    READER. 

Why  then  a  final  note  prolong. 
Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  song. 
Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed. 
Who  long  have  listed  to  my  rede?* 
To  Statesmen  grave,  if  such  may  deign 
To  read  the  Minstrel's  idle  strain. 
Sound  head,  clean  hand,  and  piercing  wit. 
And  patriotic  heart  —  as  Pitt  ! 
A  garland  for  the  hero's  crest, 
And  twined  by  her  he  loves  the  best  ; 
To  every  lovely  lady  bright. 
What  can  I  wish  but  faithful  knight! 
To  every  faithful  lover  too, 
What  can  I  wish  but  lady  true  ? 
And  knowledge  to  the  studious  sage  ; 
And  pillow  to'the  head  of  age. 
To  thee.  dear  school-boy,  whom  my  lay 
Has  cheated  of  thy  hour  of  play, 
Light  task,  and  merry  holiday  ' 
To  all.  to  each,  a  fair  good-night, 
And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light  ! 

1  S-?  Apprndir,  Kate  4  T. 
3  UKd  generally  tot  taje  or  ditaatru. 

NDIX. 

NOTE  A. 

As  when  the  Champion  of  Ihe  Lake 
Enters  Moroana's  faffd  house. 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Ptrilous. 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force. 
Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse.  —  P.  78. 

The  romance  of  the  Morte  Arthur  contains 
a  sort  of  abridgement  of  the  most  celebrated 
adventures  of  the  Round  Table:   and.  being 
written   in   comparatively   modern  language, 
gives  the  general  reader  an  excellent  idea  of 
what  romances  of  chivalry  actually  were.     It 
has  also  the  merit  of  being  wntten  in  pure  old 

APPENDIX    TO    HARM  ION. 


127 


English  ;  and  many  of  the  wild  adventures 
which  it  cmitains  are  told  with  a  simplicity 
bordering  upon  Uie  sublime.  Several  of  these 
are  referred  to  in  the  text:  and  I  would  have 
illustrated  them  by  more  full  extracts,  but  as 
this  curious  work  is  about  to  be  republished. 
1  confine  myself  to  the  tale  of  the  Chapel  Pe- 
rilous, and  of  the  quest  of  Sir  Lauucelot  after 
the  Sangreal. 

"  Right  so  Sir  Launrelot  departed,  and  when 
he  came  to  the  Ciiapell  Perilous,  he  alighted 
downe,  and  tied  his  horse  to  a  little  gale.  And 
as  soon  its  he  was  within  the  church-yard,  lie 
saw.  on  the  front  of  the  chapel!,  many  faire 
rich  shields  turned  upside  downe  ;  and  many 
of  Hie  shields  Sir  Launcelot  had  seene  knights 
have  tefore  ;  with  that  he  saw  stand  by  him 
thirtie  great  knights,  more,  by  a  yard,  than  any 
man  that  ever  lie  had  scene,  and  all  those 
grinned  and  gnashed  at  Sir  Lauucelot;  and 
when  he  saw  their  countenance,  hee  dread 
them  sore,  and  so  put  his  shield  afore  him.  and 
tooke  his  sword  in  his  hand,  ready  to  doe  l>at- 
taile;  and  they  were  all  armed  m  black  liar- 
ueis,  ready,  with  their  shields  and  swords 
drawn.  And  when  Sir  Launcelot  would  have 
gone  through  them,  they  scattered  on  every 
side  of  him.  and  gave  him  the  way  ;  and  there- 
with he  waxed  all  bold,  and  entered  into  the 
chapell,  and  then  hee  saw  no  light  butadimme 
lampi-  burning,  and  then  was  he  ware  of  a 
corps  covered  "with  a  cloath  of  silke ;  then  Sir 
Launcelot  stooped  downe,  and  cut  a  piece  of 
that  cloth  away,  and  then  it  fared  under  him 
as  the  earth  had  quaked  a  little,  whereof  he 
was  afeard.  and  then  hee  saw  a  fa  ire  sword 
lye  by  the  dead  knight,  and  that  he  gat  iu  his 
hand,  and  hied  him  out  of  the  chappell.  As 
soon  as  he  was  in  the  chappoll-yerd,  all  the 
knights  spoke  to  him  with  a  grimly  voice,  and 
said,  "Knight,  Sir  Launoelot,  lay  that  sword 
from  thee,  or  else  thuu  slialt  die.'—'  Whether 
I  live  or  die,'  said  Sir  Launoelot,  •with  no  great 
words  get  yee  it  agame.  therefore  fight  for  it 
and  yee  list '  Therewith  he  passed  through 
them;  and,  beyond  the  chappell-yerd,  there 
met  him  a  faire  duinosell.  and  said. '  Sir  Launce- 
lot. leave  that  sword  behind  thee,  or  thouwilt 
die  liir  it.'  —  '[will  not  leave  it,'  said  Sir 
Launcelot, '  for  no  threats.'— 'Not'  said  she: 
'  and  ye  did  leave  that  sword.  Queen  Guenever 
should  ye  never  see.' — '  Then  were  1  a  fool 
and  I  would  leave  this  sword.'  said  Sir  Launce- 
lot '  Now,  gentle  knight,'  said  the  damosell, 
'  1  require  thee  to  kiss  me  once.' — '  Nay.'  said 
Sir  Launcelot,  •  that  God  forbid  !'— '  Well,  sir,' 
3ai<i  she,  •  and  thuu  haddest  kissed  me  thy  life 
dayes  had  been  done  ;  but  now,  alas !'  said  she, 
'I  have  lost  all  my  labour;  for  1  ordemed  this 
chappell  for  thy  sake,  and  for  Sir  Gawaine: 
and  once  I  had  Sir  Gawaine  within  it ;  and  at 
that  time  he  fought  with  that  knialit  which 
there  helh  dead  in  yond.-r  chappell.  Sir  Gilbert 
the  bastard,  and  at  that  time  hee  smote  off  Sir 
Gilbert  the  bastard's  left  hand.  And  so.  Sir 
Uiuncelot.  now  1  tell  thee.  that  I  have  loved 
thee  this  seaven  yeare  :  but  there  may  no  wo- 
man have  thy  love  but  QueuiieGnenever :  but 
si;  hen  1  may  nor  rt-joyice  thee  to  have  thy  hotly 
alive.  1  bad  kept  no  more  joy  in  tins  world  but 
to  have  hud  thy  dead  body  ;  and  1  would  have 
balmed  it  and  served,  and  so  have  kept  it  in 
my  life  daies,  and  daily  i  should  have  clipped 
thee.  and  kissed  thee.  In  the  despite  of  Queen 


Guenever.' — 'Yee  say  well,' said  Sir  Umm-e- 
lot;  'Jesus  preserve  me  from  your  subt:ll 
craft."  And  therewith  lie  took  his  horse,  and 
departed  from  her. 


NOTE  B. 

A  sinful  man,  and  imctmfess'tl, 

he  took  thf.  Smgreal's  holy  ourst. 

And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high. 

He  miijlit  not  view  with  waiting  eye. — P.  78. 

One  day,  when  Arthur  was  holding  a  high 
feast  with  his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  the 
,  Sangreal,  or  vessel  out  of  which  the  last  pass- 
i  over  was  eaten,  (a  precious  relic,  which  had 
long  remained  concealed  from  human  eyes, 
i  because  of  the  sins  of  the  land,)  suddenly  ap- 
!  peared  to  him  and  all  his  chivalry.  The  con- 
i  sequence  of  this  vision  was  that  all  the  knights 
'took  on  them  a  solemn  vow  to  seek  the  San- 
greal. But,  alas!  it  could  only  be  revealed  to 
'  a  knurht  at  once  accomplished  in  earthly  chi- 
••  valry,  and  pure  and  guiltless  of  evil  conversa- 
tion All  Sir  Launceloi's  noble  accomphsh- 
!  ments  were  therefore  rendered  vain  by  his 
guilty  intrigue  with  Queen  Gut-never,  or  ('•;>- 
nore ;  and  in  his  holy  quest  he  encountered 
only  such  disgraceful  disasters  as  that  which 
follows  :- 

"But  Sir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and 
endlong  in  a  wild  forest,  and  held  no  path  but 
as  wild  adventure  led  him:  and  at  the  last,  he 
came  unto  a  stone  crosse.  which  departed  two 
wayes,  in  wast  land  ;  and.  by  the  crosse,  was 
a  stone  that  was  of  marble ;  but  it  was  so 
dark,  that  Sir  Launcelot  might  not  well  know 
what  it  was.  Then  Sir  Launcelot  looked  by 
him,  and  saw  an  old  chappell,  and  there  he 
wend  to  have  found  people.  And  so  Sir  Laun- 
celot tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and  there  he  put 
off  his  shield,  and  hung  it  upon  a  tree,  and 
then  hee  went  unto  the  chappell  doore.  and 
found  it  wasted  mid  broken  And  wiihin  he 
j  found  a  faire  altar,  full  richly  arrayed  with 
!  cloth  of  silk,  and  there  stood  a  faire  candle- 
stick, which  beare  six  great  candles,  and  the 
j  candiesticke  was  of  silver.  And  when  Sir 
!  Lauucelot  saw  this  light,  hee  had  a  great  will 
for  to  enter  into  the  chappell,  but  he  could 
'  find  no  place  where  hee  might  enter.  Then 
1  was  he  passing  heavie  and  dismaied.  Then 
he  returned, and  came  againe  to  his  horse,  and 
tooke  off  his  saddle  and  ins  bridle,  aud  let  him 
pasture,  and  unlaced  his  helme,  and  murirded 
iiis  sword,  and  laid  him  dowue  to  sleepe  upon 
-  his  shield,  before  the  crosse. 

"And  so  hee  fell  on  sleepe;  and.  halfe 
waking  and  halfe  sleeping,  he  saw  come  by  h  in 
two  palfreys,  both  faire  and  white,  the  which 
beare  a  litter,  therein  lying  a  sicke  knight. 
And  when  he  was  nigh  the  crosse,  he  there 
abode  still.  All  this  Sir  Launcelot  saw  and 
beheld,  for  hee  slept  not  verily,  and  hee  heard 
him  say,  'O  sweete  Lord,  when  shall  this  sor- 
row leave  me,  and  when  shall  the  holy  vessell 
come  by  me,  where  through  I  shall  be  blessed, 
for  1  have  endured  thus  long  for  little  t res- 
passe  !'  And  thus  a  great  while  complained 
the  knight,  and  allwaies  Sir  Launcelol  heard 
i  it.  With  that  Sir  Launcelot  saw  the  candie- 
sticke, with  the  fire  tapers,  come  before  the 


128 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


crosse;  hut  he  could  see  nobody  that  brought 


it.     Alsn  there  carne  a  table  of  silver,  and  the 
holy  vessel  I  of  the  Sancrreall,  th 


hich  Sir 


Lanncelot  had  seen  In-fore  that  time  in  Kin? 
I'etchour's  house.  And  therewithal!  the  sicke 
knight  sei  him  upright,  and  held  up  both  his 
hands,  and  said.  •  Faire  sweete  Lord.  which  is 
here  wi'hin  the  holy  vesseil,  take  heede  to 
niee.that  I  may  bee  holeof  this  great  malady!' 
And  therewith  upon  his  hands,  and  upon  his 
knees,  he  went  so  nish.  that  he  touched  the 
holy  vessell,  and  kissed  it:  And  anon  he  was 
In  ile,  and  then  he  said.  'Lord  Got).  1  thank 
Ihee,  for  I  am  healed  of  this  malady.'  Soo 
when  the  holy  yessell  had  been  there  a  great 
while,  it  went  into  the  chappelle  againe,  with 
the  catidlesticke  and  the  light,  so  that  Sir  Lann- 
celot  wist  not  where  it  l>ecanie.for  he  was  over- 
taken with  sinne.  that  he  hail  no  power  to 
arise  against  the  holy  vessell.  wherefore  afier- 
wanl  many  men  said  of  him  shame.  But  he 
tooke  repentance  afterward  Then  the  sicke 
knight  dressed  him  upright,  and  kissed  the 
crosse.  Then  anon  his  squire  brought  him  his 
armes.  and  asked  his  lord  how  he  did.  •  Cer- 
tainly.' said  hee.  'I  tlianke  God  right  heartily. 
for  through  the  holy  vessell  I  am  healed  :  But 
I  have  right  great  niervaille  of  this  sleeping 
kniirht,  which  hath  had  neither  grace  nor 
power  to  awake  during  the  time  that  this  holy 
vessell  hath  heeue  here  present,'—  'I  dare  it 
right  well  say,'  said  the  squire.  •  that  this  same 


in  an  ••  Essay  on  Satire."  addressed  to  the  Earl 
of  Dorset,  and  prefixed  to  the  Translation  of 
Juvenal.  After  mentioning  a  plan  of  supply- 
ing machinery  from  the  guardian  angels  of 
kingdoms,  mentioned  in  the  Book  of  Daniel, 
he  adds.— 

"  Thus,  mv  lord.  I  have,  as  briefly  as  I  could, 
given  your  lordship,  and  by  you  the  world,  a 
rude  draught  of  what  1  have  been  long  lalxiur- 
ing  in  my  imagination,  and  what  I  had  in- 
tended to  have  put  in  practice;  (though  far 
unable  for  the  attempt  of  such  a  poem  :)  and 
to  have  left  the  stave,  to  which  my  genius 
never  much  inclined  me.  for  a  •mrk  which 
wnuld  have  taken  up  my  life  in  the  perform- 
ance of  it.  This.  too.  I  had  intended  chiefly 
for  the  honour  of  my  native  country,  to  which 
:»  poet  is  particularly  obliged.  Of  two  sub- 
jects, both  relating  to  it.  I  was  doubtful  whe- 
ther I  should  choose  that  of  King  Arthur 
conquering  the  Saxons,  which,  being  farther 
distant  in  time,  cives  the  greater  scope  to  my 
invention ;  or  that  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince, 
in  subduing  Spam,  and  restoring  it  to  the  law- 
ful prince,  through  a  great  tyrant.  Don  ljedro 


the  Cruel;  which,  for  the 


i>f  time,  in- 


cluding only  the  expedition  of  one  year,  for 
the  greatness  of  the  action,  and  its  answer- 
able event,  for  the  magnanimity  of  the  English 
hero,  opposed  to  the  ingratitude  of  the  person 
whom  he  restored,  and  for  the  many  beautiful 

,..___          .          episodes  which   1   had   interwoven  with   the 

kmshtisdefouled  with  some  manner  of  deadly  ]  principal  design,  together  with  the  characters 
sinne,  whereof  he  has  never  confessed.' — 'By  of  the  chiefest  English  persons,  (wherein. 
my  faith,"  said  the  knight, '  whaisoever  he  be,  after  Virgil  and  Spenser.  I  would  have  taken 
he  is  unhappie;  for.  as  I  deeme,  hee  is  of  the  occasion  to  represent  my  living  friends  and 
fellowship  of  the  Round  Table,  the  which  is  patrons  of  the  noblest  families/and  also  sha- 
dowed the  events  of  future  ages  in  the  suc- 
cession of  our  imperial  line.)— With  these 
helps,  and  those  of  the  machines  which  I  have 
mentioned,  I  might  perhaps  have  done  as  well 
as  some  of  my  predecessors,  or  at  least  chalked 
out  a  way  for  others  to  amend  my  errors  in  a 
like  design;  but  being  encouraged  only  with 
fair  words  hy  King  Charles  II.,  iiiy  little  salary 
ill  paid,  and  no  prospect  of  a  future  subsist- 
ence, 1  was  then  discouraged  in  the  l>eginning 
of  my  attempt :  and  now  age  hns  overtaken 
me,  and  want,  a  more  insufferable  evil,  through 
the  change  of  the  times,  has  wholly  disabled 


entered  into  the  quest  of  the  Sancgreall ' — 
•Sir,' said  the  squire.'  here  I  have  brought  you 
all  your  armes.  save  your  helme  and  your 
sword  ;  and.  therefore,  hy  mine  assent,  now 
mav  ye  take  this  knight's  helme  and  his  sword:' 
and  so  he  did.  And  when  he  was  cleane 
armed,  he  took  Sir  Launcelot's  horse,  for  he 
was  better  than  his  owne,  and  so  they  departed 
from  the  crosse. 

"Then  anon  Sir  Launcelot  awaked,  and  set 
himseU'e  upright,  and  he  thought  him  what  hee 
had  there  scene,  and  whether  it  weredreames 
or  not ;  right  so  he  heard  a  voice  that  said , 
'Sir  Launcelot,  more  hardy  than  is  the  stone, 
and  more  hitter  than  is  the  wood,  and  more 
naked  and  bare  than  is  the  liefe  of  the  fig-tree. 
therefore  go  thou  from  hence,  and  withdraw 
thee  from  this  holy  place ;'  and  when  Sir  Laun- 
celot heard  this,  he  was  passing  heavy,  and 
wist  not  what  to  doe.  And  so  he  departed 
sore  weeping,  and  cursed  the  time  that  he  was 
borne ;  for  then  he  deemeXl  never  to  have  had 
'orship;  for  the  words  went  unto  his 


heart,  till  that  he  knev 
was  so  called." 


vherefore  that  hee 


NOTE  C. 

And  Drydtn.  in  immortal  strain, 

Had  raistd  the  Tattle  Round  again.— P.  78. 

Dryden's  melancholy  account  of  his  pro- 
jected Epic  Poem,  blasted  by  the  selfish  and 
sordid  patrimony  of  his  patrons,  is  contained 


NOTE  D. 

Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made. 
Of  Axopart,  and  Bevis  hold.— P.  78. 

The  "  History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton "  is 
abridged  by  my  friend  Mr.  George  Ellis,  with 
that  liveliness  which  extracts  amusement  even 
out  of  the  most  rude  and  unpromising  of  our 
old  tales  of  chivalry.  Ascapart.  a  most  im- 
portant personage  in  the  romance,  is  thus  de- 
scribed in  an  extract : — 

•*  Thi*  geiont  wa«  mighty  and  strong, 
And  full  thirty  fret  was  loug, 
He  was  t>ristl«l  ]:kr  a  low  ; 
A  fool  he  had  brlweni  i-a.  h  brow  ; 
Hi*  lips  were  great,  a&'l  hung  aaide. 
Him  eyeii  were  hollow,  hit  mouth  wu  wide ; 
Lothljr  be  was  lo  look  on  than, 
And  liker  a  deTil  than  a  man. 


APPENDIX    TO    MARMION. 


129 


Specimen!  of  Metrical  Romnncet,  vol.  ii.  p.  136. 

I  am  happy  to  say.  that  the  memory  of  Sir 
Bevis   is  still  fragrant  in  his  town  of  South- 


NOTE    F. 

The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep.— P.  79. 
It  is  perhaps    unnecessary  to  remind    my 


an.pton:  the  emte  (if  which  is  sentinelled  by  !     "  ls  P»  .  mu   my 

the  effigies  of  that  doughty  kmgtit-en-ant  and   readers,  that  the  donjon,  m  its  proper  signiBca- 
his  gigantic  associate  ' mealis  l'le  strongest  part  of  a  feudal  cas- 


NOTE  E. 


tie ;  a  high  square  tower,  with  walls  of  tre- 
mendous thickness,  situated  in.  the  centre  of 
the  other  buildings,  from  which,  however,  it 
was  usually  detached.  Here,  in  case  of  the 
outward  defences  being  gained,  the  garrison 
retreated  to  make  their  last  stand.  The  don- 
Ijon  contained  the  great  hall,  and  principal 


Day  set  on  Norham-s  castled  steep  „„..,„„„„   „„  5.0^  „„..,  ouu  pl  ,„,,.,„. 

And  feed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,  «fc.—  ,  rooms  of  state  for  s,,]ernn  occasions,  and  also 
"•  '9-  the  prison  of  the  fortress;  from  which  last 

The  ruinous  castle  of  Norham  (anciently ;  circumstance  we  derive  the  modem  and  re- 
called Uhbanford)  is  situated  on  the  southern  stricted  use  of  the  word  dungeon.  Ducange 
bank  of  the  Tweed,  about  six  miles  above  i  (voce  Dunjo)  conjectures  plausibly,  that  the 
Berwick,  and  where  that  river  is  still  the  !  "ame  is  derived  from  these  keeps  being  usu- 
boumlary  bet  ween  England  and  Scotland.  The  \  al'y  built  upon  a  hill,  which  in  Celtic  is  called 
extent  of  its  ruins,  as  Well  as  its  historical  im-  <  Dun.  Borlase  supposes  the  word  came  from 
portance,  shows  it  to  have  been  a  place  of  j  lhe  darkness  of  the  apartments  in  these  tow- 
masnificence,  as  well  as  strength.  Edward  I.  i  ers,  which  were  thence  figuratively  called 
resided  there  when  he  was  created  umpire  of !  Dungeons;  thus  deriving  the  ancient  word 


the  dispute  concerning  the  Scottish  succession. 
It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken  during 
the  wars  between  England  and  Scotland :  and, 
indeed,  scarce  any  happened,  in  which  it  had 
not  a  principal  share.  Norham  Castle  is  situ- 
ated on  a  steep  bank,  which  overhangs  the 
river.  The  repeated  sieges  which  the  castle 
had  sustained,  rendered  frequent  repairs  ne- 


a    iiuge    keep,   or   donjon;    notwithstanding 


from  the  modern  application  of  it. 


NOTE  G. 

Well  toas  he  arm'il  from  head  to  heel, 
In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel.— P.  79. 


which,  King  Henry  II..  m  74.  took  the  castle  fars  lr;'m  ttle  *'»ow,ng  P™**,  >»  wn.ch 
from  the  bishop,  and  committed  the  keepin?  tru\ss™ l^ves  a"  ^count  of  the  preparations 
of  it  to  William  de  Neville.  After  this  period  if306  %•  "Tv,  a  .  n  "I  rx  r  uTrS 
it  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  garrisoned  bythe  {;  ,  iv  ,  anu  i  nomas,  LIUKB  ot  i  orioiK.Eail 
Kins,  and  considered  as  a  royal  fortress.  The  £*?!*&  for  their  proposed  coniba  m  the 
Greys  of  Chillingham  Castle  were  frequently  !  llsls,a  Coventry  : :  - "T  hese  two  lords  made 
the  castellans,  or  captains  of  the  garrison  :  Yet,  i  amP'e  Provision  of  all  things  necessary  for  the 
as  the  castle  was  situated  m  the  patrimony  of:  co'»bat ;  a»<l  «•  >e  tarl  of  Derby  sent  off  mes- 
St.  Cuthhert,  the  property  was  in  the  see  of:  *e"?er-s  l"  Lombardyto  have  armour  from  Sir 
Durham  till  the  Reformation.  After  that  pe-  Sff^rSSJSLrJfft-tiS?  "H  e,  S0'",?.1"? 


___  .___.t  pe- 
riod, it  passed  through  various  hands.  At  the 
union  of  the  crowns,  it  was  in  the  possession 
of  Sir  Robert  Carey,  (afterwards  Earl  of  Mon- 
mouth)  for  his  own  life,  and  that  of  two  of  his 
sons.  After  King  James's  accession,  Carey  sold 
Norham  Castle  to  Oeorge  Home.  Karl  of'Dun- 
bar,  for  tXXXU.  See  his  curious  Memoirs,  pub- 
lished by  Mr.  Constable  of  Edinburgh. 

According  to  Mr.  Pmkerton,  there  is.  in  the 
British  Museum,  Cal.  B.  6.  216,  a  curious  me- 
moir of  the  Dacres  on  the  state  of  Norham 
Castle  in  1522,  not  long  after  the  battle  of  Hod- 
den. The  inner  ward,  or  keep,  is  represented 
as  impregnable : — •'  The  provisions  are  three 
great  vats  of  salt  eeis.  forty-four  kine,  three 
hogsheads  of  salted  salmon,  fortv  quarters  of 
gram,  besides  many  cows  and  four  hundred 
sheep,  lying  under  the  castle-wall  mshtly ;  but 
a  number  of  the  arrows  wanted  feathers,  and 
a  good  Fletcher  [i.  e.  maker  of  arrows]  was 
required."— History  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  201, 
note. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  are  at  present  consi- 
derable, as  well  as  picturesque.  They  consist 
of  a  large  shattered  tower,  with  many  vaults, 


with  joy,  and  gave  the  knight,  called  Sir  Fran- 
cis, who  had  brought  the  message,  the  choice 
of  all  his  armour  for  the  Earl  of  Derby.  When 
he  had  selected  what  he  wished  for  in  plaited 
and  mail  armour,  the  Lord  of  Milan,  out  of  his 
abundant,  love  for  the  Earl,  ordered  four  of  the 
best  armourers  of  Milan  to  accompany  the 
knight  to  England,  that  the  Earl  of  Derby 
might  be  more  completely  armed."— Johnes' 
Froissart,  vol.  iv.  p.  597. 

NOTE  H. 

Who  checks  at  me,  to  death  is  dight.—P.  79. 

The  crest  and  motto  of  Marmlon  are  bor- 
rowed from  the  following  story :— Sir  David 
De  Lindsay,  first  Earl  of  Crauford,  was,  among 
other  gentlemen  of  quality,  attended,  during 
a  visit  to  London,  in  13*).  by  Sir  William  Dal- 
zell,  who  was,  according  to  my  authority, 
Bower,  not  only  excelling  in  wisdom,  but  also 
of  a  lively  wit.  Chancing  to  be  at  the  court, 
he  there  saw  Sir  Piers  Courtenay,  an  English 


and  fragments  of  other  ediiices,  enclosed  with-  j  kniglit.  famous  f  >r  skill  in  tilting'  and  for"  the 
m  an  outward  wall  of  great  circuit. 


-    KJUglit,  laniuus  l-.tr  skill  in  tilting,  and  for  the 
I  beauty  of  his  person,  parading  the  palace,  ar- 


130 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


rayed  in  a  new  mantle,  bearing  for  device  an 
embroidered  falcon,  with  this  rhyme,— 

"I  tx-ar  •  falccn,  faire«t  of  flit-tit, 
\\lioso  piucbea  al  her,  hi»  uealh  is  disM  I 
lagraiUVJ 

The  Scottish  knight,  being  a  wag,  appeared 
next  day  in  a  dress  exactly  similar  to  that  of 
Courteuay.  but  bearing  a  magpie  instead  of  the 
falcon,  with  a  motto  ingeniously  contrived  to 
rhyme  to  the  vaunting  inscription  of  Sir 
Piers : — 


This  affront  could  only  be  expiated  by  a  just 
with  sharp  lances.  In  the  course,  Dalzell  left 
his  helmet  unlaced,  so  that  it  gave  wav  at  the 
touch  of  his  antagonist's  lance,  anil  he  thus 
avoided  the  shock  of  the  encounter.  This 
happened  twice : — in  the  third  encounter,  the 
handsome  Courtenay  lost  two  of  his  front 
teeth.  As  the  Englishman  complained  bitterly 
of  Dalzell's  fraud  in  not  fastening  his  helmet, 
the  Scottishman  agreed  to  run  six  courses 
more,  each  champion  staking  in  the  hand  of 
the  King  two  hundred  pounds,  to  be  forfeited, 
if,  on  entering  the  lists,  any  unequal  advantage 
should  be  detected.  This  being  agreed  to.  the 
wily  Scot  demanded  that  Sir  Piers,  in  addition 
to  the  loss  of  Ins  teeth,  should  consent  to  the 
extinction  of  one  of  his  eyes,  he  himself  hav- 
ing lost  an  eye  in  the  tight  of  Otterburn.  As 
Courtenay  demurred  to  this  equalization  of 
optical  powers.  Dalzell  demanded  the  forfeit ; 
which,  after  much  altercation,  the  King  ap- 
pointed to  be  paid  to  him.  saying,  he  surpassed 
the  English  both  in  wit  and  valour.  This  must 
appear  to  the  reader  a  singular  specimen  of  the 
humour  of  that  time.  I  sus|iect  the  Jockey 
Club  would  have  given  a  different  decision 
from  Henry  IV. 


NOTE  I. 

They  hml'd  Lord  Marmion ; 
They  tiail'd  him  Lord  of  Fontennye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbnye, 

Of  Taniworlh  tower  and  town.— P.  80. 

Lord  Marmion,  the  principal  character  of  the 
present  romance,  is  entirely  a  fictitious  person- 
age. In  earlier  times,  indeed,  the  family  of 
Marmion.  Lords  of  Fontenay,  in  Normandy, 
was  highly  distinguished.  Kobertde  Marmion. 
Lord  of  Fontenay,  a  distinguished  follower  of 
the  Conqueror,  obtained  a  grant  of  the  castle 
and  town  of  Tamworth,  and  also  of  the  manor 
of  Scrivelby,  in  Lincolnshire.  One,  or  both, 
of  these  noble  possessions,  was  held  by  thu 
honourable  service  of  being  the  royal  cham- 
pion, as  the  ancestors  of  Marmion  had  for- 
merly been  to  the  Duke  of  Normandy.  But 
after  the  castle  and  demesne  of  Tamworth 
had  passed  through  four  successive  barons 
from  Robert,  the  family  became  exiinct  in  the 
pei-son  of  Philip  de  Marmion,  who  died  in  20th 
Edward  I.  without  issue  male.  He  was  suc- 
ceeded in  his  castle  of  Tamworth.  by  Alexa.ii- 

1  Prepared.  2  Armour. 


der  de  Freville,  who  married  Mazera,  his 
maud-daughter.  Baldwin  de  Frevilln,  Alex- 
ander's descendant,  in  the  reign  of  Richard  I., 
by  the  supposed  tenure  of  liis  castle  of  Tam- 
worth, claimed  the  office  of  royal  champion, 
and  to  do  the  service  appertaining;  namely,  on 
the  day  of  coronation,  to  ride,  completely 
armed,  upon  a  barbed  horse,  into  Westminster 
Hall,  and  there  to  challenge  the  combat  against 
any  who  would  gainsay  tlifi  Kind's  title.  But 
this  office  was  adjudged  to  Sir  John  Dymoke, 
to  whom  the  manor  of  Scrivelby  had  descended 
by  another  of  the  co-heiresses  of  Robert  de 
Marmion  :  and  it  remains  in  that  family,  whose 
representative  is  Hereditary  Champion  of  Eng- 
land at  the  present  day.  The  family  and  pos- 
sessions of  Freville  have  merged  into  the  Earls 
of  Ferrars.  1  have  not.  therefore,  created  a 
new  family,  but  only  revived  the  titles  of  an 
old  one  in  an  imaginary  personage. 

It  was  one  of  the  Marmion  family,  who,  in 
the  reign  of  Edward  II.,  performed  that  chi- 
valrous feat  before  the  very  castle  of  Norham, 
which  Bishop  Percv  has  woven  into  his  beau- 
tiful ballad,  "The  Hermit  of  Warkworth."— 
The  story  is  thus  told  by  Leland  :— 

"The  Scottes  camyn  to  the  marches  of  Eng- 
land, and  destroyed  the  castles  of  Werk  and 
Herbotel,  and  overran  much  of  .Northumber- 
land marches. 

"  At  this  tyme,  Thomas  Gray  and  his  friendes 
defended  Norham  from  the  Scottes. 

"It  were  a  wonderful  processe  to  declare, 
what  mischefes  cam  by  hungre  and  asscgt-s  by 
the  space  of  xi  yeres  in  Norlhumiterland;  for 
(he  Scottes  became  so  proude,  after  they  had 
got  Berwick,  that  they  nothing  esteemed  the 
Englishmen. 

"  About  this  tyme  there  was  a  greate  foste 
made  yn  Lincolnshir,  to  which  came  many 
gentlemen  and  ladies:  and  amonge  them  one 
lady  brought  a  heaulme  for  a  man  of  were. 
with  a  very  riche  creste  of  gold,  to  William 
Marmion,  knight,  with  a  letter  of  comiiiande- 
ment  of  her  lady,  that  he  should  go  into  the 
daungerest  place  in  England,  and  ther  to  let 
the  heaulme  be  seene  and  known  as  famous. 
So  he  went  to  Norham;  whither,  within  4 
days  of  cumniing,  cam  Philip  Mouhray,  guar- 
dian of  Berwioke.  having  yn  his  bande  40  men 
of  armes,  the  very  flour  of  men  of  the  Scot- 
tish marches. 

"  Thomas  Gray,  capitayne  of  Norham,  se- 
ynge  this,  brought  his  garison  afore  the  barri- 
ers of  the  castel.  behind  whom  cam  William, 
richly  arrayed,  as  al  glittering  in  goiU,  and 
wearing  tiie  heaulme,  his  lady's  present. 

"Then  said  Thomas  Gray  to  Marmion,  'Sir 
Knight,  ye  be  cum  hither  to  "fame  your  helmet : 
mount  up  on  yowr  horse,  and  ride  lyke  a  valiant 
man  to  yowr  foes  even  here  at  hand,  and  1  liir- 
sake  God  if  I  rescue  not  thy  body  deade  or 
alvve,  or  I  myself  wy!  dye  for  it.' 

'••  Whereupon  he  took  his  cursere,  and  rode 
among  the  throng   of  enemyes;   tl.i 
layed  sore  stripes  on  him.  and  pulled  him  at 
the  lust  out.  of  his  sadel  to  the  groonde. 

"Then  Thomas  Gray,  with  al  the  hole  gar- 
rison, lelte  prick  yn  among  the  Scoties,  and  so 
wondfd  them  and  their  horses,  that  they  were 
overthrown:  and  Marmion.  sore  beten.  was 
horsid  agiiyn,  and.  with  Gray,  persewed  the 


APPENDIX    T 

0    M  ARM  ION.                    131 

Scottes  yn  chase.    There  were  taken  50  horse 

This  old  .Northumbrian   ballad  was  taken 

of  price;  and  the  women  of  Nurharn  brought 

down  from  the  recitation  of  a  woman  eiglity 

them  lo  the  foote  men  to  follow  the  chase." 

years  of  age,  mo!  her  of  one  of  the  miners  of 

Alston-moor,  by  an  agent  for  the  lead  mines 



there,  who  communicated  it  to  my  friend  and 

correspondent,  U.  Surtees,  Esquire,  of  Mains- 

NOTE  K. 

forth.    She  had   not,  she  said,  heard   it  for 

many  years,  but,  when  she  was  a  girl,  it  nsetl 

Largesse,  largesse.  —  P.  82. 

to  be  sung  at  the  merry-makings  "  till  the  roof 

This  was  the  cry  with  which  heralds  and 
pursuivants  were  wont  to  acknowledge   the 
bounty  received  from  the  knights     Stewart  of 
Lorn  distinguishes  a  ballad,  in  which  he  sat- 
irizes  the   narrowness   of  James  V.  and  his 
courtiers,  by  the  ironical  burden— 

rung  again."    To  preserve  this  curious,  though 
rude   rhyme,  it  is  here  inserted.    The  ludi- 
crous   turn   given    to    the    slaughter,   marks 
that  wild  and  disorderly  state  of  society,  in 
which  a  murder  was  not  merely  a  casual"  cir- 
cumstance, but,  in  some  cases,  an  exceedingly 
goixl  jest.     The  structure  of  the  ballad  resem- 

" Ltrges,  Ifrzes,  lerges,  liny, 
Lerges  of  this  nrw-ydr  day. 
First  lerges  of  the  King,  my  chief, 

bles  the  "  Frav  of  Suport,"  3  having  the  same 
irregular  stanzas  anil  wild  chorus. 

ftuhilk  come  als  quiet  as  a  thief. 

- 

And  in  my  hand  slid  shilliugis  tway.l 

I. 

To  put  his  lergnes  lo  the  prief.2 

Hoot  awa',  lads,  hoot  awa', 

The  heralds,  like  the  minstrels,  were  a  race 

Ha'  ye  heard  how  ihe  Ridlevs,  and  Ttiir.valls,  and  a' 
Ha'  set  upon  Alb,uiy4  Featfiersicnha'igh, 

allowed  to  have  great  claims  upon  the  liberal- 

And taken  his  life  at  the  DeadmaiMiaugh  7 
There  was  Willhnou-su  ick, 

ity  of  the  knishts,  of  whose  teats  they  kept,  a 
record,  anil  proclaimed  them  aloud,  as  in  the 

And  Hardriding  Dick, 
And  Hughie  of  iiawdeii,  and  Will  of  the  Wa'. 

text,  upon  suitable  occasions. 

I  cauno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a'. 

At  Berwick,  Norhain,  and  other  Border  fort- 

And mony  a  mair  that  the  dell  may  knaw. 

resses  of  importance,  pursuivants  usually  re- 
sided, whose   inviolable    character  rendered 

II. 

them  the  only  persons  that  could,  with  perfect 

Kan  away  afore  the  iis;lil  'was  begun; 

assurance  of  safety,  he  sent  on  necessary  em- 

And he  run,  and  he  run, 

bassies  into  Scotland.    This  is  alluded  to  in 

And  afore  they  were  done, 

stanza  xxi.  p.  81. 

As  never  was  seen  s.nce  the  world  beguu. 

III. 

I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a'  • 

NOTE  L. 

But  they  tard  Hie  t  eai  honrton  haud  their  jaw,—  8 

Sir  Hiuyh  /he  Heron  bold. 

Nkol,  and  Alien,  and  a'. 

Baron  of  Twisell  find  of  Ford, 

Some  had  harness,  and  some  gat  sia'en.7 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold. 

IV. 

Were   accuracy  of   any  consequence  in  a 

fictitious  narrative,  this  castellan's  name  ought 

Ane  gat  a  twist  o'  the  craig  ;  8 
Ane  gat  a  bunch  9  o'  the  wame  ;  10 

to  have  been  William;  for  William  Heron  of 

Symy  Haw  gat  lamed  of  a  leg,' 

Ford  was  husband  to  the  famous  Lady  Ford, 

And  syne  ran  wallowing  11  name. 

whose  siren  charms  are  said  to  have  cost  our 

V. 

James  IV.  so  dear.    Moreover,  the  said  William 

Heron  was,  at  the  time  supposed,  a  prisoner  in 
Scotland,  being  surrendered  by  Henry  VIII., 

Lay  him  now  wi'  his  face  down  :—  he  's  a  sorrowful  Bight. 
Janet,  thou  douot,12 

on  account  of  his  share  in  the  slaughter  of  Sir 

I'll  lay  my  best  bonnet, 

Robert.  Ker  of  Cessford.    His  wife,  represented 

Thou  gets  a  new  gude-man  afore  it  be  night* 

in  the  text  as  residing  at  the  Court  of  Scot- 

VI. 

land,  was,  in  fact,  living  in  her  own  Castle  at 

Hoo  away,  lad",  hoo  away 

Ford.—  See  Sir  Richard  Heron's  curious  Gene- 

We'B a'  be  hanjid  if  we  stay. 

alogy  of  the  Heron  Family. 

Tak  up  the  dead  man.  and  lay  him  ahint  the  biggin, 
Here'sthe    Bailey  o1  Haltwhistie,13 

Wi'  his  great  bull's  pizzle, 

•  

That  sup'd  up  the  broo,'—  and  syne  in  the  piggin.14 

NOTE  M. 

The  whiles  o.  Northern  harper  rude 

In  explanation  of  this  ancient  ditty.  Mr.  Sur- 
tees has  furnished  me  with  the  following  local 
memorandum  :  —  Willimoteswick,   the    chief 

Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud,— 
"  How  the  fierce   Tkirwal's,  and  Ridlei/s  all," 

seat  of  the  ancient  family  of  Ridley,  is  situated 
two  miles  above  the  confluence  oi  the  Allot) 

S,c.  —  P.  80. 

and  Tyne.    It  was  a  house  of  strength,  as  ap- 

1  Two.                                         2  Proof 

12  Silly  shit.     The  border  bard  calls  her  so,  because  she 

3  See  Minstrelsy  nf  the  Sco'.tuh  Harder,  vol.  ii,  p.  124. 

was  weeping  for  her  slain  husband  ;  a  loss  which  he  seems 

4   Pronounced  Awlxm,. 

to  think  might  be  soon  repaired. 

was  originally  spelled  xUap. 

when  111  'fray  was  over.     This  supporler  of  social  order  is 

6  HuU  their  jaw,  a  vulgar  expression  still  in  use. 

7  Uotsl  ilen,  or,  were  plundered:  a  very  likely  termina- 
tion of  the  frav. 

ing  poet. 

8  Neck.        0  Punch.           10  Belly.         11  Bellowing. 

14  An  iron  pot  with  two  ears. 

SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


pears  from  one  oblong  tower,  still  in  tolerable 
preservation.'  It  has  been  long  in  possession 
of  the  Blacket  family.  Hardridiiut  Dick  is  not 
an  epithet  referring  to  horsemanship,  hut 
means  Kichard  Ridley  of  Hardnding,2  the  scat 
of  another  family  of  that  name,  which,  in  the 
time  of  Charles  I .  was  sold  ou  account  of  ex- 
penses incurred  by  the  loyalty  of  the  proprie- 
tor, the  immediate  ancestor  of  Sir  Matthew 
Ridley.  Will  of  the  Wa'  seems  to  be  \Villiam 
Ridley  of  Walltown.  so  called  from  its  situa- 
tion on  the  great  Roman  wall.  Thirwall  Cas- 
tle, whence  the  clan  of  Thirwalls  derived 
their  name,  is  situated  on  the  small  river  of 
Tippel,  near  the  western  boundary  of  -North- 
umberland. It  is  near  the  wall,  and  takes  its 
name  from  the  rampart  haying  been  thirled, 
i.  e  pierced,  or  breached,  in  its  vicinitv.  Fea- 
therstun  Castle  lies  south  of  the  Tyne,  towards 
Alston-moor.  Albany  Feathersto'nhaugh,  the 
chief  of  that  ancient  family,  made  a  figure  in 
the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  A  feud  did  certniuly 
exist  between  the  Ridleys  and  Feathersloiis. 
productive  of  such  consequences  as  the  ballad 
narrates.  21  Oct  2&lo  Henrici  Svi.  Inqiasilm 
capt.  apud  Huutwfiistle,  sup  risum  corpus  Ale.x- 
mutri  Ftatherslon,  Gen.  apud  GrensiUuivgh  felo- 
nice  intrrfccti.  22  Oct.  per  Nicolaum  Ridley  de 
Unthankc.  Gen.  Huyon  Ridle,  Nicolaum  Ridle, 
et  alias  ejusitem.  nominis.  Nor  were  the  Fea- 
therstons  without  their  revenue ;  for  36to  Hen- 
rici  8vi.  we  have — Utlngntio  Nicolai  Fetherston. 
ac  Thome  Nyxson,  JfC.  <J-c.  pro  homicidio  WiU. 
Ridle  de  Morale. 


NOTE  N. 

James  back'd  the  cause  of  Ifiat  mock  prince, 
Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 
Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  1  march  with  Surrey's  power, 
What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower. — P.  81. 

The  story  of  Perkin  Warbeck,  or  Richard, 
Duke  of  York,  is  well  known.  In  1496,  he 
was  received  honourably  in  Scotland :  and 
James  IV.,  after  conferring  upon  him  in  mar- 
riage his  own  relation,  the  Lady  Catherine 
Gordon,  made  war  on  En?land  in  behalf  of 
his  pretensions  To  retaliate  an  invasion  of 
England,  Surrey  advanced  into  Berwickshire 
at  the  head  of  considerable  forces,  but  re- 
treat ed,  after  taking  the  inconsiderable  fortress 
of  Ayton.  Ford,  in  his  Dramatic  Chronicle  of 
Perkin  Warbeck,  makes  the  most  of  this  in- 
road: 

«  SURREY. 

"  Are  all  our  braving  enemie*  shrunk  back. 
Hid  in  the  fngge*  of  their  rtislemper'd  climate, 

.:  of  thin  infi-cted  ayre  ?     Can  they 
Lnokc  on  the  Mn-neib  of  rmi.lm.Tinr  uVfic't; 
Thr  elnrie  of  Heyrfnnhall  ,lrvast«i  :  that 
Of  KdiiiBion  cast  downe  ;  Ihe  pile  of  Fuklen 
Orelhrnwnr :  And  thi*.  the  Htroncesl  of  their  forts, 
OU  Ayton  Castle,  yeeMed  and  demolished, 
And  yet  ml  pee{>e  abroad  ?     The  Scot*  are  bold. 


NOTE  0. 

-I  trow, 


Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow ; 

for  here  be  some  have  pricJi'd  as  far, 

Chi  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar ; 

Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 

And  driven  the  beeves  of  Laudtrdale ; 

Horned  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  ooods, 

And  given  them  tight  to  set  their  heads. — P.  81. 

The  garrisons  of  the  English  castles  of 
Wark,  Norham,  and  Berwick,  were,  as  may  be 
easily  supposed,  very  troublesome  neighbours 
to  Scotland  Sir  Kichard  Maitland  of  Lnding- 
ton  wrote  a  poem,  called  "Trie  Blind  Baron's 
Comfort;"  when  his  barony  of  Blvthe.  in  Lau- 
de rd ale,  was  harried  by  Rowland  Fos!  er.  the 
English  captain  of  Wark.  with  his  company, 
to  the  number  of  300  men.  They  spoiled  the 
poetical  knight  of  5000  sheep.  200  noil,  30 
horses  and  mares;  the  whole  furniture  of  his 
house  of  Blythe,  100  pounds  Scots.  (8/.  6s  8W.), 
and  everything  else  that  was  portable.  "This 
spoil  was  committed  the  IGth  day  of  May  1570. 
(and  the  said  Sir  Kichard  was  threescore  and 
fourteen  years  of  age,  and  grown  blind),  in 
time  of  peace  ;  when  nane  of  that  country 
lippened  [expected]  such  a  thing." — "  The  Blind 
Baron's  Comfort"  consists  in  a  strinr  of  puns 
on  the  word  Blythe  the  name  of  the  lands 
thus  despoiled.  Like  John  Littlewit,  he  had 
"a  conceit  left  in  his  misery — a  miserable  con- 
ceil." 

The  last  line  of  the  text  contains  a  phrase, 
by  which  the  Borderers  jocularly  intimated 
the  bunting  a  house.  When  the  Maxwells,  in 
less,  burned  the  Castle  of  l-ochwtmd,  they 
said  they  did  so  to  give  the  Lady  Johnstoue 
"  light  to  set  her  hood."  Nor  was  the  phrase 
inapplicable;  for.  in  a  letter,  to  which  I  have 
mislaid  the  reference,  the  Earl  of  Northum- 
l<eiland  writes  to  the  King  and  Council, that 
he  dressed  himself  at  midnight,  at  Warkworth,  , 
by  the  blaze  of  the  neighbouring  villages  j 
burned  by  the  Scottish  maiauden. 


NOTE  P. 

The  priest  of  Shoreswood — he  could  rein 
The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train. — P.  81. 

This  churchman  seems  to  have  been  akin  to 
Welsh,  the  vicar  of  St.  Thomas  of  Exetrr,  a 
leader  among  the  Cornish  insurgents  in  1.M9. 
"  This  man."  s;iys  Tlolliiushed.  "  hail  many  S'MK] 
things  in  him.  !!>•  \va<  of  no  great  suture, 
lint  well  set.  and  nnghtihe  compact  :  He  \vis 
a  very  good  wrestler:  shot  \\ell.both  in  the 
lons-bow  and  also  in  the  rross-how ;  he  han- 
dled his  hand-gun  and  peece  very  well;  he 


1  Wllltaotmnek  wais  In    prior    nlilinn>,   ronfooiKleil 
with  Hull,  y  Hall.  »nualpd  l«r>  mile.  Inwrr.  on  Ihe  >ame 
•  ide  of  the  Tyne.  the  heredilary  »eal  of  W.lliam  C.  Lowe., 
K«i 

2  Ridley,  the  bishop  and  martyr,  was,  according  to  i 


mithnrttiei.  born  at  Hardridine,  «rbere  a  rhair  wa«  pre. 
served,  eallt-d  Ihe  Bi«lrr.|i'«  Cliair.  Others  and  p:,rli.n- 
larly  his  binerap  her  and  namrsake,  Dr  (il .»:,-~\rr  Ri  :Vy, 
a«!L-u  the  bouour  of  Ibe  martyr'*  birth  to  WHlnnotei*- 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


133 


was  a  very  good  woodman,  and  a  bardie,  and 
such  a  one  as  would  nut  give  his  head  fur  the 
pollm?  <>r  his  beard  fur  tlie  washing.  He  was 
a  companion  m  any  exercise  of  activite,  and 
of  a  courteous  ami  gentle  behaviour.  He  de- 
scended of  a  good  honest  parentage,  being 
borne  at  Peneverm  in  Cornwall ;  and  yet,  in 
this  rebellion,  au  arch  captain  and  a  principal 
doer."— Vol.  iv.  p.  958,  4to.  edition  This 
model  of  clerical  talents  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  hanged  upon  the  steeple  of  his  own 
church.1 


NOTE  Q. 

that  Grot  where  Olives  nod, 

Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Samt  Rosalie  retired  to  God. — P.  82. 

"Saint.  Rosalie  was  of  Palermo,  and  born 
of  a  very  noble  family,  and.  when  very  young, 
abhorred  so  much  the  vanities  of  this  world, 
and  avoided  the  converse  of  mankind,  resolv- 
ing to  dedicate  herself  wholly  to  God  Al- 
mighty, that  she,  by  divine  inspiration,  forsook 
her  father's  house,  and  never  was  more  heard 
of  till  her  body  was  found  in  that  cleft  of  a 
rook,  on  that  almost  inaccessible  mountain, 
where  now  the  chapel  is  built ;  and  they  affirm 
she  was  carried  up  there  by  the  hands  of 
angels ;  for  that  place  was  not  formerly  so  ac- 
cessible (as  now  it  is)  in  the  days  of  the  Saint ; 
and  even  now  it  is  a  very  bad,  and  steepy,  and 
breakneck  way.  In  this  frightful  place,  this 
holy  woman  lived  a  great  many  years,  feeding 
only  on  what  she  found  growing  on  that  bar- 
ren mountain,  and  creeping  into  a  narrow  and 
dreadful  deft  in  a  rock,  which  was  always 
dropping  wet,  and  was  her  place  of  retirement 
as  well  as  prayer  :  having  worn  out  even  the 
rock  with  her  knees  in  a  certain  place,  which 
is  now  open'd  on  purpose  to  show  it  to  those 
wlio  come  here.  This  chapel  is  very  richly 
adorn 'd ;  and  on  the  spot  where  the  Saint's 
deiid  body  was  discover'd,  which  is  just  be- 
neath the  hole  in  the  rock,  wliich  is  open'd  on 
purpose,  as  I  said,  there  is  a  very  fine  statue 
oi  nmrble,  representing  her  in  a  lying  posture, 
railed  in  all  about  with  line  iron  and  brass 
work  ;  and  the  altar,  on  which  they  say  mass, 
is  built  just  over  it."— Voyaye  to  Sicily  and 
Malta,  by  .Mr.  John  Drydeii  (sou  to  the  poet), 
p.  107. 


NOTE  R. 


Himself  still  sleeps  before  ins  beads 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves  and  two  creeds. — P.  82. 

Friar  John  understood  the  soporific  virtue 
of  his  beads  and  breviary,  as  well  as  his  name- 
sa> a  in  Rabelais  "But  Garganrna  could  not 
sleep  by  any  means,  on  which  side  soever  he 
turned  himself  Whereupon  the  monk  said 
to  him,  •  1  never  sleep  soundly  but  when  I  am 
at  sermon  or  prayers :  Let  us  therefore  begin, 
you  and  I,  the  sevi'ii  penitential  psalms,  to  try 
whether  you  shall  not  quickly  fall  asleep.' 


*  hardly  to  be  reminded  of  Iv-auho 


Tlie  conceit  pleased  Gargautua  very  well ; 
ana  beginning  the  first  of  these  psalms,  as 
soon  as  they  came  to  Beati  quorum,  they  fell 
asleep,  both  the  one  and  the  other." 


NOTE  S. 

The  summon'd  Palmer  came  in  place. — P.  82. 

A  Palmer,  opposed  to  a  Pilgrim,  was  one 
who  made  it  his  sole  business  to  visit  different 
holy  shrines ;  travelling  incessantly,  and  sub- 
sisting by  charity :  whereas  the  Pilgrim  retired 
to  his  usual  home  and  occupations,  when  he 
had  paid  his  devotions  at  the  particular  spot 
which  was  the  object  of  his  pilgrimage.  The 
Palmers  seem  to  have  been  tlie  Qtifstianarii 
of  the  ancient  Scottish  canons  1242  and  1296. 
There  is  in  the  Bannatyne  MS  a  burlesque 
account  of  two  such  persons,  entitled, "  Symmy 
and  his  brother."  Their  accoutrements  are 
thus  ludicrously  described,  (I  discard  the  an- 
cient spelling) — 

"Syne  shaped  them  up,  to  loop  on  leas, 

Two  laliarda  of  tlie  lartan  ; 
They  rounled  noueht  what  their  cloula  were 

When  sew'd  them  on.  in  cerlaiu. 
Syue  clampit  up  SI.  Peter's  keys. 

Made  of  an  old  red  gartane  ; 
St.  James's  chrlls,  on  l'  other  side,  shown 

As  pretty  as  a  parlane 
Toe' 


NOTE  T. 

To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound. 
Within  the  mxan-cnvc  to  prat/. 
Where  good  Saint  Rule  his  holy  lay, 
Fiom  midniijht  to  the.  dawn  of  day. 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound.— P.  83. 

St.  Regulus  (Scottice,  St.  Rule),  a  monk  of 
Patne,  m  Acliaia,  warned  by  a  vision,  is  said. 
.  A.  D.  370,  to  have  sailed  westward,  until  he 
landed  at  St.  Andrews  in  Scotland,  where  he 
founded  a  chapel  and  tower.  The  latter  is  still 
standing;  and,  though  we  mav  doubt  the  pre- 
cise date  of  its  foundation,  is  certainly  one  of 
the  most  ancient  edifices  in  Scotland.  A  cave, 
nearly  fronting  the  ruinous  castle  of  the  Arch- 
bishops of  St.  Andrews,  bears  the  name  of  this 
religious  person.  It  is  difficult  of  access ;  and 
the  rock  in  which  it  is  hewed  is  washed  by  the 
German  Ocean.  It  is  nearly  round,  about  ten 
feet  in  diameter,  and  the  same  in  height.  On 
one  side  is  a  sort  of  stone  altar ;  on  the  other 
an  aperture  into  an  inner  den.  where  the 
miserable  ascetic,  who  inhabited  this  dwell- 
ing, probably  slept.  At  full  tide,  egress  and 
regress  are  hardly  practicable.  As  K  unlus 
first  colonized  the  metropolitan  see  of  Scot- 
land, and  converted  the  inhabitants  in  the  vi- 
cinity, he  has  some  reason  to  complain,  that 
the  ancient  name  of  Killrule  (Cella  R'guli) 
should  have  l>een  superseded,  even  in  favour 
of  the  tutelar  saint  of  Scotland.  The  re;ison 
of  the  change  was,  that  St.  Rule  is  said  to  have 
brought  to  Scotland  the  relics  of  St.  Andrew. 


134 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


NOTE  U. 

Saint  Fi'lan's  blfsvd  well. 

Where  spring  ran  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  bruin  restore.— P.  S3. 

Saint  Fillan  was  a  Scottish  saint  of  some 
reputation.  Although  Popery  is,  with  us,  mat- 
ter of  abomination,  yet  the  common  people 
still  retain  some  of  the  superstitions  connected 
with  it.  There  are  in  Perthshire  several  wells 
anil  springs  dedicated  to  St.  Fillan.  which  are  I 
still  places  of  pilgrimage  and  offerings,  even  j 
among  the  Protestants.  They  are  held  pow- 1 
erful  in  cases  of  madness;  and,  in  some  of; 
very  late  occurrence,  lunatics  have  been  left  I 
all  night  bound  tothe  holystone,  in  confidence  ; 
that  the  saint  would  cure  and  unloose  them  I 
before  morning. —  [See  various  notes  to  the 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.] 


NOTE  V. 

The  scents  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourish' d  once  a  forest  fair. — P.  83. 

Ettrick  Forest,  now  a  range  of  mountainous 
sheep-walks,  was  anciently  reserved  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  royal  chase.  Since  it  was  dis- 
parked.  the  wood  has  been,  by  degrees,  almost 
totally  destroyed,  although,  wherever  protect- 
ed from  the  sheep,  copses  soon  arise  without 
any  planting.  When  the  king  hunted  there,  he 
often  summoned  the  arrav  of  the  country  to 
meet  and  assist  his  sport.  Thus,  in  1528.  James 
V.  "made  proclamation  to  all  lords,  barons, 
gentlemen,  landward-meu,  and  freeholders, 
that  they  should  coinpear  at  Edinburgh,  with 
a  month's  victuals,  to  pass  with  the  King 
where  he  pleased,  to  danton  the  thieves  of  Ti- 
viotd.tle.  Annandale,  Lidilisdale,  and  other 
parts  of  that  country ;  and  also  warned  all 
gentlemen  that  had  good  dogs  to  bring  them, 
that  he  might  hunt  in  the  said  country  as  he 
pleased  :  The  whilk  the  Earl  of  Argyle,  the 
Earl  of  Huutley,  the  Earl  of  Athole.  and  so  all 
the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Highland, 
did,  and  brought  their  hounds  with  them  in 
like  manner,  to  hunt  with  the  King,  as  he 
pleased. 

"The  second  day  of  June  the  King  past  out 
of  Edinburgh  tothe  hunting,  with  many  of  the 
nobles  and  gentlemen  of  Scotland  with  him, 
to  the  number  of  twelve  thousand  men  ;  and 
then  past  to  Meggitiand,  and  hounded  and 
hawked  all  the  country  and  bounds:  that  is  to 
say,  Crammat,  Pappert-law,  St.  Mary-laws, 
Carlavrick,  Chapel,  Ewindoores,  and  Long- 
hope  I  heard  say,  he  slew,  iii  these  bounds, 
eighteen  score  of  harts.'' ' 

These  huntings  had.  of  course,  a  military 
character,  and  attendance  upon  them  was  a 
part  of  the  duty  of  a  vassal.  The  act  for  abo- 
lishing ward  or  military  tenures  in  Scotland, 
enumerates  the  services  of  hunting,  hostling. 
watching,  ami  warding,  as  those  which  were 
in  future  to  be  illegal. 

Taylor,  the  water-poet,  has  given  an  account 
of  the  mode  in  which  these  huntings  were 
conducted  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  in  the 

I       1  PUcottie'j  Biaorj  of  Scatlmud,  folio  edition,  p.  143. 


seventeenth  century,  having  been  present  at 
Brsemar  upon  such  an  occasion  : — 

"There  did  T  find  the  truly  noble  and  right 
honourable  lords.  John  Erssiue.  E.irl  of  Mar; 
James  Stewart,  Earl  of  Murray:  George  Gor- 
don, Earl  of  Knave,  son  and  heir  to  the  mar- 
quis of  Huntley ;  James  Kr-kine,  Earl  of  Bu- 
chan ;  and  John.  Lord  Erskme.  son  and  heir 
to  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  their  Countesses,  with 
my  nmcli  honoured,  and  my  Idst  assured  and 
approved  friend.  Sir  William  Murray,  knight 
of  Abercarnev.  and  hundreds  of  others,  knights, 
esquires,  and  their  followers ;  all  and  every 
man.  in  general,  in  one  hahit.  as  if  I.ycurgus 
had  been  there,  and  made  laws  of  equality ; 
for  once  in  the  year,  winch  is  the  whole  month 
of  August,  and  sometimes  part  of  September, 
many  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  king- 
dom (for  their  pleasure)  do  come  into  these 
Highland  countries  to  hunt :  where  they  do 
conform  themselves  to  the  habit  of  the  High- 
land men,  who.  for  the  most  part,  speak  nothing 
but  Irish;  and.  in  former  time,  were  those 
people  which  were  called  the  Red-shanks. 
Their  hahit  is  —  shoes,  with  but  one  sole 
apiece ;  stockings  (which  they  call  short  hose,) 
made  of  a  warm  stuff  of  diverse  colours, 
which  they  call  tartan  ;  as  for  breeches,  many 
of  them,  nor  their  forefathers,  never  wore  any, 
but  a  jerkin  of  the  same  stuff  that  their  hose 
is  of;  their  garters  being  bands  or  wreaths  of 
hay  or  straw;  with  a  plaid  about  their  shoul- 
ders: which  is  a  mantle  of  diverse  colours, 
much  finer  and  lighter  stutf  thim  their  hose  ; 
with  blue  flat  caps  on  their  heads ;  a  handker- 
chief, knit  with  two  knots,  about  their  necks : 
and  thus  are  they  attired.  Now  their  weapons 
are  —  long  bowes  and  forked  arrows,  swords 
and  targets,  harquebusses,  muskets,  durks.and 
Lochaber  axes.  With  these  arms  I  found 
many  (if  them  armed  for  the  hunting.  As  for 
their  attire,  any  man.  of  what  degree  soever, 
that  comes  amongst  them,  must  not  disdain  to 
wear  it ;  for.  if  they  do.  then  they  will  disdain 
to  hunt,  or  willingly  to  bring  in  tlieirdogs;  but 
if  men  be  kind  unto  them,  and  be  in  their 
habit,  then  are  they  conquered  with  kindness, 
and  the  sport  will  be  plentiful.  This  was  the 
reason  that  1  found  so  manv  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  in  those  shapes.  But  to  proceed  to 
the  hunting: — 

"  My  good  Lord  of  Marr  having  put  me  into 
that  shape,  I  rode  with  him  from  his  house, 
where  1  saw  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  called 
the  Castle  of  Kindroghit.  It  was  built  by  King 
Malcolm  Canmore  (for  a  hunting-house,)  who 
reigned  in  Scotland,  when  Edward  the  Confes- 
sor", Harold,  and  Norman  William,  reigned  in 
England.  I  speak  of  it.  because  it  was  the 
last  house  I  saw  in  those  parts ;  for  I  was  the 
space  of  twelve  days  after,  before  I  saw  either 
house,  corn-field,  or  habitation  for  any  crea- 
ture, but  deer,  wild  horses,  wolves,  and  such 
like  creatures,— which  made  me  doubt  that  I 
should  never  have  seen  a  house  again. 

"  Thus,  the  first  day,  we  travelled  eight 
miles,  where  there  were  small  cottages,  built 
on  purpose  to  lodge  in.  which  they  call  Lonqu- 
hards.  I  thank  my  good  Lord  Erskine,  he 
commanded  that  I  should  always  be  lodged  in 
his  lodging :  the  kitchen  being  always  on  the 
side  of  a  bank  :  many  kettles  and  pots  boiling, 
and  many  spits  turning  and  winding,  with, 
great  variety  of  cheer,— as  venison  baked; 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


135 


sodden,  rost,  and  slewed  beef;  mutlon,  audits. 
kid,  hares,  fresh  sal  mini,  pigeons,  hens,  capons, 
<;!urkens.  partridges,  niuir-eools,  heath-cocks, 
oaperkellies,  and  termagants;  good  ale,sacke, 
white  and  claret,  tent  (or  allfjrunt),  with  most 
potent  aquavitis. 

"All  these,  and  more  than  these,  we  had 
couiinualiy  in  superfluous  abundance,  caught 
by  falconers,  fowlers,  fishers,  and  brought  by 
my  lord's  tenants  and  purveyors  to  viclual  our 
camp,  which  consisteth  of  fourteen  or  fifteen 
hundred  men  aud  horses.  The  manner  of  tiie 
limiting  is  thus  :  Five  orsixhundred  men  do  rise 
eai  ly  in  t  be  morni  ng.  and  they  do  disperse  them- 
selves divers  ways,  and  seven,  eight,  or  ten 
miles  compass,  they  do  bring,  or  ciiase  in,  the 
deer  in  many  herds  (two,  three,  or  four  hun- 
dred in  a  herd.)  to  such  or  such  a  place,  as  the 
noblemen  shall  appoint  them;  then,  when  day 
is  come,  the  lords  and  gentlemen  of  their 
companies  do  ride  or  go  to  the  said  places, 
sometimes  wading  up  to  the  middles,  through 
hums  and  rivers;  and  then,  they  being  come 
tii  the  place,  do  lie  down  on  the  ground,  till 
Iliose  foresaid  scouts,  which  are  called  the 
TiokheU,  do  bring  down  the  deer;  but,  as  the 
proverb  says  of  the  bad  cook,  so  these  tinkhell 
iiiun  do  lick  their  own  fingers;  for,  besides 
their  bows  and  arrows,  wiiicii  they  carry  with 
them,  we  can  hear,  now  and  then,  a  harque- 
hu.vi  or  a  musket  go  off.  which  they  do  seldom 
discharge  in  vain.  Then,  after  we  had  staid 
there  three  hours,  or  thereabouts,  we  might 
lierceire  the  deer  appear  on  the  hills  round 
almit  us  (their  heads  making  a  show  like  a 
wood.)  winch,  being  followed  close  by  the 
liukhell,  are  chased  down  into  the  valley 
where  we  lay:  then  all  the  valley,  on  each 
sule,  being  way-laid  with  a  hundred  couple  of 
strung  Irish  greyhounds,  they  are  all  iet  loose, 
xs  occasion  serves,  upon  the  herd  ot'deer,  that 
with  dogs,  guns,  arrows,  durks,  aud  daggers, 
iu  the  space  of  two  hours,  fourscore  tat.  deer 
were  slain ;  which  after  are  disposed  of,  some 
one  way,  and  some  another,  twenty  and  thirty 
miles,  and  more  than  enough  left  for  us,  to 
make  merry  withal,  at  our  rendezvous." 


NOTE  W. 

By  lone  Saint  Mary's  silent  lake.— P.  84. 

This  beautiful  sheet  of  water  forms  the  re- 
servoir from  which  the  Yarrow  takes  its 
source  It  is  Connected  with  a  smaller  lake, 
called  the  Loch  of  Lowes,  and  surrounded  by 
mountains.  In  the  winter,  it  is  s'.ill  frequented 
by  flights  of  wild  swans ;  hence  my  friend  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  lines ; — 

«  The  awnn  on  sweet  St.  M»ry'»  laka 
Floats  double,  swan  uid  aliadow." 

Near  the  lower  extremity  of  the  lake,  are 
the  ruins  of  Dry  hope  tower,  the  birth-plane  of 
Mary  Scott,  daughter  of  Philip  Scott  of  Dry- 
hope,  and  famous  by  the  traditional  name  of 
the  Flower  of  Yarrow.  She  was  married  to 
Walter  Scott  of  Harden,  no  less  renowned  for 
his  depredations,  than  his  bride  for  her  beauty. 
Her  romantic  appellation  was,  in  later  days, 
with  equal  justice,  conferred  on  Miss  Mary 
Lilias  Scott,  the  last  of  the  elder  branch  of  the 


Harden  family.  The  author  well  remembers 
the  talent  and  spirit  of  the  latter  Flower  of 
Yarrow,  though  age  had  ilicn  injured  the 
charms  which  procured  her  the  name  The 
words  usually  sung  to  the  air  of "  Tweedside," 
beginning,  "What  beauties  does  Flora  dis- 
close," were  composed  m  her  honour. 


NOTE  X. 

in  fnidal  strife,  a  fof, 

hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low  — P.  65. 

The  chapel  of  St.  Mary 'of  the  Lowes  (de. 
lacuoHS)  was  situated  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
lake,  to  which  it  gives  name.  It  was  injured 
by  the  clan  of  Scott,  in  a  feud  with  the  Cran- 
stouns;  but  continued  to  be  a  place  of  wor- 
ship during  the  seventeenth  century.  The 
vestiges  of  the  building  can  now  scarcely  be 
traced;  but  the  burial  ground  is  still  used  as 
a  cemetery.  A  funeral,  in  a  spot  so  very  retired, 
has  an  uncommonly  striking  effect.  The  ves- 
tiges of  the  chaplain's  house  are  yet  visible. 
Being  in  a  high  situation,  it  commanded  a  full 
view  of  the  lake,  with  the  opposite  mountain  of 
Bourhope,  belonging,  with  the  lake  itself,  to 
Lord  Napier.  On  the  left  hand  is  the  tower 
of  Dryhope,  mentioned  in  a  preceding  note. 


NOTE  Y. 

the  Wizard' t  grave  ; 

lliat  Wizard  I'nfst's,  whose  bones  are  thnisl 
from  company  of  holy  dust. — P.  85. 

At  one  corner  of  the  burial  ground  of  the 
demolished  chapel,  but  without  its  precincts, 
is  asruall  mouud. called  Binram's  Corse,  where 
tradition  deposits  the  remains  of  a  necroman- 
tic priest,  the  former  tenant  of  the  chaplainry. 
His  story  much  resembles  that  of  Ambrosio  in 
"  The  Monk,"  and  has  teen  made  the  theme 
of  a  ballad,  by  my  friend  Mr.  James  Hogg, 
more  poetically  designed  the  Eltrich.  Shepherd. 
To  his  volume,  entitled  "The  Mountain  Bard," 
which  contains  tins,  and  many  other  legendary 
stories  and  ballads  of  great  merit,  1  refer  the 
curious  reader. 


NOTE  Z. 

Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 
Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch  stone. — 
P.  85. 

Loch-skene  is  a  mountain  lake,  of  consider- 
able size,  at  the  head  of  the  Moffat-water. 
The  character  of  the  scenery  is  uncommonly 
savage ;  and  the  earn,  or  Scottish  eagle,  has.  for 
many  ages,  built  its  nest  yearly  upon  an  islet  in 
the  lake.  Loch-skene  discharges  itself  into  a 
brook,  which,  after  a  short  and  precipitate 
course,  falls  from  a  cataract  of  immense  height, 
and  gloomy  grandeur,  called,  from  its  appear- 
ance, the  "Grey  Mare's  Tail."  The  "Giant's 
Grave,"  afterwards  mentioned,  is  a  sort  of 
trench,  which  bears  that  name,  a  little  way 


136 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


from  the  foot  of  the  cataract  It  has  the  ap- 
pearaiice  of  a  battery,  designed  to  command 
the  pass. 


NOTE  2  A. 

high  Whitby's  cloiiter'd  pile.— P.  85. 

The  Abhey  of  Whithy,  in  the  Archdeaconry 
of  Cleaveland,  on  the  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was 
founded  A.  D.  657,  in  consequence  of  a  vow  of 
Oswy,  King  of  Northumberland.  It  contained 
both  monks  and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order ; 
but,  contrary  to  what  was  usual  in  such  estab- 
lishments, the  abbess  was  superior  to  the 
abbot.  The  monastery  was  afterwards  ruined 
by  the  Danes,  and  rebuilt  by  William  Percy,  in 
the  reign  of  the  Conqueror.  There  were  no 
nuns  there  in  Henry  the  Eighth's  time,  nor 
long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby  Abbey 
are  very  magnificent. 


NOTE  2  B. 

-  St.Cuthbert's  Holy  ble.—P.  85. 


Lindisfarne,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  North- 
umberland, was  called  Holy  Island,  from  the 
sanctity  of  its  ancient  monastery,  and  from  its 
having  been  the  episcopal  seat  of  the  see  of 
Durham  during  the  early  ages  of  British  Chris- 
tianity. A  succession  of  holy  men  held  that 
office  ;  but  their  merits  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert,  who  was 
sixth  Bishop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestowed 
the  name  of  his  ••  patrimony  "  upon  the  exten- 
sive property  of  the  see.  The  ruins  of  the 
monastery  upon  Holy  Island  betoken  great  an- 
tiquity. The  arches  are,  in  general,  strictly 
Saxon ;  and  the  pillars  which  support  them, 
short,  strong,  and  massy.  In  some  places, 
however,  there  are  pointed  windows,  which 
indicate  that  the  building  has  been  repaired  at 
a  period  long  subsequent  to  the  original  foun- 
dation. The  exterior  ornaments  of  the  build- 
ing, being  of  a  light  sandy  stone,  have  been 
wasted,  as  described  in  the  text.  Lindisfarne 
is  not  properly  an  island,  but  rather,  as  the 
venerable  Bede  has  termed  it.  a  semi-isle;  for, 
although  surrounded  by  the  sea  at  full  tide,  the 
ebb  leaves  the  sands  dry  between  it  and  the 
opposite  coast  of  Northumberland,  from  which 
it  is  about  three  miles  distant. 


NOTE  2C. 

Then  Whilby'a  nuns  exulting  told 
How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 
Must  menial  service  do. — P.  87. 

The  popular  account  of  this  curious  service, 
which  was  probably  considerably  exaggerated, 
is  thus  given  in  ••  A  True  Account,"  printed 
and  circulated  at  Whitby  :  "  In  the  fifth  year 
of  the  reign  nf  Henry  II.,  after  the  conquest 
of  England  by  William.  Duke  of  Normandv 
the  Lord  of  Ugl<-b.-irnhy,  then  called  William 
de  Bruce ;  the  Lord  of  Smeaton.  called  Ralph 
de  Percy;  with  a  gentleman  and  freeholder 


called  Allatson.  did.  on  the  16th  of  October. 
1159,  appoint  to  meet  and  hunt  the  wild-boar, 
in  a  certain  wood,  or  desert  place,  belonging  to 
the  Abbot  of  Whitbv  ;  the  place's  name  was 
Eskdale-side;  and  the  abbot's  name  was  Seil- 
man.  Then,  these  young  gentlemen  being 
met,  with  their  hounds  and  boar-staves,  in  the 
place  before  mentioned,  and  there  having 
found  a  great  wild-boar,  the  hounds  ran  him 
well  near  about  the  chapel  and  hermitage  of 
Eskdale-side,  where  was  a  monk  of  Whitby, 
who  was  an  hermit.  The  boar,  being  very 
sorely  pursued,  and  dead-run,  took  in  at  the 
chapel-door,  there  laid  him  down,  and  pre- 
sently died.  The  hermit  shut  the  hounds  out 
of  the  chapel,  and  kept  himself  wiihm  at  his 
meditations  and  prayers,  the  hounds  standing 
at  bay  without.  The  gentlemen,  in  the  thick 
of  the  wood,  being  just  behind  their  game,  fol- 
lowed the  cry  of  their  hounds,  and  so  came 
to  the  hermitage,  calling  on  the  hermit,  who 
opened  the  door  and  came  forth ;  and  within 
they  found  the  lioar  lying  dead  :  for  which,  the 
gentlemen,  in  a  very  great  fury,  because  the 
hounds  were  put  from  their  game,  did  most 
violently  and  cruelly  run  at  the  hermit  with 
their  boar-staves,  whereby  he  soon  after  died. 
Thereupon  the  gentlemen,  perceiving  and 
knowing  that  they  were  in  peril  of  death, 
took  sanctuary  at  Scarborough  :  But  at  that 
time  the  abbot  being  in  very  great  favour  with 
the  King,  removed  them  out  of  the  sanctuary : 
whereby  they  came  in  danger  of  the  law,  and 
not  to  be  privileged,  but  likely  to  have  the  se- 
verity of  the  law.  which  was'death  for  death. 
But  the  hermit,  being  a  holy  and  devout  man, 
and  at  the  point  of  death,  sent  for  the  abbot, 
and  desired  him  to  send  forthe  gentlemen  who 
had  wounded  him.  The  abbot  so  doing,  the 
gentlemen  came  ;  and  the  hermit,  being  very 
sick  and  weak,  said  unto  them, '  1  am  sure  to 
die  of  those  wounds  yon  have  given  me.'  — 
The  abbot  answered.  'They  shall  as  surely 
die  for  the  same.'— But  the  hermit  answered, 
'  Not  so.  for  I  will  freely  forgive  them  my 
death,  if  they  will  be  content  to  be  enjoined 
the  penance  I  shall  lay  on  them  for  the  safe- 
guard of  their  souls.'  The  gentlemen  being 
present,  bade  him  save  their  lives.  Then  said 
the  hermit.  •  You  and  yours  shall  hold  your 
lands  of  the  Abbot  of  "Whitby,  and  his  "suc- 
cessors, in  this  manner:  That,  upon  Ascen- 
sion-day, you,  or  some  of  you,  shall  come  to 
the  wood'of  the  Stray-heads,  which  is  in  Esk- 
dale-side. the  same  day  at  sun- rising,  and 
there  shall  the  abbot's  officer  blow  his  horn, 
to  the  intent  that  you  may  know  where  to  find 
him;  and  heshaU'deliver  unto  you,  William  de 
Bruce,  ten  stakes,  eleven  strout  stowers,  and 
eleven  yethers,  to  be  cut  by  you,  or  some  of 
you,  with  a  knife  of  one  penny  price  :  and  you, 
Ralph  de  Percy.shall  take  twenty-one  of  each 
sort, to  be  cut  in  the  same  manner;  and  you, 
Allatson,  shall  take  nine  of  each  sort,  to  be 
cut.  as  aforesaid,  and  to  be  taken  on  your  backs 
and  carried  to  the  town  of  Whitby.'and  to  be 
there  before  nine  of  the  clock  the  same  day 
before  mentioned.  At  the  same  hour  of  nine 
of  the  cl.ick,  if  it  be  full  sea.  j-our  labour  and 
service  shall  cease;  and  if  low  wafer,  each  of 
you  shall  set  your  stakes  to  the  brim,  each 
stake  one  yard  from  the  other,  and  so  yether 
them  on  each  sidu  with  your  yethers  ;  and  so 
stake  on  each  side  with  your  strout  stowers, 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


137 


that  they  may  stand  three  tides  without  re- 
moving by  the  force  thereof.  Each  of  you 
shall  do,  make,  and  execute  the  said  service, 
at  that  very  hour,  every  year,  except  it  be  full 
sea  at  that  hour;  hut  when  it  shall  so  fall 
out,  this  service  shall  cease.  You  shall  faith- 
fully do  this,  in  remembrance  that  ynu  did 
most  cruelly  slay  me ;  and  that  you  may  the 
better  call  to  God  for  mercy,  repent  unfeign- 
eclly  of  your  sins,  and  do  good  words.  The 
officer  of  Eskilale-side  shall  blow,  put  on  you ! 
Out  on  you!  Out  on  you!  for  this  heinous 
crime.  If  you,  or  your  successors,  shall  refuse 
this  service,  so  long  as  it  shall  not  be  full  sea 
at  the  aforesaid  hour,  you  or  yours,  shall  for- 
feit your  lands  to  the  Abbot  of  Whitby,  or  his 
successors.  This  I  entreat,  and  earnestly  beg. 
that  you  may  have  lives  and  goods  preserved 
for  this  service  :  and  I  request  of  you  to  pro- 
mise, by  your  parts  in  Heaven,  that  it  shall  be 
done  by  you  and  your  successors,  as  is  afore- 
said requested,  and  I  will  confirm  it  by  the 
faith  of  an  honest  man.'  —  Then  the  hermit 
said, '  My  soul  longeth  for  the  Lord  :  and  I  do 
as  freely  forgive  these  men  my  death  as  Christ 
forgave  the  thieves  on  the  cross.'  And,  in  the 
presence  of  the  abbot  and  the  rest,  he  said 
moreover  these  words  :  '  In  mama  tuos,  Do- 
mine,  comtnendo  spiritual  metim,  a  vinatlis  enim 
mortis  redemisti  me,  Domine  vtritalis.  Amen.' 
—So  he  yielded  up  the  ghost  the  eighth  day 
of  December,  anno  Domini  1159,  whose  soul 
God  have  mercy  upon.  Amen. 

"This  service,"  it  is  added,  "still  continues 
to  be  performed  with  the  prescribed  ceremo- 
nies, though  not  by  the  proprietors  in  person. 
Part  of  the  lands  charged  therewith  are  now 
held  by  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Herbert." 


NOTE  2  D. 


in  their  convent  cell 

A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell, 
Tfte  lovely  EdelJkd.—P.  87. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Kins  Oswy,  who, 
in  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  the  great  victory 
which  he  won  in  055.  against  Penda,  the  Pagan 
King  of  Mercia,  dedicated  Edelfleda.  then  but 
a  year  old,  to  the  service  of  God,  in  the  mo- 
nastery of  Whitby,  of  which  St.  Hilda  was 
then  abbess.  She  afterwards  adorned  the 
place  of  her  education  with  great  magnifi- 
cence. 


NOTE  2E. 


-  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 


Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

Wten  holy  Hilda  pray'd ; 
They  told,  fioic  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail. 
As  over  Whitby' a  towers  they  sail. — P.  87. 

These  two  miracles  are  much  insisted  upon 
by  all  ancient  writers  who  have  occasion  to 
mention  either  Whitby  or  St.  Hilda.  The 
relics  of  the  snakes  which  infested  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  convent,  and  were,  at  the  abbess's 
prayer,  not  only  beheaded,  but  petrified,  are 


still  found  about  the  rocks,  and  are  termed  by 
Protestant  fossilists,  Ammonitce. 

The  other  miracle  is  thus  mentioned  by 
Camden  :  "  It  is  also  ascribed  to  the  power  of 
her  sanctity,  that  these  wild  geese,  which,  in 
the  winter,  fly  in  great  flocks  to  the  lakes  and 
rivers  unfrozen  in  the  southern  parts,  to  the 
reat  amazement  of  every  one,  fall  down  sud- 
enly  upon  the  ground,  when  they  are  in  their 
flight  over  certain  neighbouring  fields  here- 
abouts :  a  relation  I  should  not  have  made,  if 
I  had  not  received  it  from  several  credible 
men.  But  those  who  are  less  inclined  to  heed 
superstition,  attribute  it  to  some  occult  quality 
in  the  ground,  and  to  somewhat  of  antipathy 
between  it  and  the  geese,  such  as  they  say  is 
betwixt  wolves  and  scy  Unroots :  For  that  such 
hidden  tendencies  and  aversions,  as  we  call 
sympathies  and  antipathies,  are  implanted  in 
many  things  by  provident  Nature  for  the  pre- 
servation of  them,  is  a  thing  so  evident  that 
every  body  grants  it."  Mr.  Charlton,  in  his 
History  of  Whitby,  points  out  the  true  origin 
of  the  fable,  from  the  number  of  sea-gulls 
that,  when  flying  from  a  storm,  often  alight 
near  Whitby ;  and  from  the  woodcocks,  and 
other  birds  of  passage,  who  do  the  same  upon 
their  arrival  on  shore,  after  a  long  flight. 


NOTE  2  F. 

ffis  body's  resting-place,  of  old. 

How  oft  their  Patron  changed,  they  told.— P.  87. 

St.  Cuthbert  was,  in  the  choice  of  his  sepul- 
chre, one  of  the  most  mutable  and  unreason- 
able saints  in  the  Calendar.  He  died  A.  D. 
688.  in  a  hermitage  upon  the  Fame  Islands, 
having  resigned  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne, 
or  Holy  Island,  about  two  years  before.'  His 
Ixidy  was  brought  to  Lindisfarne,  where  it  re- 
mained until  a  descent  of  the  Danes,  about 
793,  when  the  monastery  was  nearly  de- 
stroyed. The  monks  fled  to  Scotland  with 
what  they  deemed  their  chief  treasure,  the 
relics  of  St.  Cuthbert.  The  Saint  was,  how- 
ever, a  most  capricious  fellow-traveller ;  which 
was  the  more  intolerable,  as,  like  Sinbad's 
Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  he  journeyed  upon  the 
shoulders  of  his  companions.  They  paraded 
him  through  Scotland  for  several  years,  and 
came  as  far  west  as  Whithern,  in  Galloway, 
whence  they  attempted  to  sail  for  Ireland,  but 
were  driven  back  by  tempests.  He  at  length 
made  a  halt  at  Norham  ;  from  thence  he  went 
to  Melrose,  where  he  remained  stationary  for 
a  short  time,  and  then  caused  himself  to  be 
launched  upon  the  Tweed  in  a  stone  coffin, 
which  landed  him  at  Tilmouth,  in  Northum- 
berland. This  boat  is  finely  shaped,  ten  feet 
long,  three  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and 
only  four  inches  thick ;  so  that,  with  very  little 
assistance,  it  might  certainly  have  swam  :  it 
stili  lies,  or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years  ago,  in 
two  pieces,  beside  the  ruined  chapel  of  Til- 
mouth.  From  Tilmouth,  Cuthbert  wandered 
into  Yorkshire;  and  at  length  made  a  long 
stay  at  Chester-le-sl reel,  to  which  the  bishop's 
see  was  transferred.  At  length,  the  Danes, 


1   He   resumed   the  bishopric    of    Lindisfarne,  which, 
thre'emon't'hn  before  hi*,  death''--'  Ra'ice's  SI.  CvlMxrl. 


138 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


continuing  to  infest  the  country,  the  monks 
removed  to  Rifipon  lor  a  season  ;  and  it  \V;LS  in 
return  Irorn  thence  to  Cliester-le-street,  that 
passing  through  a  forest  called  Dunholme.  the 
Saint  aud  his  carriage  liecame  irnmoveable  at 
a  place  called  Wiirulaw,  or  Wanlilaw.  Here 
the  Saint  chose  his  place  of  residence ;  and 
all  wlio  have  seen  Durham  must  admit,  that. 
if  difficult  in  his  choice,  he  evinced  tasle  in  at 
length  fixing  it.  It  is  said  that  the  Northum- 
brian Catholics  still  keep  secret  the  precise 
spot  of  the  Saint's  sepulture,  which  is  only  en- 
trusted to  three  persons  at  a  time.  When  one 
dies,  the  survivors  associate  to  them,  in  his 
room,  a  person  judged  tit  to  be  the  depositary 
of  so  valuable  a  secret. 

[The  resting-place  of  the  remains  of  this 
Saint  is  not  now  matter  of  uncertainty.  So 
recently  as  17th  May  1827.  1139  years  alter  his 
death,  iheir  discovery  and  dismtermeiit  were 
effected.  Under  a  blue  stone,  in  the  middle 
of  the  shrine  of  St.  Cuthbert.  at  the  eastern 
extremity  of  the  choir  of  Durham  Cathedral, 
there  was  then  found  a  wailed  grave,  contain- 
ing the  cotfms  of  the  Saint.  The  first,  or 
outer  one.  was  ascertained  to  be  that  of  1541, 
the  second  of  1U41 ;  the  third,  or  inner  one, 
answering  in  every  particular  to  the  descrip- 
tion of  that  of  698.  was  found  to  contain,  not 
indeed,  as  had  been  averred  then,  and  even 
until  1539,  the  incorruptible  hodv,  but  the  en- 
tire skeleton  of  the  Saint :  the  "bottom  of  the 
grave  being  perfectly  dry.  free  from  offensive 
smell,  and  without  the  slightest  symptom  that 
a  human  body  had  ever  undergone  decompo- 
sition within  its  walls.  The  skeleton  was 
fnund  swathed  in  five  silk  robes  of  emble- 
matical embroidery,  the  ornamental  parts  laid 
with  gold  leaf,  and  these  again  covered  with  a 
robe  of  linen.  Beside  tiie  skeleton  were  also 
deposited  several  gold  and  silver  iitsiynia,  and 
other  relics  of  the  Saint. 

The  Roman  Catholics  now  allow  that  the 
coffin  was  that  of  St.  Cuthliert. 

The  bones  of  the  Saint  were  again  restored 
to  the  grave  in  a  new  coffin,  amid  the  frag- 
ments of  the  former  ones.  Those  portions  of 
the  inner  coffin  which  could  be  preserved,  in- 
cluding one  of  its  rings,  with  the  silver  altar, 
golden  cross,  stole. comb,  two  maniples, brace- 
lets, girdle,  gold  wire  of  the  skeleton,  and 
fragments  of  the  five  silk  robes,  and  some  of 
the  rings  of  the  outer  coffin  made  in  1541,  were 
deposited  in  the  library  of  the  Dean  and  Chan- 
ter, where  they  are  now  preserved. 

For  ample  details  of  the  life  of  St.  Cuthbert, 
—his  coffin-journeys, — an  account  of  the  open- 
ing of  his  tomb,  and  a  description  of  the  silk 
robes  and  other  relics  found  in  it,  the  reader 
interested  in  such  matters  is  referred  to  a  work 
i  entitled  "Saint  Cnthbert,  by  James  Kaine, 
'  M  A.,"  (4to,  Durham,  1828.)  where  he  will  rind 
much  of  antiquarian  history,  ceremonies,  and 
superstitions,  to  gratify  his  curiosity.]— Ed. 


NOTE  2  G. 

Even  Scotland's  dimnt'jss  king,  and  heir,  <J-c. 
Before  /us  standard  Jltd.—V.  88. 

Every  one  has  heard,  that  when  David  I., 
tfith  his  son  Henry,  invaded  Northumberland 


in  1136,  the  English  host  marched  against  them 
under  the  holy  banner  of  St  Culhbert;  to  the 
efficacy  of  which  was  imputed  the  great  vic- 
tory which  they  obtained  in  the  bloody  battle 
of  Nurthallerton,  or  Cutonmoor.  The  con- 
querors were  at  least  as  much  indebted  to  the 
jealonsy  and  intractability  of  the  different 
tribes  who  composed  David's  army:  among 
whom,  as  mentioned  in  the  text,  were  the 
Galwegians,  the  Britons  of  Strath-Clyde,  the 
men  of  Teviotilale  and  Lothian,  with  many 
Norman  and  German  warriors,  who  asserteii 
the  cause  of  the  Empress  Maud.  See  Chal- 
mers' CaUdonia,  vol.  i.  p.  622;  a  most  labo- 
rious, curious,  and  interesting  publication, 
from  which  considerable  defects  of  style  and 
manner  ought  not  to  turn  aside  the  Scottish 
antiquary. 


NOTE  2  II. 

'Twos  Ttt.  to  vindicate  his  reign, 
Edyed  Alfred's  fnlfhion  on  the  Dane, 
And  turn  the  Conqueror  back  again. — P.  88. 
Cuthbert,  we  have  seen,  had  no  great  reason 
to  spare  the  Danes,  when  opportunity  offered. 
Accordingly,  I  find,  in  Simeon  of  Durham,  that 
the  Saint  appeared  in  a  vision  to  Alfred,  when 
lurking  in  the  marshes  of  Glastonbury,  and 
promised  him  assistance  and  victory  over  his 
lie, alien  enemies ;  a  consolation,  which,  as 
was  reasonable,  Alfred,  after  the  victory  of 
Ashendown,  rewarded,  by  a  royal  offering  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Saint.  As  to  William  the 
Conqueror,  the  terror  spread  bfifore  his  army, 
when  he  marched  to  punish  the  revolt  of  the 
Northumbrians,  in  1096,  had  forced  the  monks 
to  fly  once  more  to  Holy  Island  with  the  body 
of  the  Saint.  It  was.  however,  replaced  before 
William  left,  the  north;  and.  te  balance  ac- 
counts, the  Conqueror  having  intimated  an  in- 
discreet curiosity  to  view  the  Saint's  body,  he 
was.  while  in  'the  act  of  commanding  the 
shrine  to  be  opened,  seized  with  heat  and 
sickness,  accompanied  with  such  a  panic  ter- 
ror, that,  notwithstanding  there  was  a  sump- 
tuous dinner  prepared  for  him,  he  fled  without 
eating  a  morsel,  (which  the  monkish  historian 
seems  to  have  thought  no  small  part  both  of 
tlie  miracle  and  the  penance),  and  never  drew 
his  bridle  till  he  got  to  the  river  Tees. 


NOTE  2  I. 

Saint  Culhbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name. — P.  88. 

Although  we  do  not  learn  that  Cuthbert 
was,  during  his  life,  such  an  artificer  as  Duu- 
stan,  his  brother  in  sanctity,  yet.  since  his 
death,  he  has  acquired  the  reputation  of  forg- 
ing those  Entrocht  which  are  found  among  the 
rocks  of  Holy  Island,  and  pass  there  by  the 
name  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Beads.  While  at  this 
is  supposed  to  sit  during  the  night  upon 
a  certain  rock,  aud  use  another  as  his  anvil. 
This  story  was  perhaps  credited  in  former 
days ;  at  least  the  Saint's  legeud  contains  some 
not  more  probable. 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


139 


tory."    H 
;iri(i  retir 


NOTE  2K. 

Old  Colwulf.— P.  88. 

Ceolwnlf,  or  Colwulf,  King  of  Northumber- 
land, flourished  in  the  eighth  century.  He 
was  a  man  of  some  learning ;  for  the  venerable 
Bede  dedicates  to  him  Ins  "  Ecclesiastical  His- 
He  abdicated  the  throne  about  733, 
ired  to  Holy  Island,  where  he  died  in 
the  odour  of  sanctity  Saint  as  Colwulf  was, 
however,  1  fear  the  foundation  of  the  penance 
vault  does  not  correspond  with  his  character : 
for  it  is  recorded  among  his  memorabilia,  that, 
finding  the  air  of  the  island  raw  and  cold,  he 
indulged  the  monks,  whose  rule  had  hitherto 
confined  them  to  milk  or  water,  with  the  com- 
fortable privilege  of  using  wine  or  ale.  If  any 
rigid  antiquary  insists  on  this  objection,  he  is 
welcome  to  suppose  the  penance-vault  was 
intended,  by  the  founder,  for  the  more  genial 
purposes  of  a  cellar. 

These  penitential  vaults  were  the  Geissel- 
gevmlbe  of  German  convents.  In  the  earlier 
and  more  rigid  times  of  monastic  discipline, 
they  were  sometimes  used  as  a  cemetery  for 
the  lay  benefactors  of  the  convent,  whose  un- 
sanctilied  corpses  were  then  seldom  permitted 
to  pollute  the  choir.  They  also  served  as 
places  of  meeting  for  the  chapter,  when  mea- 
sures of  uncommon  severity  were  to  be  adopt- 


|the  same  penalty  as  the  Roman  vestals  in  a 
similar  case.  A  small  niche,  sufficient  to  en- 
close their  bodies,  was  made  in  the  massive 
wall  of  the  convent ;  a  slender  pittance  of 
food  and  water  was  deposited  in  it,  and  the 
awful  words,  Vaile  m  I'ace,  were  the  signal  for 
immuring  the  criminal.  It  is  not  likely  that, 
in  latter  times,  this  punishment  was  often  re- 
sorted to;  but,  among  the  ruins  of  the  Abbey 
of  Coldingham,  were  some  years  ago  disco- 
vered  the  remains  of  a  female  skeleton,  which, 
from  the  shape  of  the  niche,  and  position  of 
the  figure,  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  immured 
nun 

[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  on  st.  xxxii.  post, 
suggests  that  the  proper  reading  of  the  sen- 
tence is  vatic  in  pacem — not  part  in  peace,  but 
go  into  peace,  or  into  eternal  rest,  a  pretty  in- 
telligible mittimus  to  another  world.] 

NOTE  2N. 

The  village  inn.— P.  93. 

The  accommodations  of  a  Scottish  hostelrie, 
or  inn,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  may  be  col- 
lected from  Dunbar's  admirable  tale  of  "  The 
Friars  of  Berwick."  .Simon  Lawder.  "  the  gay 
ostlier,"  seems  to  have  lived  very  comfortably ; 
and  his  wife  decorated  her  person  with  a  scar- 


penances,  or  undergoing  punishment. 

NOTE  2  L. 

Tyncmouth's  haughty  Prioress.— P.  88. 


ed.  But  their  most  frequent  use,  as  implied  iet  kir,lei  alld  a  bt,It  ()f  sj'lk  anj  silver  an(1 
by  the  name,  was  as  places  for  performing  rings  Up(m  ner  fil,gers;  and  feiisted  her  para- 
mour with  rabbits,  capons,  partridges,  and  Bor- 
deaux wine.  At  least,  if  the  Scottish  inns 
were  not  good,  it  was  not  for  want  of  encou- 
ragement from  the  legislature;  who,  so  early 
as  the  reign  of  James  I.,  not  only  enacted,  that 
in  all  boroughs  and  fairs  there  be  hostellaries, 
having  stables  and  chambers,  and  provision  for 
That  there  was  an  ancient  priory  at  Tyne-  man  and  horse,  but  by  another  statute,  or- 
mouth  is  certain.  Its  ruins  are  situated  on  a  '  dained  that  uo  man,  travelling  on  horse  or  foot, 
high  rocky  point ;  and,  doubtless,  many  a  vow  ,  should  presume  to  lodge  any  where  except  in 
was  made  to  the  shrine  by  the  distressed  ma-  ;  these  hostellaries ;  and  that  no  person,  save 
riners  who  drove  towards  the  iron-bound  coast  |  innkeepers,  should  receive  such  travellers, 
of  Northumberland  in  stormy  weather.  It ;  under  the  penalty  of  fortv  shillings,  for  exer- 
was  anciently  a  nunnery;  for  Virca.  abbess  cising  such  hospitality.  1  But,  in  spite  of  these 
of  Tyuemouth,  presented  St.  Cuthbert  (yet  |  provident  enactments,  the  Scottish  hostels  are 
alive)  with  a  rare  winding-sheet,  in  emulation  i  but  indifferent,  and  strangers  continue  to  find 
of  a  holy  lady  called  Tuda,  who  had  sent  him  ;  reception  in  the  houses  of  individuals, 
a  coffin:  But,  as  iu  the  case  of  Whitby,  and 
of  Holy  Island,  the  introduction  of  nuns  at 
Tyuemouth  in  the  reiirn  of  Henry  VIII.  is  an 

anachronism.     The  nunnery  at  Holy  Island  is  NOTE   2  0. 

altogether  fictitious.   Indeed.St.  Cuthbert  was 
unlikely  to  permit  such  an  establishment ;  for,  The  death  of  a  dear  friend.— P.  94. 

^SySSSSSAS^SSfS^  ^n™!   .  Among  other  omens  to  which  faithful  credit 


inflicteJ  severe  penances  on  such  as  presumed*   ^'tells'^stmy  to  the  purpose  in  the  "  Moun- 


inicteJ  severe  p.mances  on  such  as  presumed  H«  ;  n,  .,  g  ,  v 
to  approach  withm  a  certain  distance  of  his  tarn  Bard  "o  26 
shrine. 


NOTE  2  M. 

On  those  the  wall  iras  to  enclose. 
Alice,  uiitliai  the  tomb.— P.  89. 
It  is  well  known,  that  the   religious,  who 
broke  their  vows  of  chastity,  were  subjected  to 


e  yoiide: 


'  ;  heard  the  dead-bell ! 


"By  the  dead-bell  is  meant  a  tinkling  in  the 
ears,  which  our  peasantry  in  the  country  re- 
gard as  a  secret  intelligence  of  some  friend's 
decease.  Thus  this  natural  occurrence  strikes 


Uaraenl.  Parlia 


tl.  cap.  34;  Tarti! 


nl  III.  tap.  56. 


140 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


many  with  a  superstitious  awe.  This  reminds 
me  of  a  trifling  anecdote,  which  I  will  here 
relate  as  an  instance  : — Our  two  servant-girls 
agreed  to  go  an  errand  of  their  own,  one  night 
after  supper,  to  a  considerable  distance,  from 
which  I  strove  to  persuade  them,  hut  could 
not  prevail.  So.  after  going  to  the  apartment 
where  I  slept,  I  took  a  drinking-glass,  and, 
coming  close  to  the  hack  of  the  door,  made 
two  or  three  sweeps  round  the  lips  of  the  glass 
with  my  finger,  which  caused  a  loud  shrill 
sound.  I  then  overheard  the  following  dia- 
logue :— '  B.  Ah,  mercy !  the  dead-bell  went 
through  my  head  just  now  with  such  a  knell 
as  I  never  heard.' — '/  I  heard  it  too.' — 'B.  Did 
you  indeed?  That  is  remarkable.  I  never 
knew  of  two  hearing  it  at  the  same  time  be- 
fore.'— '  /.  We  will  not  go  to  Midgehope  to- 
night.'— '  B.  I  would  not  go  for  all  the  world  ! 
1  shall  warrant  it  is  my  poor  brother  Wat ;  who 
knows  what  these  wild  Irishes  may  have  done 
to  him  V  "—Hogg's  Mountain  Bard,  3d  Edit.  p. 
31-2.] 


NOTE  2  P. 

The  Goblin-HaU.—P.  95. 

A  vaulted  hall  under  the  ancient  castle  of 
Gifford  or  Yester,  (for  it  bears  either  name  in- 
differently.) the  construction  of  which  has 
from  a  very  remote  period  been  ascrilwd  to 
ma^ic.  The  statistical  Account  of  the  Parish 
of  Garvald  and  Baro  gives  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  present  state  of  this  castle  and 
apartment :  —  "  Upon  a  peninsula,  formed  by 
the  water  of  Hopes  on  the  east,  and  a  large 
rivulet  on  the  west,  stands  the  ancient  castle 
of  Yester.  Sir  David  Dalrymple.in  his  Annals, 
relates,  that  'Hugh  Gifford  de  Yester  died  in 
1267;  that  in  his  castle  there  was  a  capacious 
cavern,  formed  by  magical  art,  and  called  in 
the  country  Bo-Hall,  t.  «.  Hobgoblin  Hall.'  A 
stair  of  twenty-four  steps  led  down  to  this 
apartment,  which  is  a  large  and  spacious  hall, 
with  an  arched  roof;  and  though  it  hath  stood 
for  so  many  centuries,  and  been  exposed  to  the 
external  air  for  a  period  of  fifty  or  sixty  years, 
it  is  still  as  firm  and  entire  as  if  it  had  only 
stood  a  few  years.  From  the  floor  of  this  hall, 
another  stair  of  thirty-six  steps  leads  down  to 
a  pit  which  hat  ha  communication  with  Hopes- 
water.  A  great  part  of  the  walls  of  t  his  large 
and  ancient  castle  are  still  standing.  There 
is  a  tradition,  that  the  castle  of  i" ester  was  the 
last  fortification,  in  this  country,  that  surren- 
dered to  General  Gray,  sent  into  Scotland  by 
Protector  Somerset."  Statistical  Account,  vol. 
xiii.— 1  have  only  to  add,  that,  in  1737,  the  Gob- 
lin Hall  wiis  tenanted  bv  the  Marquis  of  Tweed- 
dale's  falconer,  as  I  [earn  from  a  poem  by 
Boyse,  entitled  "Retirement,"  written  upon 
visiting  Yester.  It  is  now  rendered  inaccessi- 
ble by  the  fall  of  the  stair 

Sir  David  Dalrymple's  authority  for  the  an- 
ecdote is  in  Fordun.  whose  words  are, — "A 
I).  MCCLXVIT.  HtyoGiffard.de  Yester  moriter; 
cujus  castrum.  vel  saltern  cmxam.  et  dongionem, 
arte  dttmonica  antiqua  relaliones  ferunt  fabrifac- 
tus :  nrtm  Milan  habeiur  mirabUis  speats  suhter- 
raneus,  opera  minfico  constructus,  mngno  terra- 
rum  spatio  protelatus,  qui  communiter  Somali 
apptUatus  esl."  Lib.  X.  cap.  21.— Sir  David  con- 


jectures, that  Hugh  de  Gifford  must  either 
have  been  a  very  wise  man,  or  a  great  oppres- 
sor. 


NOTE  2  Q. 

There  floated  Horn's  banner  trim 

Above  the  Norweyan  warriors  grim. — P.  95. 

In  1263,  Haco.  King  of  Norway,  came  into 
the  Frith  of  Clyde  with  a  powerful  armament, 
and  made  a  descent  at  Largs,  in  Ayrshire. 
Here  he  was  encountered  and  defeated,  on  the 
2d  of  October,  by  Alexander  III.  Haco  re- 
treated to  Orkney,  where  he  died  soon  after 
this  disgrace  to  his  arms.  There  are  still  ex- 
isting, near  the  place  of  battle,  many  barrows, 
some  of  which,  having  been  opened,  were 
found,  as  usual,  to  contain  bones  and  urns. 


NOTE  2  R. 

The  wizard  habit  strange.—  P.  95. 

Magicians,  as  is  well  known,  were  very 
curious  in  the  choice  and  form  of  their  vest- 
ments Their  caps  are  oval,  or  like  pyramids, 
with  lappets  on  ear.h  side,  and  fur  within. 
Their  gowns  are  long,  and  furred  with  fox- 
skins,  under  which  they  have  a  linen  garment 
reaching  to  the  knee.  Their  girdles  are  three 
inches  broad,  and  have  many  cabalistical 
names,  with  crosses,  trines,  and  circles  in- 
scribed on  them.  Their  shoes  should  be  of 
new  russet  leather,  with  a  cross  cut  upon 
them.  Their  knives  are  dagger-fashion;  and 
their  swords  have  neither  guard  nor  scat>- 
bard."  —  See  these,  and  many  other  particu- 
lars, in  the  Discourse  concerning  Devils  and 
Spirits,  annexed  to  Reginald  Scott's  Discovery 
of  Witchcraft,  edition  Itioo. 


NOTE  2S. 

Upon  his  breast  a  pentode. — P.  95. 

"  A  pentacle  is  a  piece  of  fine  linen,  folded 
ith  five  corners,  according  to  the  rive  senses. 
and  suitably  inscribed  with  characters.  This 
the  magician  extends  towards  the  spirits  which 
he  invokes,  when  they  are  stubborn  and  rebel- 
lious, and  refuse  to  be  conformable  unto  the 
ceremonies  and  rites  of  magic." — See  the  Dis- 
courses, ic.  above  mentioned,  p.  66. 


NOTE  2T. 

As  bnrn  upon  that  blessed  night. 
When  yaimung  gruvft  nnd  dying  groan 
Proclaimed  Hell's  empire  overthrown.— P.  96. 

It  is  a  popular  article  of  faith,  that  those  who 
are  born  on  Chr^tmas  or  Good  Friday,  have 
the  power  of  seeing  spirits,  and  even  of  com- 
manding them.  The  Spaniards  imputed  the 
haggard  and  downcast  looks  of  their  Philip  II 
to  the  disagreeable  visions  to  which  this  privi- 
lege subjected  him. 


APPENDIX  TO   MARMION. 


.141 


NOTE  2  U. 

Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  nnd  shield, 
The  Elfin  warrior  doth  wieU 

Upon  the  broicn  lull's  breast. — P.  97. 

The  follow-in?  extract  from  the  Essay  upon 
the  Fairy  Su|>erstitions,  in  the  "  Minstrelsy  of 
the  Scottish  Border, ':  vol.  ii.,  will  show  whence 
many  of  the  particulars  of  the  combat  between 
Alexander  III.  and  the  Goblin  Knight  are  de- 
rived :— 

Gervase  of  Tilbury  Otia  Imperial  op.  Script, 
rer.  Brunsvic,  (vol.  i.  p.  797)  relates  the  follow- 
in?  popular  story  concerning  a  fairy  knight : 
'•  Osbert,  a  bold  and  powerful  baron,  visited  a 
noble  family  in  the  vicinity  of  Wandlebury,  in 
the  bishopric  of  Ely.  Among  other  stories  re- 
lated in  tlie  social  circle  of  his  friends,  who. 
according  to  custom,  amused  each  other  by 
repeating  ancient  tales  and  traditions,  he  was 
informed,  that  if  auy  knight,  unattended,  en- 
tered an  adjacent  plain  by  moonlight,  and 
challenged  an  adversary  to  appear,  he  would 
be  immediately  encountered  by  a  spirit  in  the 
form  of  a  knight  Osbert  resolved  to  make 
the  experiment,  and  set  out,  attended  by  a 
single  squire,  whom  lie  ordered  to  remain 
without  the  limits  of  the  plain,  which  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  ancient  intrenchment.  On  re- 
peating the  challenge,  he  was  instant  ly  assailed 
by  an  adversary,  whom  he  quickly  unhorsed, 
and  seized  the  reins  of  his  steed.  During  this 
operation,  his  ghostly  opponent  sprung  up,  and 
darling  Ins  spear,  tike  a  javelin,  at  Osbert, 
wounded  him  in  the  thigh.  Osbert  returned 
in  triumph  wuh  the  horse,  winch  he  com- 
mitted to  the  care  of  his  servants.  The  horse 
was  of  a  sable  colour,  as  well  as  his  whole  ac- 
coutrements, and  apparently  of  great  beauty 
and  vigour.  He  remained  with  his  keeper  till 
cock-crowing,  wnen.  witn  eyes  tla.siiing  lire. 
he  reared,  spurned  the  ground,  and  vanished 
On  disarming  himseif.  Osbert  perceived  that 
he  was  wounded,  and  that  one  of  his  steel 
lioots  was  full  of  blood  '  Gervase  adds,  that, 
"as  long  as  he  lived,  the  scar  of  his  wound 
opened  afresh  on  the  anniversary  of  the  eve 
on  which  he  encountered  the  spirit"  Less 
fortunate  was  tlie  gallant  Bohemian  knight, 
who,  travelling  by  n.ght  with  a  single  compa- 
nion, "  came  in  siglit  of  a  fairy  host,  arrayed 
under  displayed  banners  Despising  the  re- 
monstrances of  his  friend,  the  kn.gnt  pricked 
forward  to  break  a  lance  with  a  champion, 
who  advanced  from  the  ranks  apparently  in 
detiance.  His  companion  beheld  the  Bohe- 
mian overthrown,  horse  and  man,  by  his  aerial 
adversary;  and  returning  lo  the  spot  next 
morning,  he  found  the  mangled  corpses  of  the 
knight  nnd  steed."—  llieiarchi/  of  liitsstd  An 
gels,  p  55t. 

Besides  Ihese  instances  of  Elfin  chivalry 
above  quoted,  many  o'hers  might  be  alleged 
in  support  of  employing  fairv  machinery  in 
this  manner.  The  furest  of  Glenruore,  in  the 
.No.  1. 1  :ii-.'idamK  :s  believed  to  be  haunted  by 
a  .-pin;  (ailed  Utam-derng,  in  the  array  of  an 
ancient  warrior,  having  a  bloody  hand,  from 
wuirh  he  take-;  his  mime,  lie  msi>ts  upon 
those  with  whom  lie  meets  doing  battle  with 
him:  and  the  clergyman,  who  makes  up  an 
account  of  the  disMict.  extant  in  the  Macfar- 


lane  MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  gravely  as- 
sures us,  that,  in  his  time,  JJiam-ilearg  fought 
with  three  brothers  whom  he  met  in  his  walk, 
none  of  whom  long  survived  the  ghostly  con- 
flict. Barclay,  in  his  '•  Euphonnion,"  gives  a 
singular  account  of  an  officer  who  had  ven- 
tured, with  his  servant,  rather  to  intrude  upon 
a  haunted  house  in  a  town  in  Flanders,  than 
to  put  up  with  worse  quarters  elsewhere. 
After  taking  the  usual  precautions  of  pro- 
viding fires,  lights,  and  arms,  they  watched 
till  midnight,  when  behold  !  the  severed  arm 
of  a  man  dropped  from  the  ceiling;  this  was 
followed  by  the  legs,  the  other  arm,  the  trunk, 
and  the  head  of  the  body,  all  separately.  The 
piembers  rolled  together,  united  themselves 
iu  the  presence  of  the  astonished  soldiers,  and 
formed  a  gigantic  warrior,  who  defied  them 
both  to  combat.  Their  blows,  although  they 
penetrated  the  body  and  amputated  tlie  limbs 
of  their  strange  antagonist,  had,  as  the  reader 
may  easily  believe,  little  effect  on  an  enemy 
who  possessed  such  powers  of  self-union ;  nor 
did  his  efforts  make  more  effectual  impression 
upon  them.  How  thfe  combat  terminated  I 
do  not  exactly  remember,  and  have  not  the 
book  by  me ;  but  I  think  the  spirit  made  to  the 
intruders  on  his  mansion  the  usual  proposal, 
that  they  should  renounce  their  redemption ; 
which  being  declined,  he  was  obliged  to  re- 
tract. 

The  most  singular  tale  of  the  kind  is  con- 
tained in  an  extract  communicated  to  me  by 
my  friend  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mamsforth,  in  the 
Bishopric,  who  copied  it  from  a  MS.  note  in  a 
copy  of  Burthogge.  "  On  the  Nature  of  Spi- 
rits, 8vo.  1691."  which  had  teen  the  property 
of  the  late  Mr.  Gill,  attorney-general  to  Eger- 
ton.  Bishop  of  Durham.  "  It  was  not,"  says 
my  obliging  correspondent,  "in  Mr.  Gill's  own 
hand,  but  probably  an  hundred  years  older, 
and  was  said  to  l>e,  E  libra  Convent.  Dunelm. 
per  T.  C  extract.,  whom  I  believe  to  have 
been  Thomas  Cradocke,  Esq.  barrister,  who 
held  several  offices  under  the  See  of  Durham 
a  hundred  years  ago.  Mr.  Gill  was  possessed 
of  most  of  his  manuscripts."  The  extract, 
which,  in  tact,  suirsrested  the  introduction  of 
the  title  into  the  present  poem,  runs  thus  :— 

"  Rem  miram  hvjusniodi  qua:  nostris  tempo- 
ribui  evenit,  tests  airo  nobili  ac  fide  dignissimo, 
ttuirrare  itaiul  piyebit.  Kadulphus  Bulaier,  cum 
e  castris.  qua;  tune  temporis  •prope  Norham 
positn  erant,  oblectationis  causa,  ezusset,  ac  in 
uUeriore  Tutda:  rtpa  prosdam  cum  conibus  lepo- 
ruriis  insequerelur,  Jorte  cum  Scoto  quodam 
nobili,  sibi  antefiac.  ut  vulebatur,  familiariter 
co-milo.  conyrtssus  est;  ac.  utjas  erat  into-  mi- 
micos,  flagrante  bello,  brevissima  inttrroyationis 
mora  interponta,  alter  ulros,  inmctm  mcilalo 
cuisu  mffslis  animis  jietirre.  Nosier,  primo 
occursu,  eqno  pr<eaarri?no  hostis  impetu  labante, 
211  terram  eversus  inctore  et  captle.  UESO,  sanyui- 
nem.  mortuo  similts,  evonultat.  Quern  ut  se  ogre 
hahtntem  comitrr  uUoculus  est  alter.  poUicilus/iue, 
moilo  aiixilium  non  abneijaret,  monttisque  obtem- 
jn-rans  ob  omni  rerttm  sacrarum  coffitalione  ab- 
slmcret,  nee  Deo,  Deipara  Virgini,  Sanclove 
ullo,  precis  ant  vota  tfftrrtl  vet  inter  sese  conci- 
peict.  se  l/rivi  turn  sanum  vnliilumt/ue  restilulu- 
rum  csfe  I'rx  awjore  oblala  conditio  accepta 
tst ;  ac  lettrntor  tile  ntscio  quid  ohscteni  mur- 
mtins  insusiurans,  prelunsa  nuinu,  ditto  cilvis  in 
pidis  sanum  ut  antea  sublevavit.  Nosttrautem, 


142 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


maxima  pra  ret  i?iaud:!a  nmritale  formidim  per- 
culfiut.  Mi  Jesu !  exclnmnl.  vtl  Quid  simile  ;  or. 
subilo  respirirns  nee  hasten  nee  ul/nm  ahum  roii- 
spicit,  eauum  so/urn  grai'issirno  niiper  C'isii  "fflic- 
tum,  per  siimmam  pacem  in  rivo  flnvii  pascenlrm. 
Ad  castra  itaqut  mirauundits  rmertens.  fylei 
duliius,  rem  pnmo  occultavit,  dein,  confecto 
bfllo,  Confessori  suo  totam  assfruit.  DtUisoria 
procul  ilidiio  res  lota,  ac  mala  vrteratoris  i/lius 
aiterUur  fraus.  qua  hnminem  Ckristmnum  ad  vr- 
tilum  title  ntixiluim  pelliceret.  Nomen  utcnnque 
illius  (nobilis  alias  ac  clari)  retircndum  duco.  cum 
hand  dultium  sit  quin  Diabolus.  Deo  perniittenle, 
formam  qiiam  libuerit,  immo  aiiyeli  lucis.  sarro 
oculo,  Dei  teste,  posse  assumere."  The  MS. 
chronicle,  from  which  Mr.  Cradocke  took  this 
curious  extract,  cannot  now  be  found  in  the 
Chapter  Library  of  Durham,  or,  at  least,  has 
hitherto  escaped  the  researches  of  my  friendly 
correspondent. 

Lindesay  is  made  to  allude  to  this  adventure 
of  Kalph  Bulmer,  as  a  well-known  story,  in 
the  41  li  Canto.  Stanza  xxii.  p  103. 

The  northern  champions  of  old  were  accus- 
tomed peculiarly  to  search  for,  and  delight  in, 
encounters  with  such  military  spectres.  See 
a  whole  chapter  on  the  subject,  in  Barthnli- 
nus.  De  Causis  conlemptce  Mortis  a  Dana, 
p.  253. 


choly  event  very  shortly  succeeded  the  mar- 
riage of  the  friend,  to  whom  this  in'.roduc- 
tion  is  addressed,  with  one  of  Sir  William's 
daughters. 


NOTE  2  X. 

Friar  Rush.  —  P.  99. 

Alias,  "  Will  o'  the  Wisp."  This  personage 
is  a  strolling  demon,  or  esprit  fotlrt.  who.  once 
upon  a  time,  gut  admittance  into  a  monastery 
as  a  scullion,  and  played  the  monks  many 
pranks  He  was  also  a  sort  of  Robin  Good- 
fellow,  and  Jack  o'  Lantliern.  It  is  in  allusion 
to  this  mischievous  demon  that  Milton's  clown 
speaks,— 


"  The  History  of  Friar  Rush  "  is  of  extreme 
rarity,  and,  for  some  time,  even  the  existence 
of  siich  a  hook  was  doubted,  although  it  is  ex- 
pressly alluded  to  by  Reginald  Scott,  in  his 
"  Discovery  of  Witchcraft."  I  have  perused 
a  copy  in  the  valuable  library  of  my  friend  Mr. 
Heher :  and  I  observe,  from  Mr.  Beloe's  •'  Anec- 
dotes of  Literature.1' that  there  is  one  in  the 
excellent  collection  of  the  Marquis  of  Stafford. 


NOTE  2V. 

Close  to  the  hut.  no  mart  his  otnt, 
Clase  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain. 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen  d  swain. — P.  98. 

I  cannot  help  here  mentioning,  that,  on  the 
night  in  which  these  lines  were  written,  sug- 
gested, as  they  were,  by  a  sudden  fall  of  snow,  j 
beginning  after  sunset,  an  unfortunate  man 
perished  exactly  in  the  manner  here  described, 
and  his  body  was  next  morning  found  close  to 
his  own  house.  The  accident  happened  with- 
in five  miles  of  the  farm  of  Ashestiel. 


NOTE  2Y. 

Sir  David  Lindesaii  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  Lion  King-at-arms.  —  P.  100. 

The  late  elaborate  edition  of  Sir  David 
Lindesay's  Works,  by  Mr  George  Chalmers, 
has  probably  introduced  him  to  many  of  my 
readers.  It'is  perhaps  to  be  regretted,  that  the 
learned  Editor  had  not  bestowed  more  pains 
in  elucidating  his  author,  even  although  he 
should  have  omitted,  or  at  least  reserved,  his 
disquisitions  on  the  origin  of  the  language  used 
by  the  poet:1  But,  with  all  its  faults,  his 
work  is  an  acceptable  present  to  Scottish  an- 
tiquaries. Sir  David  Lindesay  was  well  known 
for  his  early  efforts  in  favour  of  the  Reformed 
doctrines;  and,  indeed,  his  play,  coarse  as  it 
now  seems,  must  have  had  a  powerful  effect 
upon  the  people  of  his  age.  I  am  uncertain  if 
I  abuse  poetical  licence,  by  introducing  .Sir 
David  Lindesay  in  the  character  of  Lion-Herald, 
sixteen  years 'before  he  obtained  that  office. 
At  any  rate.  I  am  not  the  first  who  has  been 
guiltv  of  Ihe  anachronism:  for  Ihe  author 
of  "Flodden  Field"  despatches  Dallamount, 
which  can  mean  nobody  but  Sir  David  de  la 
Mont,  to  France,  on  the  message  ot  defiance 
from  James  IV.  to  Henry  V1I1.  It  was  olten 

1  I  B.-J  leave  to  quote  a  single  instance  rrom  a  very  in-  '  "  Where-*   D,,id  Ljwfnay  .'"  3   and    that  the  subsequent 
trrf*tjn(-  passnge.     Sir  David,  recounting  his  attention  to     word*  begiu  another  sentence — 
Kin?  Jam™  V.  in  bis  infancy,  is  made,  by  the  learned 


NOTE  2W. 


•Forbes.  —  P.  98. 


Sir  William  Forbes  of  Pitsligo,  Baronet ; 
unequalled,  perhaps,  in  the  degree  of  indi- 
vidual affection  entertained  for  him  by  his 
friends,  as  well  as  in  the  general  respect  and 
esteem  of  Scotland  at  large.  His  "Life  of 
Beattie,"  whom  he  befriended  and  patronised 
in  life,  as  well  as  celebrated  after  his  decease, 
was  not  long  published,  before  the  benevolent 
and  affectionate  biographer  was  called  to  fol- 
low the  subject  of  his  narrative.  This  melan- 


or'*  punctuation,  to  sav,  — 

"The  fir«t  sillal>i«,  that  thon  did  mole, 
XV  as  pa,  da.  ]yn.  upon  the  lute  ; 
Then  played  I  twenty  Fprinfiin  perqnei 
Quhilk  wx  eieat  plnour  for  lo  hear." 


what  >•  mraut  by  Ihe  Kin  c 
Mr  ;"  hnt  any  oid  woman  i 
Ibat  pa,  da,  lyu'  are  the  n 


In  another  place,  "Justine  I 

limbs"  Many  .u'- 
but  these  are  only 
minishing  the  real 


ii."  t.  e.  looms,  or  imple- 
isly    iuterf-Teieil    "  r.iayfa! 

ntioneo.  incidentally,  and  not  a*  di- 
nt of  Ihe  edition. 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


143 


an  office  imposed  on  the  Lion  King-at-arms,  to 
receive  foreign  ambassadors  ;  and  Lip.iU  >;:y 
himself  did  this  honour  to  Sir  Kaipli  Sadler, 
in  1539-40.  Indeed,  the  oath  of  the  Lion,  in 
its  first  article,  bears  reference  to  his  frequent 
employment  upon  royal  messages  and  em- 
bassies. 

The  office  of  heralds,  in  feudal  times,  being 
held  of  the  utmost  importance,  the  inaugura- 
tion of  the  ICings-at-anns,  who  presided  over 
their  colleges,  was  proportionally  solemn.  In 
fact,  it  was  the  mimicry  of  a  royal  coronation, 
except  that  the  unction  was  made  with  wine 
instead  of  oil.  In  Scotland,  a  namesake  and 
kinsman  of  Sir  David  Lnulesay,  inaugurated  in 
1592.  "was  crowned  by  King  James  with  the 
ancient  crown  of  Scotland,  which  was  used 
before  the  Scottish  kings  assumed  a  close 
crown  ;'"  anil,  on  occasion  of  the  same  solem- 
nity, dined  at  the  King's  table,  wearing  the 
crown.  It  is  probable  that  the  coronation  of 
his  predecessor  was  not  less  solemn.  So  sa- 
cred was  the  herald's  office,  that,  in  1515,  Lord 
Drummond  was  by  Parliament  declared  guilty 
of  treason,  and  his  lands  forfeited,  because  he 
had  struck  with  his  fist  the  Lion  King-at-arms. 
when  he  reproved  him  for  his  follies.'  Nor 
was  he  restored,  but  at  the  Lion's  earnest  so- 
licitation. 


NOTE  2Z. 

Crichtoun  Castle.  — P.  101. 

A  large  ruinous  castle  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tyne,  about  ten  miles  from  Edinburgh.  As 
indicated  in  the  text,  it  was  built  at  different 
times,  and  with  a  very  differing  regard  to  splen- 
dour and  accommodation.  The  oldest  part  of 
the  buildins  is  a  narrow  keep,  or  tower,  such 
as  formed  the  mansion  of  a  lesser  Scottish 
baron ;  but  so  many  additions  have  been  made 
to  it,  that  there  is  now  a  laree  court-yard,  sur- 
rounded by  buildings  of  different  ases.  The 
eastern  front  of  the  court  is  raised  above  a 
portico,  and  decorated  with  entablatures,  bear- 
ing anchors.  All  the  stones  of  this  front  are 
cut  into  diamond  facets,  the  angular  projec- 
tions of  which  have  an  uncommonly  rich  ap- 
pearance. The  inside  of  this  part  of  the 
building  appears  to  have  contained  a  gallery 
of  great  length,  and  uncommon  elegance.  Ac- 
cess was  given  to  it  by  a  magnificent  staircase. 
now  quite  destroyed.  The  soffits  are  orna- 
mented with  twining  cordage  and  rosettes: 
and  the  whole  seems  to  have  been  far  more 
splendid  than  was  usual  in  Scottish  castles. 
The  castle  belonged  originally  to  the  Chancel- 
lor, Sir  William  Crichton,  and  probably  owed 
to  him  its  first  enlargement,  as  well  as  its  be- 
ing taken  bvthe  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  imputed 
to  Crichton's  counsels  the  death  of  his  prede- 
cessor, Earl  William,  lieheaded  in  Edinburgh 
Castle,  with  his  brother,  in  1440.  It  is  said  to 
have  been  totally  demolished  on  that  occasion ; 
but  the  present  state  of  the  ruin  shows  the 
contrary.  In  1483,  it  was  garrisoned  by  Lord 
Crichton,  then  its  proprietor,  against  King 
James  HI.,  whose  displeasure  he  had  mcuired 


1  The  record  cxpreiwf«, 
{.named,  the  caner  of  forfri 
trmorum  Regem  pugno  t>i< 


to  lie.  — "  Ko  quod 


by  seducing  his  sis'er  Margaret,  in  revenge,  it 
s  said,  for  the  Momrrii  having  dishonoured 
ins  bed.  From  the  Crichton  family  the  castle 
passed  to  that  of  the  Heohurn.s.  Earls  Both- 
ell;  and  when  the  forfeitures  of  Stewart, 
the  last  Earl  Bothwell,  were  divided,  the  baro- 
ny and  castle  of  Crichton  fell  to  the  share  of 
the  Earl  of  liuccleuch.  They  were  afterwards 
the  pro|>erty  of  the  i'rmgles  of  Clifion,  and  are 
now  that  of  Sir  John  Cullender,  Baronet.  It 
ivere  to  be  wished  the  proprietor  would  take 
a  little  pains  to  preserve  these  splendid  re- 
mains of  antiquity,  which  are  at  present  used 
as  a  fold  for  sheep,  and  wintering  cuttle  ;  al- 
though, perhaps,  there  are  very  few  ruins  in 
Scotland  which  display  so  well  the  style  and 
beauty  of  ancient  castle-architecture.  The 
castle  of  Crichton  has  a  dungeon  vault,  called 
the  Massy  More.  The  epithet,  which  is  not 
uncommonly  applied  to  the  prisons  of  other 
old  castles  in  Scotland,  is  of  Saracenic  origin. 
It  occurs  twice  in  the  ••  Epis'olae  Itinerants  "  of 
Tollius.  "  Career  suMe.rranf.us,  sine,  ul  Mauri 
appellant,  Mazmorra."  p.  147 ;  and  asrain,  ••  Co- 
gunlitr  omncs  Captivi  sub  noctem  in  ergastula 
mbterranea,  qiue  Turrtz  Alyezerani  vacant 
Mazmorras,"  p.  243.  The  same  word  applies 
to  the  dungeons  of  the  ancient  Moorish  castles 
in  Spain,  and  serves  to  show  from  what  nation 
the  Gothic  style  of  castle-building  was  origi- 
nally derived. 


NOTE  3  A. 

Earl  Adam  Hepburn.  —  P.  101. 

He  was  the  second  Earl  of  Bothwell.  and 
fell  in  the  field  of  Flodden,  where,  according 
to  an  ancient  English  poet,  he  distinguished 
himself  by  a  furious  attempt  to  retrieve  the 
day :  — 

Then  on  Ihe  Scottish  part,  right  proud, 

The  Karl  of  Bothwell  Ihen  out  brasl. 

And  Kteppiug  forth,  with  stomach  good, 

Ami  Bothwtli:  Balhuxtl  !  cried  boM.' 

But  thure  he  caught  a  Wellcome  cold, 

The  KueliKhmen  strait-tit  down  him  threw. 
Thus  Halmrn  through  his  hardy  heart 
His  fatal  flue  in  conflict  found,"  &c. 

Ftodden  FieU,  a  Poem ;  edited  by 
II.  Weber.     Kdm.  1608. 

Adam  was  grandfather  to  James,  Earl  of 
Bothwell.  too  well  known  in  the  history  of 
Queen  Mary. 


NOTE  3B. 

For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven. 
In  vain  to  James  hod  comi&l  ywen. 
Against  the  English  war.  —  P.  101. 

This  story  is  told  by  Piscottie  with  charac- 
teristic simplicity  :  —  ••  The  King,  seeing  that 
France  could  get  no  support  of  him  for  that 
time,  made  a  proclamation,  full  hastily,  tli rough 
all  the  realm  of  Scotland,  both  east  and  west, 
south  and  north,  as  well  in  the  isles  as  in  the 


Lolaei  Ontario,  ad  An 


1144 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


firm  land,  to  all  manner  of  men  between  sixty 
and  sixteen  years,  that  they  should  he  ready, 
within  twenty  days,  to  pass  with  him,  with 
forty  days  victual,  and  to  meet  at  the  Burrow- 
muir  of  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  pass  forward 
where  he  pleased.  His  proclamations  were 
hastily  olieyed,  contrary  the  Council  of  Scot- 
land's will :  but  every  man  loved  his  prince  so 
well  that  they  would  oil  no  ways  disobey  him ; 
but  every  man  caused  make  his  proclamation 
so  hastily,  conform  to  the  charge  of  the  King's 
proclamation. 

"The  King  came  to  Lithgow.  where  he  hap- 
pened to  be  for  the  time  at  the  Council,  very 
sad  and  dolorous,  making  his  devotion  to  God. 
to  send  him  good  chance  and  fortune  in  his 
voyage.  In  this  meantime  there  came  a  man, 
clad  in  a  blue  gown,  in  at  the  kirk  door,  and 
belted  about  him  in  a  roll  of  linen  cloth ;  a 
pair  of  brotikings '  on  his  feet,  to  the  great  of 
his  legs :  with  all  other  hose  and  clothes  con- 
form thereto ;  but  he  had  nothing  on  his  head, 
but  syde  2  red  yellow  hair  behind,  and  on  his 
haffets,3  which  wan  down  to  his  shoulders ; 
but  his  forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  He 
seemed  to  be  a  man  of  two-and-fifty  years, 
with  a  great  pike-staff  in  his  hand,  arid  came 
first  forward  among  the  lords,  crying  and 
speiring4  for  the  King,  saying,  he  desired  to 
speak  with  him.  While,  at  the  last,  he  came 
where  the  King  was  sitting  in  the  desk  at  Ins 
prayers ;  but  when  lie  saw  the  King,  he  made 
him  little  reverence  or  salutation,  but  leaned 
down  groffling  on  the  desk  before  him,  and 
said  to  him  in  this  manner,  as  after  follows: 
'Sir  King,  my  mother  hath  sent  me  to  you, 
desiring  you  not  to  pass,  at  this  time,  where 
thou  art  purposed;  for  if  thou  does,  thou  wilt 
not  fare  well  in  thy  journey,  nor  none  that 
passeth  with  thee.  Further,  she  bade  thee 
niell'  with  no  woman,  nor  use  their  counsel, 
nor  let  them  touch  thy  body,  nor  thou  theirs  ; 
for  if  thou  do  it,  thou  wilt  be  confounded  and 
brought  to  shame.' 

By  this  man  had  spoken  thir  words  unto  the 
King's  grace,  the  evening-song  was  near  done, 
and  the  King  paused  on  thir  words,  studying 
to  give  him  an  answer ;  but.  in  the  meantime, 
before  the  King's  eyes,  and  in  the  presence  of 
all  the  lords  that  were  about  him  for  the  time, 
this  man  vanished  away,  and  could  no  ways 
be  seen  or  comprehended,  but  vanished  aw  jy 
as  he  had  been  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a  whip 
of  the  whirlwind,  and  could  no  more  be  seen. 
1  heard  say,  Sir  David  I.mdesay  Lyon-herauld. 
and  John  Inglis  the  marshal,  who  were,  at 
that  time,  young  men,  and  special  servants  to 
the  King's  grace,  were  standing  presently  In- 
side the  King,  who  thought  to  have  laid  hands 
on  this  nian,  that  they  might  have  speired  fur- 
ther tidings  at  him  :  "But  all  for  nought ;  they 
could  not  touch  him;  for  he  vanished  away 
betwixt  them,  snd  was  no  more  seen." 

Buchanan,  in  more  elegant,  though  not  more 
impressive  language,  tells  the  same  story,  and 
quotes  the  personal  information  of  our  Sir  Da- 
vid Lindesay:  "  In  iis.  (i.  e.  gut  propitis  astile- 
rant)  fail  David  Litule.wis.  Montana,  homo 
sjieclatce  Juifi  et  proliitalis.  nn  a  lilerarum  stu- 
dns  alirmis,  et  nijiis  totnu  vita:  tator  lonijissime 
a  mentitndo  oberrot ;  a  quo  nisi  f.yo  hacc  un  tru- 
didi,  pro  certis  acceptsscm,  ut  vuU/alam  i-anis 

1  Buskin*.  2  Long.  3  Checks. 


rtimoribus  fabtt'um,  omissurus  eram."— Lib.  xiii. 
The  King's  throne,  in  St.  Catherine's  aisle, 
which  he  had  constructed  for  himself,  with 
twelve  stalls  for  the  Knights  Companions  of 
the  Order  of  the  Tlustle,  is  still  shown  as  the 
place  where  the  apparition  was  seen.  I  know 
not  by  what  means  St.  Andrew  got  the  credit 
of  having  been  the  celebrated  monitor  of 
James  IV. ;  for  the  expression  in  Lindesay's 
narrative,  "  My  mother  has  sent  me,"  could 
only  be  used  by  St.  John,  the  adopted  son  of 
the  Virgin  Mary.  The  whole  story  is  so  well 
attested,  that  we  have  only  the  choice  between 
a  miracle  or  an  imposture.  Mr.  Pinkerton 
plausibly  argues,  from  the  caution  against  in- 
continence, that  the  Queen  was  privy  to  the 
scheme  of  those  who  had  recourse  to  this  ex- 
pedient to  deter  King  James  from  his  impolitic 
war. 


NOTE  30. 

The  wild-buck  bells.— P.  102. 

1  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  describe  the 
cry  of  the  deer  by  another  word  than  braying, 
although  the  latter  has  been  sanctified  hy  the 
use  of  the  Scottish  metrical  translation  of  the 
Psalms.  Bell  seems  to  be  an  abbreviation  of 
bellow.  This  sylvan  sound  conveyed  great 
delight  to  our  ancestors,  chiefly,  1  suppose, 
from  association.  A  gentle  knight  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  VIII.,  Sir  Thomas  Worttey.  built 
W'antley  Lodge,  in  WanclitTe  Forest,  for  the 
pleasure  (as  an  ancient  inscription  testifies)  of 
"  listening  to  the  hart's  bell." 


NOTE  3  D. 

June  saw  his  father's  overthrow.  —  P.  102. 

The  rebellion  against  James  III.  was  sig- 
nalized by  the  cruel  circumstance  of  his  son's 
presence  in  the  hostile  army.  When  the  King 
saw  his  own  banner  displayed  against  him, 
and  his  son  in  the  faction  of  his  enemies,  he 
lost  the  little  courage  he  had  ever  possessed, 
fled  out  of  the  field,  fell  from  his  horse  as  it 
started  at  a  woman  and  water-pitcher,  and 
was  slain,  it  is  not  well  understood  by  whom. 
James  IV  ,  after  the  battle,  passed  to  Stirling, 
and  hearing  the  monks  of  the  chapel-royal  de- 

Eloring  the  death  of  his  father,  their  founder, 
e  was  seized  with  deep  remorse,  which 
manifested  itself  in  severe  penances.  See  a 
following  Note  on  stanza  ix.  of  canto  v.  The 
battle  of  Sauchie-burn,  in  which  James  III. 
fell,  was  fought  18th  June,  1488. 


NOTE  3  E. 

The  Borouyhmoor.—'P.  101. 

The  Borough,  or  Common  Moor  of  Edin- 
burgh, was  of  very  great  extent,  reaching 
from  the  southern  walls  of  the  city  to  the  bot- 
tom of  Braid  Hills  I;  wiis  anciently  a  forest; 
and,  in  that  stale,  was  so  great  a  nuisance, 


skine. 


5  WnUfe. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


145 


that  the  inlinl>itanrs  of  Edinburgh  had  permis- 
sion granted  to  them  of  building  wooden  gal- 
leries, projecting  over  the  street,  in  order  to 
encourage  them  to  consume  the  timber,  which 
they  seem  to  have  dune  very  effectually. 
Wlieu  James  IV.  mustered  the  array  of  the 
kingdom  there.,  in  1513.  the  Borough-moor 
was,  according  to  Hawthornden,  "  a  field  spa- 
cious, and  delightful  hy  the  shade  of  many 
siately  and  aged  oaks."  Upon  that,  and  simi- 
lar occasions,  the  royal  standard  is  tradition- 
ally said  to  have  been  displayed  from  the 
Hare-Stane,  a  high  stone,  now  built  into  the 
wall,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  high-way  leading 
towards  Braid,  not  far  from  the  head  of  Burnts- 
field  Links.  The  Hare-Stane  probably  derives 
its  name  from  the  British  word  Har,  signifying 
an  army. 


NOTE  3F. 

Pavilions.  —  P.  104 

I  do  not  exactly  know  the  Scottish  mode  of 
encampment  in  1513,  but  Patten  gives  a  cu- 
rious description  of  that  which  he  saw  after 
the  bait  le  of  Pmkey,  in  1547 :— ••  Here  now,  to 
say  somewhat  of  the  manner  of  their  camp. 
As  they  had  no  pavilions,  or  round  houses,  of 
any  commendable  compass,  so  wear  there  few 
other  teules  with  posts,  as  the  used  manner 
of  nuking  is;  and  of  these  few  also,  none  of 
above  twenty  foot  length,  but  most  far  under; 
for  the  most  part  all  very  sumptuously  beset, 
(after  their  fashion.)  for  the  love  of  France, 
with  fteur-de-lys,  some  of  blue  buckeram, 
some  of  black,  and  some  of  some  other  co- 
lours. These  white  ridges,  as  I  call  them, 
that,  as  we  stood  on  Fauxsyde  liniy,  did  make 
so  great  muster  toward  us,  which  I  did  take 
then  to  be  a  number  of  tentes,  when  we  came 
we  found  it  a  linen  drapery,  of  the  coarser 
cambryk  in  dede,  for  it  was  all  of  canvas 
sheets,  and  wear  the  lenticles.  or  rather  ca- 
byns  and  couches  of  their  soldiers;  the  which 
(much  after  the  common  building  of  their 
country  beside)  had  they  framed  of  four  sticks, 
about  an  ell  long  a  piece,  whearof  two  fastened 
together  at  one  end  aloft,  and  the  two  endes 
beneath  stuck  in  the  ground,  an  ell  asunder, 
standing  in  fashion  like  the  bowes  of  a  sowes 
yoke;  over  two  such  howes  (one,  as  it  were, 
lit  their  head,  the  other  at  their  feet.)  they 
stretched  a  sheet  down  on  both  sides,  whereby 
their  cabin  became  roofed  like  a  ridge,  but 
skant  shut  at  both  ends,  and  not  very  close 
beneath  on  the  sides,  unless  their  sticks  were 
the  shorter,  or  their  wives  the  more  liberal  to 
lend  them  larger  n'ipery ;  howbeit,  when  they 
had  lined  them,  and  stuff  d  them  so  thick  with 
straw,  with  the  weather  as  it  was  not  very 
cold,  when  they  wear  ones  couched,  they 
were  as  warm  as  they  had  been  wrapt  in 
horses  dung." — Patten's  Account  of  Somerset's 
Expedition. 

NOTE  8G. 

in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 

T/te  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  go'd.  —  P.  101. 

The  well  known  arms  of  Scotland.  If  you 
will  believe  Boetluus  and  Buchanan,  the  dou- 


ble tiessnre  round  the  shield,  mentioned, 
counter  jlcur-de-lnsed  or  hnaueil  and  armed 
azure,  was  lirst  assumed  by  Echaius,  King  of 
Scotland,  contemporary  of  Charlemagne,  and 
founder  of  the  celebrated  League  with  France; 
hut  later  antiquaries  make  poor  Eochy,  or 
Achy,  little  better  than  a  sort  of  King  of  Brent- 
ford, whom  old  Grig  (who  has  also  swelled 
into  Gregorius  Magnus)  associated  with  him- 
self in  the  important  duty  of  governing  some 
part  of  the  north-eastern  coast  of  Scotland. 


NOTE  3  H. 

Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed.  —  P.  105. 

The  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  was  secured 
on  the  north  side  by  a  lake,  now  drained,  and 
on  the  south  by  a  wall,  which  there  was  some 
attempt  to  make  defensible  even  so  late  as 
1745.  The  gates,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
wall,  have  been  pulled  down,  in  the  course  of 
the  late  extensive  and  beautiful  enlargement 
of  the  city.  My  ingenious  and  valued  friend, 
Mr.  Thomas  Campbell,  proposed  to  celebrate 
Edinburgh  under  the  epithet  here  borrowed. 
But  the  "Queen  of  the  North"  has  not  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  receive  from  so  eminent  a 
pen  the  proposed  distinction. 


NOTE  31. 

Since  first,  when  conquering  York  oroff, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose.  —  P.  106. 

Henry  VI..  with  his  Queen,  his  heir,  and  the 
chiefs  of  his  family,  fled  to  Scotland  after  the 
fatal  battle  of  Towton.  In  this  note  a  doubt 
was  formerly  expressed,  whether  Henry  VI. 
came  to  Edinburgh,  though  his  CJueen  cer- 
tainly did ;  Mr.  Pinkerton  inclining  to  believe 
that  he  remained  at  Kirkcudbright.  But  my 
noble  friend,  Lord  Napier,  has  pointed  out  to 
mo  a  grant  by  Henry,  of  an  annuity  of  forty 
marks  to  his  Lordship's  ancestor,  John  Napier, 
subscribed  by  the  King  himself,  at  f^lin/jurgh, 
the  23th  day  of  August,  in  the  thirty-ninth 
year  of  his  reign,  wluch  corresponds  to  the 
year  of  God.  1461.  This  grant,  Douglas,  with 
his  usual  neglect  of  accuracy,  dates  in  1368. 
But  this  error  being  corrected  from  the  copy 
in  Macfarlane's  MSS.,  p.  119,20,  removes  all 
scepticism  on  the  subject  of  Henry  VI.  being 
really  at  Edinburgh.  John  Napier  was  son 
and  heir  of  Sir  Alexander  Napier,  and  about 
this  time  was  Provost  of  Edinburgh.  The 
hospitable  reception  of  the  distressed  monarch 
and  his  family,  called  forth  on  Scotland  the 
encomium  of  Molinet,  a  contemporary  poet. 
The  English  people,  he  says,— 


11  FH?  n 


dupite 


vauloir. 


_  _ 
Qui fuytyf  all*  p 

D'Escomf  If,  ga 
DC  towt  sv.clel  le 

El  Ifflul  toUtr 


ollection  des  Avnntnrc 


146 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


NOTE  3  K. 

the  romantic  strain. 

Whose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilere 
Could  u^n  the  royal  Henry's  ear.  —  P.  106. 

Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  valuable  Introduction  to 
the  "Specimens  of  Romance,''  has  proved,  by 
the  concurring  testimony  of  La  Ravaillere, 
Tressan,  but  especially  the  Abb6  de  la  Rue, 
that  the  courts  of  our  Anglo  Norman  Kings, 
rather  than  those  of  the  French  monarch,  pro- 
duced the  birth  of  Romance  literature.  Ma- 
rie, sixm  after  mentioned,  compiled  from  Ar- 
morican  originals,  and  translated  into  Norman- 
French,  or  romance  language,  the  twelve 
curious  Lays,  of  which  Mr.  illis  has  given  us 
a  precis  in  the  Appendix  to  his  Introduction. 
The  story  of  Bloudel,  the  famous  and  faithful 
minstrel  of  Richard  I.,  needs  no  commentary. 


NOTE  3L. 

The  cloth-yard  arrowt.  —  P.  107. 

This  is  no  poetical  exaggeration.  In  some 
of  the  counties  of  England,  distinguished  for 
archery,  shafts  of  this  extraordinary  length 
were  actually  used.  Thus,  at  the  battle  of 
Blackheath.  between  the  troops  of  Henry  VII., 
and  the  Cornish  insurgents,  in  1496,  the  bridge 
of  Bartford  was  defended  by  a  picked  band  of 
archers  from  the  rebel  army. "  whose  arrows," 
says  Hollinshed.  "were  in  length  a  full  cloth 
yard  "  The  Scottish,  according  to  Ascham, 
had  a  proverb,  that  every  English  archer  car- 
ried under  his  belt  twenty-four  Soots,  ia  allu- 
sion to  his  bundle  of  unerring  shafts. 


NOTE  3M. 

To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain, 
And  high  cttrvtU,  tttat  not  in  vain 
The  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 
On  foeman's  casque  below.  —  P.  107. 

"The  most  useful  air,  as  the  Frenchmen 
term  it,  is  terriltrr ;  the  cmtrttettes,  cabrio/rs,  or 
un  pas  et  an  sault,  being  fitter  for  horses  of  pa- 
rade and  triumph  than  for  soldiers:  yet  I  can- 
not deny  hut  a  demivolte  with  courbeltfs.  so 
that  they  be  not  too  his1!,  may  be  useful  in  a 
fight  or  mrstte ;  for,  as  Labroue  hath  it,  in  his 
Book  of  Horsemanship,  Monsieur  de  Montmu- 
rency  having  a  horse  that  was  excellent  in 
performing  the  demivolte.  did.  with  his  sword, 
strike  down  two  adversaries  from  their  horses 
in  a  tourney,  where  ilivers  of  the  prime  gal- 
lants of  France  did  meet ;  for,  taking  his  time, 
when  the  horse  was  in  the  height  of  rourbette, 
and  discharging  a  blow  then,  his  sword  fell 
with  such  weight  and  force  upon  the  two  ca- 
valiers, one  afier  another,  that  he  struck  them 
from  their  noises  to  the  ground."  —  Lord  Her- 
bert qf  Cherbury's  Life,  p.  48. 


NOTE  3N. 

He  saio  the  hardy  kwghtrs  there 

March  arm'd  on  foot  with  faces  bare. — P.  107. 


The  Scottish  burgesses  were,  like  yeomen, 
appointed  to  he  armed  with  IKJWS  and  sheaves, 
sword,  buckler,  knife,  spear,  or  a  good  axe  iu- 
stead  of  a  bow,  if  worth  1CKW. :  their  armour 
to  be  of  white  or  linsht  harness.  They  wore 
white  hats,  i.  e.  bright  steel  caps,  without  crpst 
or  visor.  By  an  act  of  James  IV.  Uteir  weapon- 
ichawings  are  appointed  to  lie  held  four  times 
a-year,  under  the  aldermen  or  bailiffs. 


NOTE  30. 


On  foot  the  yeoman  too  - 


Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 
His  forty  days'  provision  bore. 
His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear.  —  P.  107. 

Bows  and  quivers  were  in  vain  recom- 
mended to  the  peasantry  of  Scotland,  by  re- 
peated statutes  :  spears  and  axes  seem  uni- 
versally to  have  been  used  instead  of  them. 
Their  defensive  armour  wiis  the  plate-jack, 
hauberk,  or  brisantine;  mid  their  missile  wea- 
pons crossbows  and  culverins.  All  wore 
swords  of  excellent  temper,  according  to  Pat- 
ten; and  a  voluminous  handkercliit.-f  round 
their  neck,  "nut  for  cold,  but  for  cultinK." 
The  mace  also  was  much  used  in  the  Sr.  >!t;sii 
army  :  The  old  poem  on  the  battle  of  Flodden 
mentions  a  band  — 


When  the  feudal  array  of  tlie  kingdom  was 
called  forth,  each  man  was  obliged  to  appear 
with   forty  days'  provision.     W  hen  this  was  j 
expended,  which  took  place  before  the  battle  i 
of  Flodden,  the  army  melted  away  of  course,  j 
Almost  all  the  Scottish  forces,  except  a  few 
knights,  inen-at -amis,  and  the  Border- prickers, 
who    formed   excellent   light-cavalry,  acted 
upon  foot. 

NOTE  3  P. 

A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines..  —  P.  108. 

In  all  transactions  of  great  or  petty  import- 
ance, and  among  whomsoever  takins  place,  it 
would  seem  that  a  present  of  wine  was  a  uni- 
form and  indispensable  preliminary.  It  was 
not  to  Sir  John  Falstaff  alone  that  such  an 
introductory  preface  was  necessary,  however 
well  judged  and  acceptable  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Brook  ;  for  Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  while  on  an  em- 
bassy to  Scotland  in  1539-40,  mentions,  with 
complacency,  "the same  night  came  Rothes.iv 
(the  herald  so  called)  to  me  again,  and  brought 
me  wine  from  the  King,  both  white  aud  red." 
—Clifford's  Edition,  p.  39. 


NOTE  3Q. 

ais  iron-Mt, 

Thai  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 
In  memory  of  his  father  slam.  —  P.  109. 

Few  readers  need  to  be  reminded  of  this 
belt,  to  the  weight  of  which  James  added  cer- 
tain ounces  every  year  that  he  lived.  Pits- 


APPENDIX   TO    MARMION. 


147 


cottie  founds  his  belief,  tliat  James  was  not  |  love,  showing  him  that  she  suffered  much  re- 


slain  in  the  battle  of  Fiodden.  because  the 
English  never  had  this  token  of  the  iron-belt 
to  show  to  any  Scottishman.  The  person  and 
character  of  James  are  delineated  according  to 
our  best  historians.  His  romantic  disposition, 
which  led  him  highly  to  relish  gaiety,  ap- 
proaching to  license,  was.  at  the  same  time, 
tinged  with  enthusiastic  devotion.  These  pro- 
lensities  sometimes  formed  a  strange  contrast, 
ie  was  wont,  during  his  fits  of  devotion,  to 
assume  the  dress,  and  conform  to  the  rules,  of 
the  order  of  Franciscans ;  aud  when  he  had 
thus  done  penance  for  some  time  in  Stirling, 
to  plunge  again  into  the  tide  of  pleasure. 
Probably,  too.  with  no  unusual  inconsistency, 
he  sometimes  laughed  at  the  superstitious  ob- 
servances to  which  he  at  other  times  sub- 
jected himself  I'here  is  a  very  singular  poem 
by  Dunbar,  seemingly  addressed  to  James  IV., 
on  one  of  these  occasions  of  monastic  seclu- 
sion. It  is  a  most  daring  and  profane  parody 
on  the  services  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  enti- 
led,— 

•'Dtmbar't  TJirige  to  tjie  XtXr, 

Byding  over  long  in  StTivibng." 
We  that  are  here,  in  heaven's  glory. 


In  Edinburgh.  with  all  merrineas, 
To  you  in  Stirling,  with  dUtreas, 
Where  wither  pleasure  nor  delight  ii. 
For  pity  this  epistle  wrili.H,"  &c. 

See  the  whole  in  Sibbald's  Collection,  vol.  i. 
p.  234. 


NOTE  3  R. 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife.— P.  109. 

It  has  been  already  noticed,  [see  note  to 
stanza  xiii.  of  canto  i  j  that  King  James's  ac- 
quaintance with  Lady  Heron  of  Ford  did  not 
commence  until  he  marched  into  England 


buke  in  France  for  Ihe  defending  of  his  honour. 
She  believed  fully  that  he  would  recompense 
her  again,  with  some  of  his  kingly  support  in 
her  necessity;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  would 
raise  her  an  army,  and  come  three  foot  of 
ground  on  English  ground,  for  her  sake.  To 
that  effect  she  sent  him  a  ring  off  her  finger, 
with  fourteen  thousand  French  crowns  to  pay 
his  expenses."  Pitscottie,  p  110.  —  A  turquois 
ring ;  probably  this  fatal  gift  is,  with  James's 
sword  and  dagger,  preserved  in,  the  College  of 
Heralds,  London. 

NOTE  3T. 

Archibald  Bell-the-Cat.—P.  110. 

Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man 
remarkable  for  strength  of  body  and  mind, 
acquired  the  popular  name  of  BelL-the-Cat, 
upon  the  following  remarkable  occasion:  — 
James  the  Third,  of  whom  Pitscottie  complains, 
that  he  delighted  more  in  music,  and  "  policies 
of  building,"  than  in  hunting,  hawking,  and 
other  noble  exercises,  was  so  ill  advised,  as  to 
make  favourites  of  his  architects  and  musi- 
cians, whom  the  same  historian  irreverently 
terms  masons  and  fiddlers.  His  nobility,  who 
did  not  sympathize  in  the  King's  respect  for 
the  fine  arts,  were  extremely  incensed  at  the 
honours  conferred  on  those  persons,  particu- 
larly on  Cochrane,  a  mason,  who  had  been 
created  Earl  of  Mar;  and.  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity, when,  in  1482.  the  King  had  convoked 
the  whole  array  of  the  country  to  march 
against  the  English,  they  held  a  midnight  coun- 
cil in  the  church  of  Lander,  for  the  purpose  of 
forcibly  removing  these  minions  from  the 
King's  person.  When  all  had  agreed  on  the 
propriety  of  this  measure.  Lord  Gray  told  the 
assembly  the  apologue  of  the  Mice,  who  had 


r.ueu   imo  tngianu   j  f         d       res()lul,jon    llmt  it  woulll  be  hi,,nly 
ans  impute  to  he  King  s  infatuated    advantaffeous  to  their  community  to  tie  a  befi 


passion  the  delays  which  led  to  the  fatal  defeat 
ofFlodden.  The  auihor  of  "The  Genealogy 
of  the  Heron  Family"  endeavours,  with  laud- 
able anxiety,  to  clear  the  Lady  Ford  from  this 
scandal:  that  she  came  and  went,  however, 
between  the  armies  of  James  and  Surrey,  is 
certain.  See  Pinkerton's  History,  and  the  au- 
thorities he  refers  to.  vol  ii.  p.  99.  Heron  of 
Ford  had  been,  in  loll,  in  some  sort  accessory 


age< 

round  the  cat's  neck,  that  they  might  hear  her 
approach  at  a  distance;  but  which  public 
measure  unfortunately  miscarried,  from  no 
mouse  being  willing  to  undertake  the  task  of 
fastening  the  bell.  "  1  understand  the  moral," 
said  Angus,  "and,  that  what  we  propose  may 
not  lack  execution,  I  will  bell-tne-cat."  The 
rest  of  the  strange  scene  is  thus  told  by  Pits- 


rord  had  been,  in  loll,  in  some  sort  accessory   i.ame  • 

to  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Kobert  Kerr  of  Cess-  |  ..  B  '  this  was  a(jvised  and  spoken  hy  thir 
ford,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches  It  was  !  iordsyfuresaid,  Cochran,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  came 
committed  by  his  brother  the  bastard,  Luburn  f  t|  K  t  u  cotmcll  (w!uch  council 

!          •    •- 


and  Starked,  three  Borderers.  Lilburn  and! 
Heron  of  Ford  were  delivered  up  by  Henry  to 
James,  and  were  imprisoned  in  the'fortress  of 
Fastcastle.  where  the  former  died.  Part  of 


rastcastle,  where  the  former  died.  Part  ot  i  \jghi  axes  ailcl'id  in  white  liv 
the  pretence  of  Lady  Ford's  negotiations  with  !  hellds  thereun  ,'|iat  ihev,  lm,ht 
James  was  the  liberty  of  her  husband.  Cochran  the  Earl  of  Mar's  men. 


NOTE  3  S. 

The  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove. 
And  charged  him.  as  hr.r  kmghl  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance.  —  P.  109. 
"Also  the  Queen  of  France  wrote  a  love- 
letter  to  the  King  of  Scotland,  calling  him  tier 


vas  holden  in  the  kirk  of  Lander  for  the  time,) 
who  was  well  accompanied  with  a  band  of 
men  of  war,  to  the  number  of  three  hundred 
axes,  all  clad  in  white  livery,  and  black 
'  it  be  known  f(i: 
Himself  was 
clad  in  a  riding-pie  of  black  velvet,  with  a 
great  chain  of  gold  about  his  neck,  to  the 
value  of  five  hundred  crowns,  and  four  blow- 
ing-horns, with  both  ends  of  gold  and  silk,  set 
with  a  precious  stone,  called  a  berryl,  hanging 
in  the  midst.  This  Cochran  had  his  heumont 
borne  before  him.  overgilt  with  gold,  and  so 
were  all  the  rest  of  his  horns,  anu  all  Ins  pal- 
lions  were  of  tine  canvas  of  silk,  and  the 
cords  thereof  fine  twined  silk,  and  the  chains 


148 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


upon  his  pallious  were  double  overgilt  with 
gold. 

This  Cochran  was  so  proud  in  his  conceit, 
that  he  counted  no  lords  to  lie  marrows  to 
him,  therefore  he  rushed  rudely  at  the  kirk- 
door.  The  council  inquired  who  it  was  that 
perturbed  them  at  that  time.  Sir  Kobert 
Doujlas,  Laird  of  Lochleven,  was  keeper  of 
the  kirk-door  at  that  time,  who  inquired  who 
that  was  that  knocked  so  rudely  1  and  Cochran 
answered,  •  This  is  I,  the  Earl  of  Mar.'  The 
which  news  pleased  well  the  lords,  because 
they  were  ready  boun  to  cause  take  him,  as  is 
before  rehearsed.  Then  the  Earl  of  Angus 
passed  hastily  to  the  door,  and  with  him  Sir 
Robert  Douglas,  of  Lochleven,  there  to  receive 
in  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  so  many  of  his  com- 
plices who  were  there,  as  they  thought  good. 
And  the  Earl  of  Angus  met  with  the  Earl  of 
Mar,  as  he  came  in  at  the  door,  and  pulled  the 
golden  chain  from  his  craig,  and  said  to  him, 
a  tow  i  would  set  him  better.  Sir  Robert 
Douglas  syne  pulled  the  blowing  horn  from 
him  in  like  manner,  and  said,  'He  had  been 
the  hunter  of  mischief  over  Ions.'  This  Coch- 
ran asked,  'My  lords,  is  it  mows,2  or  earn- 
est?' They  answered,  and  said,  'It  is  good 
earnest,  and  so  thou  shalt  find :  for  thou  and 
thy  complices  have  abused  our  prince  this  long 
time ;  of  whom  thou  shalt  have  no  more  cre- 
dence, but  shalt  have  thy  reward  according  to 
thy  good  service,  as  thou  hast  deserved  in 
times  bypast ;  right  so  the  rest  of  thy  follow- 
ers.' 

"Notwithstanding,  the  lords  held  them  quiet 
till  thev  caused  certain  armed  men  to  pass  into 
the  King's  pallion,  and  two  or  three  wise  men 
to  pass  with  them,  and  give  tiie  King  fair 
pleasant  words,  till  they  laid  hands  on  all  the 
King's  servants,  and  took  them  and  hanged 
them  before  his  eyes  over  the  bridge  of  Law- 
der.  Incontinent  they  brought  forth  Cochraii, 
and  his  hands  bound  with  a  tow,  who  desired 
them  to  lake  one  of  his  own  pullion  tows  and 
bind  his  hands,  for  he  thought  shame  to  have 
his  hands  bound  with  such  tow  of  hemp,  like 
a  thief.  The  lords  answered,  he  was  a  traitor, 
he  deserved  no  better;  and.  for  despight,  they 
took  a  hair-tether.3  and  hanged  him  over  the 
bridge  of  Lawder,  above  the  rest  of  his  com- 
plices." —  Pitscoltie,  p.  78,  folio  edit. 


NOTE  3  U. 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood. 
And  chafed  his  royal  lord.—?.  110. 

Angus  was  an  old  man  when  the  war  against 
England  was  resolved  upon.  He  earnestly 
spoke  against  that  measure  from  its  commence- 
ment; and,  on  the  eve  of  the  l>attle  of  Flod- 
den,  remonstrated  so  freely  upon  the  impolicy 
of  light m;.  that  Hie  King  said  to  him.  wit! 
scum  and  indignation,  -if  he  w;is  afraid  he 
might  go  home."  The  Earl  burst  into  tears 
atihis  insupportable  iii.sult.and  retired  accord 
ingly,  leaving  his  suns  (jeorge.  Master  of  Angus 
and  tsr  William  of  Glenliervie.  to  commant 
h:s  followers.  '1  lit-y  were  both  slam  in  the 
battle,  with  tv.o  hundred  gBiit.emen  of  li 


of  this  able  oegoli 


ame   of  Douglas.    The   aged  E;irl.  broken- 

learted  at  the  calamities  of  his  house  and  his 

xiuntry,  retired  into  a  religious  house,  where 

died  about  a  year  after  the  field  of  Floddeu. 


NOTE  3  V. 

Tantallon  hold.  — P.  110. 

The  rums  of  Tantallon  Castle  occupy  a  high 
rock  projecting  into  the  German  Ocean,  about 
two  miles  east  of  North  Berwick.  The  huild- 
ng  is  not  seen  till  a  close  approach,  as  there 
s  rising  ground  betwixt  it  and  the  land.  The 
circuit"  is  of  large  extent,  fenced  upon  three 
sides  by  the  precipice  which  overhangs  the  sea, 
and  on  the  fourth  by  a  double  ditch  and  very 
strong  outworks.  Tantallon  was  a  principal 
castle  of  the  Douglas  family,  and  when  the 
Earl  of  Angus  was  banisiied,  in  1527.  it  o.fMiti- 
ued  to  hold  out  against  James  V.  The  King 
t'ent  in  person  against  it,  and  for  its  reduction, 
jorrowed  from  the  Castle  of  Dunbar,  then 
belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Albany,  two  great 
cannons,  whose  names,  as  Pitscottie  informs 
us  with  laudable  minuteness,  were  "  Thrawn- 
mouth'd  Meg  and  her  Marrow;'1  also,  "two 
rreat  botcards,  and  two  nioyan,  two  double 
falcons,  and  four  quarter  falcons;"  for  the 
safe  guiding  and  re-delivery  of  which,  three 
lords  were  laid  in  pawn  at  Dunbar.  Yet,  not- 
withstanding all  this  apparatus,  James  was 
forced  to  raise  the  siege,  and  only  afterwards 
obtained  possession  of  Tantallon  by  treaty 
with  the  governor,  Simon  Panango.  When 
the  Earl  of  Angus  returned  from  banishment, 
upon  the  death  of  James,  he  again  obtained 
possession  of  Tantallon,  and  it  actually  afford- 
ed refuge  to  an  English  ambassador,  under 
circumstances  similar  to  those  described  in  the 
text.  This  was  no  other  than  the  celebrated 
Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  who  resided  there  for  some 
time  under  Angus's  protection,  after  the  failure 
of  his  negotiation  for  matching  the  infant 
Mary  with  Edward  VI.  He  says,  that  though 
this  place  was  poorly  furnished,  it  was  of  such 
strength  as  might  warrant  him  against  the 
malice  of  his  enemies,  and  that  he  now 
thought  himself  out  of  danger.* 

There  is  a  military  tradition,  that  the  old 
Scottish  March  was  meant  to  express  the 
words, 


Tantallon  was  at  length  "dung  down  "  and 
ruined  by  the  Covenanters;  its  lord,  the  Mar- 
quis of  Douglas,  being  a  favourer  of  the  royal 
cause  The  castle  and  barony  were  sold  in 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  centnrj  to 
President  Dairy  in  pie  of  North  Berwick,  by  the 
then  Marquis  of  Douglas. 


NOTE  3W. 

Their  motto  on  his  Made.  —  P.  110. 

A  very  ancient  sword,  in  possession  of  Lord 
Douglas,  I/ears,  among  a  great  deal  of  flour- 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


149 


ishniL'.  two  hands  pointing:  to  a  heart,  which  is 
placed  betwixt  them,  and  the  date  1329,  be.mg 
the  year  in  which  Bruce  charged  the  Goou1 
Lord  Douglas  to  carry  his  heart  to  the  Holy 
Land.  The  following  lines  (the  first  couplet 
of  which  is  quoted  by  Godscroft  as  a  popular 
say  in?  in  his  lime)  are  inscribed  around  the 
emblem  : 

"  So  mony  guid  as  of  ye  Dovglas  beinee, 


I  will  ye  charge,  after  yat  I  depart, 

To  holy  irrawe.  am,  thair  bury  my  hart ; 

Let  i[  reman,-  ever  balie  Ifme  •ml  towr. 


This  curious  and  valuable  relic  was  nearly 
tost  during  the  civil  war  of  174.T-6.  being  car- 
ried away  from  Douglas-Castle  by  some  of 
those  in  arms  for  Prince  Charles.  But  great 
interest  bavin;  been  made  by  the  Duke  of 
Douglas  among  the  chief  partisans  of  the  Stu- 
art, it  was  at  length  restored.  It  resembles  a 
Highland  claymore,  of  the  usual  size,  is  of  an 
excellent  temper,  and  admirably  poised. 


NOTE  3 X. 

-  Martin  Saart.  —  P.  112. 


A  German  general,  who  commanded  the 
auxiliaries  sent  by  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy 
with  Lambert  Simnel.  He  was  defeated  and 
killed  at  Stokefield.  The  name  of  this  German 
general  is  preserved  bv  that  of  the  field  of  bat- 
tle, which  is  called,  after  him.  Swart-moor.  — 
There  were  songs  about  him  long  current  in 
England.  —  See  Dissertation  prefixed  to  Kit- 
sou's  Ancitnt  Songs,  1792,  p.  Ixi. 


NOTE  3Y. 

Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 
Perchance,  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved.  —  P. 
112. 

It  was  early  necessary  for  those  who  felt 
themselves  obliged  to  believe  in  the  divine 
judgment  being  enunciated  in  the  trial  by  duel, 
to  find  salvos  for  the  strange  and  obviously 
precarious  chances  of  the  combat.  Various 
curious  evasive  shifts,  used  by  those  who  took 
up  an  unrighteous  quarrel,  were  supposed  suf- 
ficient to  convert  it  into  a  just  one.  Thus,  in 
the  romance  of  ••  Amys  and  Amelion,"  the  one 
brother-m-arms,  fighting  for  the  other,  dis- 
guised in  his  armour,  swears  that  he  did  not 
commit  the  crime  of  which  the  Steward,  his 
antagonist,  truly,  though  maliciously,  accused 
him  whom  he  represented.  Brantome  tells  a 
story  of  an  Italian,  who  entered  the  lists  upon 
an  uujust  quarrel,  but,  to  make  his  cause  good. 
fled  from  his  enemv  at,  the  first  onset.  "  Turn. 
coward!"  exclaimed  his  antagonist.  '-Thou 
liest."  said  the  Italian,  "coward  am  I  none; 
and  in  this  quarrel  will  I  fight  to  the  death, 
but  my  first  cause  of  combat  was  unjust,  and 
I  abandon  it."  "  Je  votis  laisse  a  penser,"  adds 
Brantome.  "  s'il  riy  a  pas  de  I'  abus  la."  Else- 
where he  says,  very  sensibly,  upon  the  confi- 


dence  which  those  who  had  a  righteous  cause 
entertained  of  victory  :  "  Un  outre  abus  y  avoit- 
it,  que  ceux  qui  avoieiit  un  juste  subjet  de  guerelte, 
et  qu'on  ks  faisoit  jurer  avant  entrer  au  camp, 
jiensoitnt  estre  aussitost  vaingueurs,  voire  s'en 
assurment  t-ils  du  tout,  mesmes  qut  leurs  confes- 
Sfurs  punrains  el  confidants  leurs  en  responiloient 
tout-a-jait,  comme  si  Dieu  leur  en  eust  donne 
une  paiente  ;  et  ne.  regardant  point  a  d'autrei 
fautes  possets,  et  guc  Dieu  en  garde  la  pumtion 
a  ce  coup  la  pour  plus  yrande,  dtspiteuse,  et  ex- 
emptaire."  Discours  sur  les  Duels. 


NOTE  3Z. 

Toe  Cross— P.  112. 

The  Cross  of  Edinburgh  was  an  ancient  and 
curious  structure.  The  lower  part  was  an 
octagonal  tower,  sixteen  feet  in  diameter,  and 
about  fifteen  feet  high.  At  each  angle  there 
was  a  pillar,  and  between  them  an  arch,  of  the 
Grecian  shape  Above  these  was  a  projecting 
battlement,  with  a  turret  at  each  corner,  and 
medallions,  of  rude  but  curious  workmanship, 
between  them.  Above  this  rose  the  proper 
Cross,  a  column  of  one  stone,  upwards  of 
twenty  feet,  high,  surmounted  with  a  unicorn. 
This  pillar  is  preserved  in  the  grounds  of  the 
property  of  Drum,  near  Edinburgh.  The  Ma- 
gistrates of  Edinburgh,  in  1756,  with  consent 
of  the  Lords  of  Session,  (proh  pudor .')  destroyed 
this  curious  monument,  under  a  wanton  pre- 
text that  it  encumbered  the  street ;  while,  on 
the  one  hand,  they  left  an  ugly  mass  called  the 
Luckenhooths.and.on  the  other.an  awkward, 
long,  and  low  guard-house,  which  were  fifty 
times  more  encumbrance  than  the  venerable 
and  innoffensive  Cross. 

Krom  the  tower  of  the  Cross,  so  Ion?  as  it 
remained,  the  heralds  published  the  acts  of 
Parliament ;  and  its  site,  marked  by  radii,  di- 
verging from  a  stone  centre,  in  the  High  Street, 
is  still  the  place  where  proclamations  are 
made. 


NOTE  4  A. 

This  awful  summons  came.  —  P.  113. 

This  supernatural  citation  is  mentioned  by 
all  our  Scottish  historians.  It  was,  probably, 
like  the  apparition  at  Liulithgow,  an  attempt, 
by  those  averse  to  the  war,  to  impose  upon  the 
superstitioustemperof  James IV.  The  follow- 
ing account  from  Pitscottie  is  characteristically 
minute,  and  furnishes,  besides,  some  curious 
particulars  of  (he  equipment  of  the  army  of 
James  IV.  I  need  only  add  to  it,  that  Plot- 
cock,  or  Plutock,  is  no  other  than  Pluto.  The 
Christians  of  the  middle  ages  by  no  means 
misbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  heathen 
deit  ies ;  they  only  considered  them  as  devils :  1 
and  Plotcock,  so  far  from  implying  any  thing 
fabulous,  was  a  srnonyme  of  the  grand  enemy 
of  mankind.  "Yet  ail  thir  warnings,  and  un- 


1  See,  on  Ihia  curious  lubject,  the-  Esuy  on  Fairien,  in 
the  "Bonier  Miiwtrelsy."  vol.  ti.  under  the  fourth  head; 
ll*n  Jact»on  on  Unbelief,  |..  175  Chaucer  call*  Pluto  the 
'•  Kin;  of  Faerie  ;"  and  Uunbar  liamei  him,  ••  Pluto,  that 
elnch  incubus."  If  he  wa»  not  actually  tbe  devil,  he 


150 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


couth  tidings,  nor  no  good  counsel,  might  stop 
the  King,  at  this  present,  from  his  vain  purpose, 
and  wicked  enterprize.  hui  hasted  him  fast  to 
Edinburgh,  and  there  to  make  his  provision  and 
furnishing,  in  having  forth  his  army  against  the 
day  appointed.  that  they  should  meet  in  the  Bur- 
row-muir  of  Edinburgh  :  That  is  to  say.  seven 
cannons  that  he  had  forth  of  the  Castle  of 
Edinburgh,  which  were  called  the  Seven  Sis- 
ters, casten  by  Robert  Borthwick,  the  master- 
gunner,  with  other  sm;ill  artillery. bullet,  pow- 
der, and  all  manner  of  order,  as  the  master- 
gunner  could  devise. 

"  In  this  meantime,  when  they  were  taking 
forth  their  artillery,  and  the  King  being  in  the 
Abbey  for  the  time,  there  was  a  cry  heard  at 
the  Market-crosB  of  Edinburgh,  at  the  hour  of 
midnight,  proclaiming  as  it  had  been  a  sum- 
mons, which  was  named  and  called  by  the 
proclaimer  thereof.  The  Summons  of  Plot- 
cock:  which  desired  :ill  men  to  compear,  both 
Earl,  and  Lord,  and  Baron,  and  all  honest  gen- 
tlemen within  the  town,  (every  man  specified 
by  his  own  name.)  to  compear,  within  the 
space  of  forty  days,  before  his  master,  where 
it  should  happen  him  to  appoint,  and  be  for 
the  time,  under  the  pain  of  disobedience.  But 
whether  this  summons  was  proclaimed  by  vain 
persons,  night-walkers,  or  drunken  men,  for 
their  pastime,  or  if  it  was  a  spirit,  1  cannot  tell 
truly;  but  it  was  shewn  to  me,  that  an  m- 
dweller  of  the  town,  Mr.  Richard  Law-son, 
being  evil-disposed,  ganging  in  his  gallery-stair 
foreanent  the  Cross,  hearing  this  voice  pro- 
claiming this  summons,  thought  marvel  what 
it  should  be,  cried  on  his  servant  to  bring  him 
his  purse ;  and  when  he  had  brought  him  it, 
he  took  out  a  crown,  and  cast  over  the  stair, 
saying,  '  I  appeal  from  that  summons,  judg- 
ment, and  sentence  thereof,  and  takes  me  all 
whole  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  Christ  Jesus 
his  son.'  Verily,  the  author  of  this,  that 
caused  me  write  the  manner  of  this  summons, 
was  a  landed  gentleman,  who  was  at  that 
time  twenty  years  of  age,  and  was  in  the  town 
the  time  of  the  said  summons :  and  thereafter, 
when  the  field  was  stricken,  he  swore  to  me, 
there  was  no  man  escaped  thai  was  called  in 
this  summons,  but  that  one  man  alone  which 
made  his  protestation,  and  appealed  from  the 
said  summons;  but  all  the  lave  were  perished 
in  the  field  with  the  king." 


NOTE  4  B. 

One  of  his  man  ancestry. 

Drove  the  Monks  forth  of  Coventry.  —P.  114. 

This  relates  to  the  catastrophe  of  a  real 
Robert  de  Marmion.  in  the  reign  of  King  Ste- 
phen, whom  William  Newburv  describes  with 
some  attributes  of  my  fictitious  hero :  •'  Homo  \ 
hfUicosus,  ferocia,  et  tistucia,  fere  nv.Ho  suo  tern-  \ 
pore  impar."  This  Baron,  having  expelled  the 
Monks  from  the  church  of  Coventry,  was  not > 
long  of  experiencing  the  divine  judgment,  as  | 


the  same  Monks,  no  doubt,  termed  his  disas- 
ter. Having  wared  a  feudal  war  with  the 
Earl  of  Chester.  Marmion's  horse  fell,  as  he 
charged  in  the  van  of  his  trooii.  against  a  body 
of  the  Earl's  followers:  the  rider's  tliigli  being 
broken  by  the  fall,  his  head  was  cut  off  by  a 
common  foot-soldier,  ere  he  could  receive  any 
succour.  The  whole  story  is  told  by  William 
of  Nevvbury. 


NOTE  4  C. 


the  snvatje  Dane 


At  lot  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain.  —  P.  115. 

The  lol  of  the  heathen  Danes  (a  word  still 
applied  to  Christmas  in  Scotland)  was  solem- 
nized with  great  festivity.  The  humour  of  the 
Danes  ;it  table  displayed  itself  in  pelting  each 
other  with  bones ;  and  Torfeus  tells  a  long 
and  curious  story,  in  the  History  of  Horolfe 
Kraka.  of  one  Hottus,  an  inmate  of  the  Court 
of  Denmark,  who  was  so  generally  assailed 
with  these  missiles,  that  he  constructed,  out 
of  the  bones  with  which  he  was  overwhelmed, 
a  very  respectable  intrenchment,  against  those 
who  continued  the  raillerv.  The  dances  of  the 
northern  warriors  round  the  great  fires  of 
pine-trees,  are  commemorated  by  Olans  Mas- 
nus,  who  says,  they  danced  with  such  fury 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands,  that,  if  the 
grasp  of  any  failed,  he  was  pitched  into  the 
fire  with  the  velocity  of  a  sling.  The  sufferer, 
on  such  occasions,  was  instantly  plucked  out, 
and  obliged  to  quaff  a  certain  measure  of  ale, 
as  a  penalty  for  "spjtliag  ihe  king's  tire." 


mart  be  considered  an  the  "  princ*  of  the  power  of  the  air." 
The  most  remarkable  instance  of  these  numYing  classical 
superstitions,  it  that  of  the  Germans  concerning  the  Hill 
of  Venus,  into  which  Hhe  attempts  to  entice  all  gallant 
knifht*,  anil  detains  them  there  in  a  sort  of  Fool's  Para- 


NOTE  4  D. 

•       On  Christmas  eve.  —  P.  115. 

In  Roman  Catholic  countries,  mass  is  never 
said  at  night,  except  on  Christmas  eve.  Each 
of  the  frolics  with  which  that  holiday  used  to 
be  celebrated,  might  admit  of  a  long  and  curi- 
ous note  ;  but  1  shall  content  myself  with  the 
following  description  of  Christmas,  and  his  at- 
tributes, as  personified  in  one  of  Ben  Jonson's 
Masques  for  the  Court 

"Enter  Christmas,  with  two  or  three  of  the 
Guard.  He  is  attired  in  round  hose,  long 
stockings,  a  close  doublet,  a  high-crowned  hat, 
with  a  brooch,  a  long  thin  lieard.  a  truncheon, 
little  ruffs,  white  shoes,  his  scarfs  and  garters 
tied  cross,  and  his  drum  beaten  before  him.  — 
The  names  of  his  children,  with  their  attires: 
Miss-Ri'lf,  in  a  velvet  cap,  with  a  sprig,  a  short 
cloak,  great  yellow  ruff,  like  a  reveller:  his 
torch-bearer  hearing  a  rope,  a  cheese,  nnd  a 
basket; — CaroU.  a  long  tawny  coat,  with  a 
red  cap,  and  a  flute  at  his  girdle ;  his  torch- 
bearer  carrying  a  song-book  open ;  —  Mmc'd- 
pie,  like  a  fine  cook's  wife,  drest  neat,  her  man 
carrying  a  pie,  dish,  and  spoons ;  —  OamboU, 
like  a  tumbler,  with  a  hoop  and  bells;  his 
torch-bearer  arm'd  with  cole-sUiif,  and  blind- 
ing cloth;  —  Post  and  Pair,  with  a  pair-royal 
of  aces  in  his  hat,  his  garment  all  done  over 
with  pairs  and  purs :  his  squire  carrying  a  lx>x, 
cards,  and  counters :  —  Nr>o-u<ar's-G<tl.  in  a 
blue  coat,  serving-man  like,  with  an  orange. 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


151 


arid  a  sprig  of  rosemary  gilt  on  his  head,  his 
hat  full  of  brooches,  with  a  collar  of  ginger- 
bread ;  his  torch-bearer  carrying  a  march-pain, 
with  a  bottle  of  wine  on  either  arm  ;  —  Mum- 
minii,  in  a  ruasquing  pied  suit,  with  a  visor: 
his  torch-hearer  carrying  the  lw>x,  and  ringing 
it;  —  Wassal,  like  a  ueat  sempster  and  song- 
ster: her  page  bearing  a  brown  bowl,  drest 
with  ribbands,  and  rosemary,  before  her;  — 
Offering,  in  a  short  gown,  with  a  porter's  staff 
iu  his  hand  :  a  wyth  borne  before  him,  and  a 
bason,  by  his  torch-bearer; — Bubi/Cocke. drest 
like  a  boy,  in  a  line  long  coat,  biggiii.  bib, 
muckender,  and  a  little  dagger;  his  usher 
bearing  a  great  cake,  with  a  bean  and  a  pease." 


NOTE  4  E. 

Who  lists  may  in  their  mummiruj  .«•« 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery.  —  P.  116. 

ft  seems  certain,  that  the  Mummers  of  Eng- 
land, who  (in  Northumberland  at  least)  used 
to  eo  about  in  disguise  to  the  neighbouring 
houses,  hearing  the  then  useless  ploughshare : 
and  the  Guisnnls  of  Scotland,  not  yet  in  total 
disuse,  present,  in  some  indistinct  degree,  a 
shadow  of  the  old  mysteries,  which  were  the 
origin  of  the  English  drama.  In  Scotland,  (me 
ijiso  tfste,)  we  were  wont,  during  my  boyhood, 
to  take  the  characters  of  the  apostles,  at  least 
of  Peter,  Paul,  and  Judas  iscariot;  the  first 
had  the  keys,  the  second  carried  a  sword,  and 
the  last  the  bag,  in  which  the  dole  of  our 
neighbours'  pluml>-cake  was  deposited.  One 
played  a  champion,  and  recited  some  tradi- 
tional rhymes;  another  was 

.    .    .    .    "  Alexander,  King  of  Maredon, 
•Who  conqner'd  all  Ihe  world  but  Scotland  alone: 
When  he  came  to  Scotland  hit*  courage  grew  cold* 
To  see  a  little  nation  courageous  and  bold." 

These,  and  many  such  verses,  were  repeated, 
but  by  rote,  and  unconnectedly.  There  was 
also,  occasionally.  I  believe,  a  Saint  George. 
In  all,  there  was  a  confused  resemblance  of 
the  ancient  mysteries,  in  which  the  characters 
of  Scripture,  the  Nine  Worthies,  and  other 
popular  personages,  were  usually  exhibited 
It.  were  much  to  he  wished  that 'the  Chester 
Mysteries  were  published  from  the  MS.  in  the 
M  iiseum.  with  the  annotations  which  a  diligent 
investigator  of  popular  antiquities  misht  still 
supply.  The  late  acute  and  valuable  anti- 
quary. Mr.  Ritson,  showed  me  several  memo- 
randa towards  sucli  a  task,  which  are  proba- 
bly now  dispersed  or  lost.  See,  however,  his 
Bfmarks  on  Stiaksprare.  1783  p.  38. 

Since  the  first  edition  of  Marmion  appeared, 
this  subject  has  received  much  elucidation 
from  the  learned  and  extensive  labours  of  Mr. 
Douce :  and  the  Chester  Mysteries  [edited  by 
J.  H  Markland,  E:>q  ]  have  l>een  printed  in  a 
style  of  great  elegance  and  accuracy,  (iu  1818,) 
hy  Bensley  and  Sous,  London,  for  the  Roi- 
burghe  Club.  1830. 


NOTE  4  F. 

Where  my  trreaj-grandsire  fame  of  old. 
With  amber  beard  and  flaxen  hair.  —  P.  116. 
Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,!  my  kind  and   affec- 
tionate friend,  and   distant   relation,  hns  the 


original  of  a  poetical  invitation,  addressed 
from  his  grandfather  to  my  relative,  from 
which  a  few  lines  in  the  text  are  imitated 
They  are  dated,  as  the  epistle  in  the  text,  from 
Mertoun-house,  the  seat  of  the  Harden  family. 

•'  With  amber  beard,  and  flixen  hair, 


I    frf    : 


X'.'-IV  : 


_      e  hither,  Christmas-day,  and  dine; 
We'll  mix  sobriety  with  wine. 
And  ea»y  minh  with  thought*  divine. 
We  Christians  think  it  holiday, 

Ot tiers,  in  spite,  may  fast  iiud  pray. 


Our 


.    the  i 
made  of  : 


Why  I... 

Be  innocently  blithe  and  gay, 
On  goose  or  pie,  or  wine  or  ale 

Your  friend  and  landlord,' Waller  Scott. 


zeal ?  — 

pttfM 

nd  and  landlord,  W  " 

Mr  Walter  ScoU,  Le«it</CTi." 

The  venerable  old  gentleman,  to  whom  the 
lines  are  addressed,  was  the  younger  brother 
of  William  Scott  of  Raeburn.  Being  the  cadet 
of  a  cadet  of  the  Harden  family,  he  had  very 
little  to  lose ;  yet  he  contrived  to  lose  the 
small  property  he  had,  by  engaging  in  the  civil 
wars  and  intrigues  of  the  house  of  Stuart. 
His  veneration  for  the  exiled  family  was  so 
great,  that  he  swore  he  would  not  shave  his 
beard  till  they  were  restored  :  a  mark  of  at- 
tachment, which,  I  suppose,  had  been  common 
during  Cromwell's  usurpation;  for,  in  Cowley's 
"Cutter  of  Coleinan  Street,"  one  drunken 
cavalier  upbraids  another,  that,  when  he  was 
not  able  to  afford  to  pay  a  barber,  he  affected 
to  "wear  a  beard  for  the  King."  I  sincerely 
hope  this  was  not  absolutely  the  original  rea- 
son of  my  ancestor's  beard ;  which,  as  appears 
from  a  portrait  in  the  possession  of  Sir  Henry 
Hay  Macdougal,  Bart.,  and  another  painted  for 
the  famous  Dr.  Pitcairn,2  was  a  beard  of  a 
most  dignified  and  venerable  appearance. 


NOTE  4G. 

The  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree.  — P.  116. 

1  am  permitted  to  illustrate  this  passage,  by 
insertingt  '•  Ceubren  yr  Ellyll,  or  the  Spirit's 
Blasted  Tree."  a  legendary  tale,  by  the  Reve- 
rend George  Warrington:  — 

"The  event,  on  which  this  tale  is  founded, 
is  preserved  hy  tradition  in  the  family  of  the 
Vaughans  of  Hengwyrt ;  nor  is  it  entirely  lost 
even  among  the  common  people,  who  still 
point  out  this  oak  to  the  passenger.  The  en- 
mity between  the  two  Welsh  chieftains,  Howel 
Sele,  and  Owen  Glendwr,  was  extreme,  and 
marked  by  vile  treachery  in  the  one,  and  fero- 
cious cruelty  in  the  others  The  story  is 
somewhat  changed  and  softened,  as  more  fa- 


wan an  intimate  of  thii  celebrated 
of  Ihe  latu  Karl  of  Kellie.  descended 
om  Dr.  Pitcairn,  my  father  became 


152 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


trace  of  Howel  Sele's  mansion  was  to  be  seen 
a  few  years  ago.  and  may  perhaps  be  still 
visible,  in  the  park  of  Naniiau,  now  belonsrms 
to  Sir  Robert  Vaughan,  Baronet,  in  the  wild 
and  romantic  tracks  of  Merionethshire.  The 
abbey  mentioned  passes  under  two  names, 
Vener  and  Cynimer.  The  former  is  retained, 
as  more  generally  used. 

THE  SPIRIT'S  BLASTED  TREE. 

Ccvbrt*  yr  EHyll 
«  Through  Nannan's  Chase,  u  Howe]  pasu'd, 

A  rliiff  eeU-em'd  both  brave  and  kind, 
Far  distant  borne,  ibe  stag-hounds'  cry 
Came  murmuring  on  the  hollow  wind* 

"Starting,  he  bent  an  eager  ear,  — 
How  should  the  sound*  return  again  J 

Kin  hounds  lay  wearied  from  the  chaae, 
And  all  at  home  hia  hunter  train. 

**  Then  gndden  anger  flash'd  his  eye, 
And  deep  reveuge  he  vow'd  to  take, 

Hia  red-deer  from  the  forest  brake. 

"Unhappy  Chief!  wonM  nongbt  avail, 
No  signs  impress  thy  heart  with  fear. 

Thy  lady's  dark  mysterious  dream. 
Thy  warning  from  the  hoary  seer  ? 

44  Three  ravens  gave  the  note  of  death. 
As  through  mid  air  they  wing'd  their  way; 

Then  o'er  hi*  head,  in  rapid  flight. 
They  croak,  —  they  scent  their  deatined  prey. 

•  Ill-omeu'd  bird  !  as  legends  say. 

Who  hast  the  wondrous  power  to  know, 

'While  health  fills  high  the  throbbing  veins. 
The  fated  hour  wben  blood  must  flow. 

"  Blinded  by  rage,  alone  he  pass'd, 

Nor  sought  bis  ready  vassals'  aid : 
But  what  his  fate  lay  long  unknown, 

44  A  peasant  mark'd  his  angry  eye, 

He  saw  him  reach  the  lake'-  dark,  bourne, 
He  saw  him  near  a  Blasted  Oak, 


"  His  vassal*  ranged  the  mountain's  height, 

The  covert  close,  the  wide-spread  plain ; 
But  all  in  vain  their  eager  search, 

44  With  wonder  fraught  the  tale  went  ronnd, 

Each  peasant  felt  his  own  sad  loss, 
Yet  fondly  o'er  the  story  hung. 

"  Oft  by  the  moon's  pale  shadowy  light. 
His  aged  nurse  and  steward  grey 

Would  lean  to  catch  the  storied  sounds, 
Or  mark  the  Bitting  spirit  stray. 

44  Pale  lights  on  Cader's  rocks  were  seen, 

Twa.  even  said  the  Blasted  Oak, 
Convulsive,  heaved  a  hollow  groan : 

44  And  to  this  day  (he  peasant  still. 

With  cautious  f.-ar,  avoids  the  ground  : 
In  each  wild  branch  a  spectre  sees, 

"Ten  annual  suns  had  held  their  coarse, 


«  Yet  still  to  hope  her  heart  would  cling, 

Of  travel  fond,  perhaps  her  lord  ' 
To  di.tant  lands  had  sleer'd  his  way. 

44  'Twas  now  November's  cheerless  honr, 
Winch  drenching  ram  and  clouds  deface, 

Dreary  bleak  Robell's  tract  appear'd. 
And  dull  and  dank  each  valley's  space. 

"  Loud  o'er  the  weir  the  hoarse  flood  fell. 
And  dash'd  the  foaming  «prny  on  high; 

The  west  wind  bent  the  forest  tops, 
And  angry  frown'd  tht  rvening  sky. 

44  A  stranger  pass'd  Llanelltid's  bourne, 

His  dark-grey  steed  with  swea>  besprent. 
Which,  wi-arii-d  with  the  len;Iben'd  way, 

"  The  portal  reach'd,  — the  iron  bell 

Loud  sounded  ronnd  the  outward  wall ; 
Quick  sprang  the  warder  to  the  gale, 

44 '  O !  lead  me  to  yonr  lady  soon  ; 

Say,  —  it  in  my  sad  lot  to  tell, 
To  clear  the  fate  of  that  brave  knight. 

She  long  has  proved  she  loved  so  well.1 

44  Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  spacious  hall, 
The  menials  look  surprise  and  fear; 

Still  o'er  his  harp  old  Modred  hnng. 
And  touch'd  the  notes  for  griefs  worn  ear 

44  The  lady  sat  amidst  her  train ; 
A  mellow'd  sorrow  mark'd  her  look": 

The  graceful  stranger  sigh'd  and  spoke :  — 
44  O  coald  I  spread  one  ray  of  hope, 

Oladlj  my  tongue  would  tell  ih  tale, 
My  words  at  ease  uufetler'd  now  ! 

44 '  Now,  lady,  give  attention  due. 
The  story  claims  thy  foil  belief: 

E'en  in  the  worst  events  of  life. 
Suspense  removed  is  some  relief. 

44 '  Though  worn  by  care,  see  Madoc  here. 
Great  Olyndwr's  friend,  thy  kindred's  foe; 

"  4  E'en  from  the  day.  when,  chaln'd  by  fate. 
By  wizard's  dream,  or  potent  spell. 

Lingering  from  sad  Salopia's  field. 
'Reft  of  Ail  aid  the  Percy  fell ;  — 

A»  if  for  violated  faith, 
Vindictive  still  for  HoUpnr's  death. 

44  4  Vanquish'd  at  length,  the  Glyndwr  Bed. 

Where  winds  the  Wye  her  devious  flood ; 
To  find  a  casual  Bhelter  there, 

In  some  lone  cot,  or  desert  wood. 

44  4  Clothed  In  a  shepherd's  humble  gnise, 
He  gain'd  by  toil  his  scanty  bread  ; 

He  who  bad  Cambria's  sceptre  borne. 
And  her  brave  sons  to  glory  led  '. 

44  4To  pennry  extreme,  and  grief, 
The  Chieftain  fell  a  lingering  prey; 

I  heard  bis  la»t  few  faltering  words, 
Snch  as  with  pain  I  now  convey. 

44  •  To  Sele's  sad  widow  bear  the  tale, 

Give  hot  fcu  corse  to  sacred  earth, 
Tt.en  may  my  parting  »oul  be  blest.4  — 

41 4  Dim  waxM  the  eye  that  fiercely  shone. 
And  faint  the  tongue  that  proudly  spoke. 

And  weak  that  arm,  still  raised  to  me. 
Which  oft  had  dealt  the  mortal  stroke. 

«  '  How  could  I  then  his  mandate  bear  7 

Or  how  hia  last  behest  obey  I 
A  rebel  deem'd,  with  him  1  fled  ; 


APPENDIX   TO   MARMION. 


153 


"  'Proscribed  by  Henry's  hostile  r 
My  country  lout,  despoil'd  my  la 

Desperate,  I  fled  my  native  soil. 
And  (ought  on  Syria's  distant  etl 


'  Led  by  the  ardo 


"•With  head  alnft  and  I 
A  red  buck  roused  the) 

Swift  frorr 

"  •  Wilh  bitter  taunt  and  keen  r. 

He,  all  impetuous,  pour'd  his  I 
Reviled  the  Chief,  as  weak  in  ar 

And  bade  him  loud  the  battle  i 

" '  Glyndv* 

And,  sli 
But  soften 

Made  anger  more  intensely 

The  Glynrt  wr  gave  the  fatal 
And  its  last  act  all  dreadful  i 

"  How  could  we  hope  for  wish'd  retreat. 

His  eager  vassals  ranging  wide. 
His  bloo 


iceed. 


«  '  I  mark'd  a  broa.l  and  Blasted  Oak, 
Scorrh'd  by  tbe  lightning's  livid  glare; 


u  '  Be  this,  I  cried,  his  proper  grave  !  — 
(The  thought  in  me  was  deadly  sin,) 
Aloft  we  raised  the  hapless  Chief, 
And  dropp'd  his  bleeding  corpse  within.1 

"  A  shriek  from  all  the  damsels  burst. 
That  pierced  the  vaulted  roofs  below; 

While  horror-struck  the  Lady  stood, 
A  living  form  of  sculptured  woe. 

"With  stupid  stare  arid  vacant  gazp, 
Full  on  his  face  her  eyes  were  cast, 

Ahsorb'd  !— hhe  lost  her  present  grief, 
And  faintly  thought  of  things  long  past. 

"  Like  wild-nre  o'er  a  mossy  heath. 
The  peasants  crowd  at  morning  da 


ale  — behold  the 
lear  the  Blasted  Oak, 


To  he 


»  Back  they  recoil'd  !  —  the  right  hand  still, 
Contracted,  grasp'd  a  rusty  sword  ; 
•st  in  mnnv  a  battle  gleamd'd, 

slaugtiter'd  lord. 

With  holy  rites  and  prayers  address'd  ; 
Nine  white-robed  monks  (he  lust  dirge  sang, 
And  gave  the  angry  spirit  rest." 


NOTE  4  H. 

The  Highlander 

\\'ill.  on  a  Friday  morn,  loAlt  pale, 
Jfask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tak."  —  P.  117. 


Notwithstanding  tlieir  name,  they  are,  if  not 
absolutely  inalerolent,  at  least  peevish,  dis- 
contented, iind  apt  to  do  mischief  on  slight 
provocation.  The  belief  of  their  existence  is 
deeply  impressed  on  the  Highlanders,  who 
think  they  are  particularly  offended  at  mortals 
who  talk  of  them,  who  wear  their  favourite 
colour  green,  or  in  any  respect  interfere  with 
their  affairs.  This  is  especially  to  be  avoided 
on  Friday,  when,  wlielher  as  dedicated  to  Ve- 
nus, with  whom,  in  Germany,  this  subterra- 
neous people  are  held  nearly  connected,  or  for 
a  more  solemn  reason,  they  are  more  active, 
and  possessed  of  greater  power.  Some  curious 
particulars  concerning  the  popular  supersti- 
tions of  the  Highlanders  may  be  found  in  Dr. 
Graham's  Picturesque  Sketches  of  Perthshire. 


NOTE  4  I. 

The  towers  of  Franchemont.  —  P.  117. 

The  journal  of  the  friend  to  whom  the 
Fourth  Canto  of  the  Poem  is  inscribed,  fur- 
nished me  with  the  following  account  of  a 
striking  superstition. 

"  Passed  the  pretty  little  village  of  Franche- 
mont, (near  Spaw),  with  the  romantic  ruins 
of  the  old  castle  of  the  Counts  of  that  name. 
The  road  leads  through  many  delishtful  vales 
on  a  rising  ground  ;  at  the  extremity  of  one 
of  them  stands  the  ancient  castle,  now  the 
subject  of  many  superstitious  legends.  It  is 
firmly  believed  by  the  neighbouring  peasantry, 
that  the  I  list  Baron  of  Franchemont  deposited, 
in  one  of  the  vaults  of  the  castle,  a  ponderous 
chest,  containing  an  immense  treasure  in  gold 
and  silver,  which,  by  some  magic  spell,  was 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  Devil,  who  is  con- 
stantly found  sitting  on  the  chest  in  the  shape 
of  a  huntsman.  Anyone  adventurous  enough 
to  touch  the  chest  is  instantly  seized  with  the 
palsy.  Upon  one  occasion,  a  priest  of  noted 
piety  was  brought  to  the  vault :  he  used  all 
the  arts  of  exorcism  to  persuade  his  infernal 
majesty  to  vacate  his  seat,  but  in  vain;  the 
huntsman  remained  immovable.  At  last, 
moved  by  the  earnestness  of  the  priest,  he 
told  him  that  he  would  asree  to  resign  the 
chest,  if  the  exorciser  would  sign  his  name 
with  blood.  But  the  priest  understood  his 
meaning,  and  refused,  as  by  that  act  he  would 
have  delivered  over  his  soul  to  the  Devil. 
Yet  if  any  body  can  discover  the  mystic  words 
used  by  the  person  wiio  deposited  the  trea- 
sure, and  pronounce  them,  the  fiend  must  in- 
stantly decamp.  I  had  many  stories  of  a 
similar  nature  from  a  peasant,  who  had  him- 
self seen  the  Devil  in  the  shape  of  a  great 
cat." 


NOTE  4  K. 

The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair. 
Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air. 
And  smiling  on  tier  votaries'  prayer. — P.  118. 


"1  shall  only  produce  one  instance  more  of 
the  great  veneration  paid  to  Ladv  Hilda,  which 
The   Daoine  shi1,  or  Men  of  Peace,  of  the  i  still  prevails  even  in  these  our  days :  and  that 
Scottish   Highlanders,   rather    resemble    the    i.Si  the  constant  opinion  that  she  rendered,  and 
Scandinavian  Dueryar  than  the  English  Fairies. ]  still  renders,  herself  visible,  on  some  occa- 


154 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


sions.  in  the  Abbey  of  Streanshalh  or  Whitbv. 
where  she  so  long  resided.  At  a  particular 
time  of  the  year  (viz  in  the  summer  months). 
at  ten  or  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  the  sunbeams 
fall  in  the  inside  of  the  northern  part  of  the 
choir;  and  'tis  then  that  the  spectators,  who 
stand  on  the  west  side  of  Whitby  churchyard, 
so  as  just  to  see  the  most  northerly  part  of  the 
abbey  pass  the  north  end  of  Whitby  church, 
imagine  they  perceive,  in  one  of  the  highest 
window*  there,  the  resemblance  of  a  woman 
arrayed  in  a  shroud.  Though  we  are  certain 
this  is  only  a  reflection  caused  by  the  splen- 
dour of  the  sunbeams,  yet  fame  reports  it,  and 
it  is  constantly  believed  among  the  vulgar,  to 
be  an  appearance  of  Lady  Hilda  in  her  shroud, 
or  rather  in  a  glorified  state  :  before  which,  I 
make  no  doubt,  the  Papists,  even  in  these  our 
days,  offer  up  their  prayers  with  as  much  zeal 
and  devotion  as  before  any  other  image  of 
their  most  glorified  saint."— Charlton's  History 
of  Whitby,  p.  33. 


NOTE  4  L. 


-  the  have  and  sweeping  brand 


Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray, 
His  forma  n't  limbs  to  shred  away. 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray. — P.  120. 

The  Earl  of  Angus  had  strength  and  per- 
sonal activity  corresponding  to  his  courage. 
Spens  of  Kilspindle,  a  favourite  of  James  IV., 
having  spoken  of  him  lightly,  the  Earl  met 
him  while  hawking,  and,  compelling  him  to 
single  combat,  at  one  blow  cut  asunder  his 
thighbone,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot.  But 
ere  he  could  obtain  James's  pardon  for  this 
slaughter,  Angus  was  obliged  to  yield  his 
castle  of  Hermitage,  in  exchange  for  that  of 
Bothwell,  which  was  some  diminution  to  the 
family  greatness.  The  sword  with  which  he 
struck  so  remarkable  a  blow,  was  presented 
by  his  descendant  James,  Karl  of  Morton,  af- 
terwards Regent  of  Scotland,  to  Lord  Lindesay 
of  the  Byres,  when  he  defied  Bothwell  to 
single  combat  on  Carberry  Hill.  See  Intro- 
duction to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border. 


NOTE  4M. 

And  hopfst  thou  hence  unscathed  logo'! — 
No !  by  St.  Bride  of  Bothiartl,  no ! 
Up  dratcbridae.  grooms !  —  What,  Warder,  ho ! 
Let  the  portcullis  fall.  —  P.  120. 

This  ebullition  of  violence  in  the  potent  Karl 
of  Angus  is  not  without  its  example  in  the  real 
history  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  whose  chief- 
tains possessed  the  ferocity,  with  the  heroic 
virtues  of  a  savage  state.  The  most  curious 
instance  occurred  in  the  case  of  Maolellan. 
Tutor  of  Bombay,  who.  having  refused  to 
acknowledge  the  pre-eminence  claimed  by 
Douglas  over  the  gentlemen  and  Barons  of 
Galloway,  was  seized  and  imprisoned  hv  the 
Karl,  in  his  castle  of  the  Thrieve.  on  the  bor- 
ders of  Kirkcudbrightshire.  Sir  Patrick  Gray, 
commander  of  King  James  the  Second's  guard, 


.•  uncle  to  the  Tutor  of  Bombay,  and  ob- 
tained from  the  Kins  a  "sweet  letter  of  sup- 
plication,'' praying  the  Earl  to  deliver  his 
prisoner  into  Gray's  hand.  When  Sir  Patrick 
arrived  at  the  castle,  he  was  received  with  all 
the  honour  due  to  a  favourite  servant  of  the 
King's  household  ;  but  while  he  was  at  din- 
ner, the  Earl,  who  suspected  his  errand, 
caused  his  prisoner  to  he  led  forth  and  be- 
headed. After  dinner.  Sir  Patrick  presented 
the  King's  letter  to  the  Enrl,  who  received  it 

th  great  affectation  of  reverence:  "and 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  forth  to 
the  green,  where  the  gentleman  was  lying 
dead,  and  showed  him  the  manner,  and  said, 
•Sir  Patrick,  you  are  come  a  little  too  late; 
yonder  is  your  sister's  son  lymg.  but  he  wants 
the  head  •  take  his  body,  and  do  with  it  what 
you  will.' — Sir  Patrick  answered  again,  with 
a  sore  heart,  and  said.'  My  lord,  if  ye  have  taken 
from  him  his  head,  dispone  upon  the  body  as 
ye  please ;'  and  with  that  called  for  his  imrse, 
and.  leaped  thereon;  and  when  he  was  on 
horseback,  he  said  to  the  Earl  on  this  manner, 
•  My  lord,  if  I  live  you  shall  be  rewarded  for 
yoiir  labours  that  you  have  used  at  this  time, 
according  to  your  demerits." 

"At  this  saying  the  Earl  was  highly  of- 
fended, and  cried  for  horse.  Sir  Patrick,  see- 
ing the  Earl's  furv.  spurred  his  horse,  but  he 
was  chased  near  Edinburgh  ere  they  left  him  ; 
and  had  it  not  been  his  led  horse  was  so  tried 
and  good,  he  had  been  taken."  —  Piscottie's 
History,  p.  39. 


NOTE  4  N. 

A  letter  forged !  —  Saint  Jude  to  speed  ! 
Did  ever  knigM  so  foul  a  deed !  —  P.  121. 

Lest  the  reader  should  partake  of  the  Earl's 
astonishment,  and  consider  the  crime  as  in- 
consistent with  the  manners  of  the  period,  I 
have  to  remind  him  of  the  numerous  forgeries 
(partly  executed  by  a  female  assistant )  devised 
by  Robert  of  Artois,  to  forward  his  suit  against 
the  Countess  Matilda ;  which,  being  detected, 
occasioned  his  flight  into  England,  and  proved 
the  remote  cause  of  Edward  the  Third's  me- 
morable wars  in  France.  John  Harding,  also, 
was  expressly  hired  by  Edward  VI.  to  forge 
such  documents  as  mi^ht  appear  to  establish 
the  claim  of  fealty  asserted  over  Scotland  by 
the  English  monarch*. 


NOTE  4  0. 

Lennel's  convent.  —  P.  121. 

This  was  aTisterlian  house  of  religion,  now 
almost  entirely  demolished.  Lennel  House 
is  now  the  residence  of  my  venerable  friend, 
Patrick  Brydone.  Esquire,  so  well  known  in 
the  literary"  world.1  It  is  situated  near  Cold- 
stream.  aWiiost  opposite  to  Cornhill,  and  con- 
sequently very  near  to  Flodden  Field. 


APPENDIX  TO   MARMION. 


155 


NOTE  4  P. 

Twi*el  briclye.  —  P.  122. 

On  the  evening  previous  to  the  memorable 
battle  of  Flodden,  Surrey's  head  quarters  were 
at  Barmoor  W'wxl.  and  Kin?  James  held  an 
inaccessible  pnsiliiui  on  the  ridge  of  Flodden- 
hiil,  one  of  the  last  and  lowest  eminences  de- 
tached from  the  ridge  of  Cheviot  The  Till. 
a  deep  and  slow  river,  winded  between  the 
armies.  On  the  morning  of  the  9th  September 
1513,  Surrey  marched  in  a  north-westerly 
direction,  and  crossed  the  Till,  with  his  van 
and  artillery,  at  Twisel-bridge,  nigh  where 
that  nver  joins  the  Tweed,  his  rear-guard 
column  passing  about  a  mile  higher,  by  a  ford. 
This  movement  had  the  double  effect  of 
placing  his  army  between  King  James  and  his 
supplies  from  Scotland,  and  "of  striking  the 
Scottish  monarch  with  surprise,  as  he  seems 
to  have  relied  on  (he  depth  of  the  river  in  his 
front.  But  as  the  passage,  both  over  the 
bridge  and  through  the  ford,  was  difficult  and 
slow,  it  seems  possible  that  the  English  might 
have  been  attacked  to  great  advantage  while 
struggling  with  these  natural  obstacles.  1 
know  not  if  we  are  to  impute  James's  for- 
bearance to  want  of  military  skill,  or  to  the 
romantic  declaration  which  Pitscoltie  puts  in 
his  mouth.  ••  thai,  he  was  determined  to  have 
his  enemies  before  him  on  a  plain  field,"  and 
therefore  would  sutler  no  interruption  to  be 
given,  even  by  artillery,  to  their  passing  the 
river 

The  ancient  bridge  of  Twisel,  by  which  the 
English  crossed  the  Till,  is  still  standing  he 
nealh  Twisel  Castle,  a  splendid  pile  of  Gothic 
architecture,  as  now  rebuilt  by  Sir  Francis 
Blake,  Bart.,  whose  extensive  plantations  have 
so  much  unproved  the  country  around.  The 
glen  is  romantic  and  delightful,  with  steep 
banks  on  each  side,  covered  with  copse,  par- 
ticularly with  hawthorn.  Beneath  a  tall  rock. 
near  the  bridge,  is  a  plentiful  fountain,  called 
St.  Helen's  Well. 


NOTE  4  Q. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array, 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray.  —  P.  122. 

The  reader  cannot  here  expect  a  full  account 
of  the  battle  of  Flodden  ;  but,  so  far  as  is 
necessary  to  understand  the  romance,  1  beg  to 
remind  him,  that,  when  the  English  army,  by 
their  skilful  countermarch,  were  fairly  placed 
between  King  James  and  his  own  country,  the 
Scottish  monarch  resolved  to  right  ;  and,  set- 
ting tire  to  his  tents,  descended  from  the  ridge 
of  Flodden  to  secure  the  neighbouring  emi- 
nence of  Brankstone,  on  which  that  village  is 
built.  Thus  the  two  armies  met,  almost  with- 
out seeing  each  other,  when,  according  to  the 
old  poem  of  "  Flodden  Field," 

"  The  English  line  stretchy  eaut  and  we»t, 
And  southward  were  their  fares  net; 

The  Scouiah  northward  proudly  prent, 
And  manfully  their  foes  they  met." 


1  "  Letqufa  Eicotsoit  detefndirent 
ordre,  en  la  mam-re  que  marcftenl  lei 


The  English  army  advanced  in  four  divisions. 
On  the  right,  winch  first  engaged,  were  the 
sons  of  Earl  Surrey,  namely.  Thomas  Howard, 
the  Admiral  of  England,  and  Sir  Edmund,  the 
Knight  Marshal  of  the  army.  Their  divisions 
were  separated  from  each  other;  hut,  at  the 
request  of  Sir  Edmund,  his  brother's  battalion 
was  drawn  very  near  to  his  own  The  centre 
was  commanded  by  Surrey  in  person  ;  the  left 
wing  by  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  with  the  men  of 
Lancashire,  and  of  the  palatinate  of  Chester. 
Lord  Dacres,  with  a  large  body  of  horse, 
formed  a  reserve.  When  the  smoke,  which 
the  wind  had  driven  between  the  armies,  was 
somewhat  dispersed,  they  perceived  the  Scots. 
who  had  moved  down  the  hill  in  a  similar  or- 
der of  battle,  and  in  deep  silence.  >  The  Earls 
of  Hmitley  and  of  Home  commanded  their 
left  wing,  and  charged  Sir  Edmund  Howard 
with  such  success  as  entirely  to  defeat  his  part 
of  the  English  right  wing.  Sir  Edmund's  ban- 
ner was  beaten  down,  and  he  himself  escaped 
with  difficulty  to  his  brother's  division  The 
Admiral,  however,  stood  firm  :  and  Dacre  ad- 
vancing to  Ins  support  with  the  reserve  of 
cavalry,  probably  between  the  interval  of  the 
divisions  commanded  by  the  brothers  Howard, 
appears  to  have  kept  the  victors  in  effectual 
check.  Home's  men,  chiefly  Borderers,  be- 
gan to  pillage  the  baggage  of  both  armies  ; 
and  their  leader  is  branded  by  the  Scottish 
historians  with  negligence  or  treachery.  On 
the  other  hand,  Huntiey,  on  whom  '.liey  be- 
slow  many  encomiums,  is  said  by  the  "Eng- 
lish historians  to  have  left  the  field  after 
the  first  charge.  Meanwhile  the  Admiral, 
who-;e  flank  these  chiefs  ought  to  have  at- 
tacked. availed  himself  of  their  inactivity, 
and  pushed  forward  against  another  large  di- 
vision of  the  Scottish  army  in  his  front,  headed 
by  the  Earls  of  Crawford  and  Montrose,  lx>th 
ot  whom  were  slam,  and  their  forces  routed. 
On  the  left,  the  success  of  the  English  was  yet 
more  decisive  ;  for  the  Scottish  right  wing, 
consisting  of  undisciplined  Highlanders,  com- 
manded by  Lennox  and  Argyle,  was  unable  to 
sustain  the  charge  of  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  and 
especially  the  severe  execution  of  the  Lanca- 
shire archers.  The  King  and  Surrey,  who 
commanded  the  respective  centres  of  their 
armies,  were  meanwhile  engaged  in  close  and 
dubious  conflict.  James,  surrounded  by  the 
flower  of  his  kingdom,  and  impatient  of  the 
galling  discharge  of  arrows,  supported  also  by 
his  reserve  under  Bothwell.  charged  with  such 
fury,  that  the  standard  of  Surrey  was  in  dan- 
ger. At  that  critical  moment.  Stanley,  who 
had  routed  the  left  wing  of  the  Scottish,  pur- 
sued his  career  of  victory,  and  arrived  on  the 
right  flank,  and  in  the  rear  of  James's  division, 
which,  throwing  itself  into  a  circle,  disputed 
the  battle  till  night  came  on.  Surrey  then 
drew  back  his  forces;  for  the  Scottish  centre 
not  having  been  broken,  and  their  left  wing 
being  victorious,  he  yet  doubted  the  event  of 
the  field.  The  Scottish  army,  however,  felt 
their  loss,  and  abandoned  the  field  of  battle  in 
disorder,  before  dawn.  They  lost,  perhaps, 
eight  or  ten  thousand  men  ;  hut  that  included 
the  very  prime  of  their  nobility,  gentry,  and 
even  clergy.  Scarce  a  family  of  eminence  but 


aire  avcttn  bruit."—  Gazette  of  the  battle,  Pinker!  o 
I  purler,     Ilitlory,  Appendix,  vol.  ii.  p.  4;iG. 


156 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


has  an  ancestor  killed  at  Flodden;  and  there 
is  no  province  in  Scotland,  even  at  tliis  day, 
where  the  battle  is  mentioned  without  a  sen- 
sation of  terror  and  sorrow.  The  English  lost 
also  a  great  number  of  men,  perhaps  within 
one-third  of  the  vanquished,  but  they  were,  of 
inferior  note.  —  See  the  only  distinct  detail  of 
the  Field  of  Flodden  in  Pinkerton's  History. 
Book  xi. ;  all  former  accounts  being  full  of 
blunders  and  inconsistency. 

The  spot  from  which  Clara  views  the  battle 
must  be  supposed  to  have  been  on  a  hillock 
commanding  a  view  of  the  English  right  wins, 

hich  was  defeated,  and  in  which  conflict 
Marmioii  is  supposed  to  have  fallen.' 


NOTE  4  R. 

Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight.  —  P.  123. 

Sir  Brian  Tunstall,  called  in  the  romantic 
language  of  the  time.  Tunstall  the  Undeliled, 
was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen  of  rank  slain 
at  Flodden.  He  figures  in  the  ancient  English 
poem,  to  which  I  may  safely  refer  my  readers ; 
as  an  edition,  with  full  and  explanatory  notes, 
lias  been  published  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Henry 
Weber.  Tunstall,  perhaps,  derived  his  epithet 
of  unilffiled  from  his  white  armour  and  banner, 
the  latter  bearing  a  white  cock,  about  to  crow, 
as  well  as  from  his  unstained  loyalty  and 
knightly  faith.  His  place  of  residence  was 
Thurland  Castle. 


NOTE  4  S. 

Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

Aiul  fell  on  Flodilen  plain  : 
Ami  well  in  death  liis  trust*/  brand. 
Firm  c'ench'd  within  his  manly  hand, 

Jiesccm'd  the  monarch  slain.  —  P.  125. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  King  .lames  fell 
in  the  battle  of  Flodden.  He  was  killed,  says 
the  curious  French  Gazette,  within  a  lance's 
length  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  ;  and  the  same 
account  adds,  that  none  of  his  division  were 
made  prisoners,  though  many  were  killed;  a 
circumstance  that  testifies  the  desperation  of 
their  resistance.  The  Scottish  historians  re- 
cord many  of  the  idle  reports  which  passed 
among  the  vulgar  of  their  day.  Home  was 
accused,  by  the  popular  voice,  riot  only  of  fail- 
ing to  support,  the  King,  hut  even  of  having 
carried  him  out  of  Ihe  field,  and  murdered 


him.  And  this  tale  was  revived  in  my  remem- 
brance, by  an  unauthenticated  story  of  a  skel- 
eton, wrapped  in  a  bull's  hide,  and  surrounded 
with  an  iron  chain,  said  to  have  been  found  in 
the  well  of  Home  Castle  ;  for  which,  on  in- 
quiry. I  could  never  find  any  better  authority 
than  the  sexton  of  the  parish  having  said,  that, 
if  the  well  were  cleaned  out,  he  would  not  be  sur- 
prised at  such  a  discovery.  Home  was  Ihe 
chamberlain  of  the  King,  and  his  prime  favour- 
jiie;  he  had  much  to  lose  (in  fact  did  lose  all) 
in  consequence  of  James's  death,  and  nothing 
earthly  to  gain  by  that  event :  but  the  retreat, 
or  inactivity  of  the  left  wing  which  he  com- 
manded, after  defeating  Sir  Edmund  Howard, 
and  even  the  circumstance  of  his  returning 
unhurt,  and  loaded  with  spoil,  from  so  fatal  a 
conflict,  rendered  the  propagation  of  any 
calumny  against  him  easy  and  acceptable. 
Other  reports  gave  a  still  more  romantic  turn 
to  the  king's  fate,  and  averred  that  James, 
eary  of  greatness  after  the  carnage  among 
his  nobles,  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage,  to  merit 
absolution  for  the  death  i>f  his  lather,  and  the 
breach  of  his  oath  of  amity  to  Henry.  In  par- 
ticular, it,  was  objected  to  the  English,  that 
they  could  never  show  the  token  of  the  iron 
belt;  which,  however,  he  was  likely  enough 
to  have  laid  aside  on  the  day  of  battle,  as  en- 
cumbering his  personal  exertions.  They  pro- 
duce a  better  evidence,  the  monarch's  sword 
and  dagger,  which  are  still  preserved  in  the 
Herald's  College  in  London.  Stowe  has  re- 
curded  a  degrading  story  of  the  disgrace  with 
which  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  monarch 
were  treated  in  his  time.  An  unhewn  column 
marks  the  spot  where  James  fell,  still  called 
the  King's  Stone. 


NOTE  4T. 

The  fair  cathedral  stnrm'd  and  took.  —  P.  126. 

This  storm  of  Lichfield  cathedral,  which  had 
been  garrisoned  on  the  part  of  the  King,  took 
place  in  the  Great  Civil  War.  Lord  Brook, 
who.  with  Sir  John  Gill,  commanded  the  as- 
sailants, was  shot  with  a  musket-ball  lliniHgh 
the  vizor  of  his  helmet.  The  royalists  re- 
marked, that  he  was  killed  by  a  shot  fired  from 
St.  Chad's  cathedral,  and  upon  St.  Chad's  Day, 
and  received  his  death-wound  in  the  very  eye 
with  which,  he  had  said,  he  hoped  lo  see  the 
ruin  of  all  the  cathedrals  in  England.  The 
magnificent  church  in  question  suffered  cru- 
elly upon  this,  and  other  occasions;  the  prin- 
cipal spire  being  ruined  by  the  fire  of  the 
besiegers. 

it  in  a  thousand  pieces.   It  had  either  been  broken 


I  "In    1810.   a»   Sir   Camaby    HnggerKtone'.  worki 
were  divine  in  Flodrten  Field,  they  came  to  a  pit  Slled  with  j 

alarmed  at  the  sijjhl,  they  imtnedialely  tilled  up  the'exca-  '  aurrouudtd  by  a  number  of  cells  formed  of  flat  stones,  ii 

»alion,  and  proceeded  no  farther.  I  the  shape  of  graven,  but  loo  small  lo  hold   the  body  in  it 

"In  1817.  Mr.  Uray  of  Milltield  Hill  fonnd,  near  the  1  naturaUtate.   These  ..-pulchral  m-wei  contaiwd  noth.ng 


n  • 


•  kindi 


in  the 


shlb 


THE  LADY  OP  THE  LAKE. 


157 


II  f  tljH  lv 

A  POEM,  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

AFTER  the  success  of  "Marmion,"  I  felt  in- 
clined to  exclaim  with  Ulysses  in  the  "  Odys- 
,ey"  — 

Nvv  avTt,  OKOTTOV  a'AAov.       Odys.  %.  I.  5. 
"  One  venturous  game  my  hand  has  won  to- 
day— 
Another,  gallants,  yet  remains  to  play." 

The  ancient  manners,  the  habits  and  cus- 
toms of  the  aboriginal  race  by  whom  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland  were  inhaahited.  had  always 
appeared  to  me  peculiarly  adapted  to  poetry. 
The  change  in  their  manners,  too,  had  taken 
place  almost  within  my  own  time,  or  at  least 
I  had  learned  many  particulars  concerning  the 
ancient  state  of  the  Highlands  from  the  old 
men  of  the  last  generation.  I  had  always 
thought  the  old  Scottish  Gael  highly  adapted 
for  poetical  composition.  The  feuds,  and  poli- 
tical dissensions,  which,  half  a  century  earlier, 
would  have  rendered  the  richer  and  wealthier 
part  of  the  kingdom  indisposed  to  countenance 
a  poem,  the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in  the 
Highlands,  were  now  sunk  in  the  generous 
compassioii  which  the  English,  more  than  any 
other  nation,  feel  for  the  misfortunes  of  an 
honourable  foe.  The  Poems  of  Ossian  had, 
by  their  popularity,  sufficiently  shown,  thr»t  if 
writings  on  Highland  subjects  were  qualified 
to  interest  the  reader,  mere  national  preju- 
dices were,  in  the  present  day,  very  unlikely  to 
interfere  with  their  success. 

I  had  also  read  a  great  deal,  seen  much,  and 
heard  more,  of  that  romantic  country,  where 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  some  time  every 
autumn  ;  and  the  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine  was 
connected  with  the  recollection  of  many  a 
dear  friend  and  merry  expedition  of  former 
days.  This  poem,  the  action  of  which  lay 
among  scenes  so  beautiful,  and  so  deeply  im- 
printed on  my  recollection,  was  a  labour  of 
love ;  and  it  was  no  less  so  to  recall  the  man- 
ners and  incidents  introduced.  The  frequent 
custom  of  James  IV.,  and  particularly  of  James 
V.,  to  walk  through  their  kingdom  in  disguise, 
afforded  me  the  hint  of  an  incident,  which 
never  fails  to  be  interesting,  if  managed  with 
the  slightest  address  or  dexterity. 

I  may  now  confess,  however,  that  the  em- 
ployment, though  atlended  with  great  plea- 
sure, was  not  without  its  doubts  and  anxieties. 
A  lady,  to  whom  I  was  nearly  related,  and 
with  whom  I  lived,  during  her  whole  life,  on 
the  most,  brotherly  terms  of  affection,  was  re- 
siding with  me  at  the  time  when  the  work  was 
in  progress,  and  used  to  ask  me,  what  I  could 


possibly  do  to  rise  so  early  In  the  morning  (that 
happening  to  be  the  most  convenient  time  to 
me  for  composition.)  At  last  I  told  her  the 
ubject  of  my  meditations;  and  I  can  never 
forget  the  anxiety  and  affection  expressed  in 
her  reply.  "  Do  not  be  so  rash,"  she  said, 
my  dearest  cousin.  You  are  already  popular 
—  more  so,  perhaps,  than  you  yourself  will 
believe,  or  than  even  I.  or  other  partial  friends, 
can  fairly  allow  to  your  merit.  You  stand 
high  —  do  not  rashly  attempt  to  clirnb  higher, 
and  incur  the  risk  of  a  fall:  for,  depend  upon 
it,  a  favourite  will  not  be  permitted  even  to 
stumble  with  impunity."  1  replied  to  this 
affectionate  expostulation  in  the  words  of 
Moutrose  — 

"He  either  fears  bis  fale  too  much. 

Or  lii»cl™Tm  are  small, 
Who  Uairs  not  put  it  to  the  touch 

To  gain  or  lone  it  all."  1 

"If  1  fail,"  I  said,  for  the  dialogue  is  strong 
in  my  recollection,  "it  is  a  sign  that.  I  ought 
never  to  have  succeeded,  and  I  will  write 
prose  for  life  :  you  shall  see  no  change  in  my 
temper,  nor  will  I  eat  a  single  meal  the  worse. 
But  if  I  succeed, 


Afterwards,  I  showed  my  affectionate  and 
anxious  critic  the  first  canto  of  the  poem, 
which  reconciled  her  to  my  imprudence.  Ne- 
vertheless, although  I  answered  thus  confi- 
dently, with  the  obstinacy  often  said  to  be 
proper  to  those  who  bear  my  surname,  I  ac- 
knowledge that  my  confidence  was  considera- 
bly shaken  by  the  warning  of  her  excellent 
taste  and  unbiassed  friendship.  Nor  was  I 
much  comforted  by  her  retractation  of  the 
unfavourable  judgment,  when  I  recollected 
how  likely  a  natural  partiality  was  to  effect 
that  change  of  opinion.  In  such  cases,  affec- 
tion rises  like  a  light  on  the  canvass,  improves 
any  favourable  tints  which  it  formerly  exhi- 
bited, and  throws  its  defects  into  the  shade. 

I  remember  that  about  the  same  time  a 
friend  started  in  to  "  heeze  up  my  hope,"  like 
the  "sportsman  with  his  cutty  gun,"  in  the  old 
song.  He  was  bred  a  farmer,  but  a  man  of 
powerful  understanding,  natural  good  taste, 
and  warm  poetical  feeling,  perfectly  competent 
to  supply  the  wants  of  an  imperfect  or  irregu- 
lar education.  He  was  a  passionate  admirer 
of  field-sports,  which  we  often  pursued  toge- 
ther. 

As  this  friend  happened  to  dine  with  me  at 
Ashestiel  one  day,  I  took  the  opportunity  of 


,  p.  437. 


i  Memoirs  of 


158 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


reading  to  him  Hie  first  canto  of  "  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake."  in  order  to  ascertain  the  effect 
the  poem  was  likely  to  produce  upon  a  person 
who  was  but  too  favourable  a  representative 
of  readers  at  large.  It  is,  of  course,  to  he  sup- 
posed  that  I  determined  rather  to  guide  my 
opinion  by  what  my  friend  might  appear  to 
feel,  than  by  what  he  might  think  fit  to  say. 
His  reception  of  my  recitation,  or  prelection, 
was  rattier  singular.  He  placed  his  hand 
across  his  brow,  and  listened  with  great  atten- 
tion to  the  whole  account  of  the  stag-hunt,  till 
the  does  threw  themselves  into  the  lake  to 
follow  their  master,  who  embarks  with  Ellen 
Douglas.  He  then  started  up  with  a  sudden 
exclamation,  struck  ins  hand  on  the  table,  and 
declared,  in  a  voice  of  censure,  calculated  for 
the  occasion,  that  the  dogs  must  have  been 
totally  ruined  by  being  permitted  to  take  the 
water  after  such  a  severe  chase.  1  own  I  was 
much  encouraged  by  the  species  of  reverie 
which  had  possessed  so  zealous  a  follower  of 
the  sports  of  the  ancient  Nimrod,  who  hud 
been  completely  surprised  out  of  all  doubts  of 
the  reality  of  the  tale.  Another  of  his  remarks 
gave  me  Jess  pleasure.  He  detected  the  iden- 
tity of  the  King  with  the  wandering  knight, 
Fitz-J  ames,  when  he  winds  his  bugle  to  sum- 
mon his  attendants.  He  was  probably  think- 
ing of  the  lively,  but  somewhat  licentious,  old 
ballad,  ill  which  the  denouement  of  a  royal 
intrigue  takes  place  as  follows : 

"  He  look  a  bugle  frae  hi*  tide, 
He  blew  botb  load  and  shrill, 

And  foiir-ajKl-lweiity  belted  (nighU 
Came  skipping  ower  the  hill; 

Then  he  look  out  a  Imle  knife, 
Let  a'  his  dudilie*  fa', 

And  he  was  the  hrawest  gentleman 
That  was  amaug  them  a'. 

This  discovery,  as  Mr.  Pepys  says  of  the  rent 
in  his  camlet  cloak,  was  but  a  trifle,  yet  it 
troubled  me ;  and  1  was  at  a  good  deal  of 
pains  to  efface  any  marks  by  which  I  thought 
my  secret  could  be  traced  before  the  conclu- 
sion, when  I  relied  on  it  with  the  same  hope 
of  producing  effect,  with  which  the  Irish  post- 
boy is  said  to  reserve  a  "  trot  for  the  avenue." 

I  took  uncommon  pains  to  verify  the  accu- 
racy of  the  locol  circumstances  of  this  story. 
I  recollect,  in  particular,  that  to  ascertain 
whether  I  was  telling  a  probable  tale,  1  went 
into  Perthshire,  to  see  whether  King  James 
could  actually  have  ridden  from  the  banks  of 
Loch  Vennachar  to  Stirling  Castle  within  the 
time  supposed  in  the  Poem,  anil  had  the  plea- 
sure to  satisfy  nivself  that  it  was  quite  practi- 
cable. 

Alter  a  considerable  delay,  "The  Lady  of 
the  Lake  "  appeared  in  May  1810 ;  and  its  suc- 
cess was  certainly  so  extraordinary  as  to  in- 
duce me  for  the  moment  to  conclude  that  I 
had  at  last  fixed  a  nail  in  the  proverbially  in- 
constant wheel  of  Fortune,  whose  stability  in 
behalf  of  an  individual  who  had  so  boldly 
courted  her  favours  for  three  successive  times, 
had  not  as  yet  been  shaken.  I  had  attained, 
perhaps,  that  degree  of  public  reputation  at 
which  prudence,  or  certainly  timidity,  would 


have  made  a  halt,  and  discontinued  efforts  by 
which  I  was  far  more  likelv  to  diminish  my 
fame  than  to  increase  it.  liut.  as  the  cele- 
brated John  VVilkes  is  said  to  hare  explained 
to  his  late  Majesty,  that  he  h;m*rlf.  a:nnl  his 
full  tide  of  popularity,  was  never  a 
so  I  can.  with  honest  truth,  exculpate  myself 
from  having  been  at  any  time  a  partisan  of  my 
own  poetry,  even  when  it  was  in  the  highest 
fashion  with  the  million.  It  must  not  be  sup- 
posed, that  I  was  either  so  ungrateful,  or  so 
superabundantly  candid,  as  to  despise  or  scorn 
the  value  of  those  whose  voice  had  elevated 
me  so  much  higher  than  my  own  opinion  told 
me  I  deserved.  I  felt,  on  the  contrary,  the 
more  grateful  to  the  public,  as  receiving  that 
from  partiality  to  me.  which  I  could  not  have 
claimed  from  merit;  and  I  endeavoured  to 
deserve  the  partiality,  by  continuing  such  ex- 
ertions as  I  was  capable  of  for  their  amuse- 
ment. 

It  may  be  that  I  did  not,  in  this  continued 
course  of  scribbling,  consult  either  the  inte- 
rest of  the  public  or  my  own.  But  the  former 
had  effectual  means  of  defending  themselves, 
and  could,  by  their  coldness,  sufficiently  check 
any  approach  to  intrusion  ;  and  for  myself,  I 
had  now  for  several  years  dedicated  my  hours 
so  much  to  literary  labour,  that  I  should  have 
felt  difficulty  in  employing  myself  otherwise  ; 
and  so,  like  Dogberry,  1  generously  bestowed 
all  my  tediousness  on  the  public,  comforting 
myself  with  the  reflection,  that  if  posterity 
should  think  me  undeserving  of  the  favour 
with  which  I  was  regarded  by  my  contempo- 
raries, "they  could  not  but  say  I  had  the 
crown,"  and  had  enjoyed  for  the  time  that 
popularity  which  is  so  much  coveted. 

I  conceived,  however,  that  I  held  the  distin- 
guished situation  I  had  obtained,  however 
unworthily,  rather  like  the  champion  of  pugi- 
lism,2 on  the  condition  of  being  always  ready 
to  show  proofs  of  my  skill,  than  in  the  manner 
of  the  champion  of  chivalry,  who  performs  his 
duties  only  on  rare  and  solemn  occasions.  I 
was  m  any  case  conscious  that  I  could  not  king 
hold  a  situation  which  the  caprice,  rather 
than  the  judgment,  of  the  public,  had  bestowed 
upon  me.  and  preferred  being  deprived  of  my 
precedence  by  some  more  worthy  rival,  to 
sinking  into  contempt  for  my  indolence,  and 
losing  my  reputation  by  what  Scottish  lawyers 
call  the  negative  proscription.  Accordingly. 
those  who  choose  to  look  at  the  IntrodacUua 
to  Kokeby.  in  the  present  edition,  will  be  able 
to  trace  the  steps  by  which  I  declined  us  a 
poet  to  figure  as  a  novelist  ;  as  the  ballad 
says.  Queen  Eleanor  sunk  at  Charing-Cross  to 
rise  again  at  Queenhithe. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  say,  that,  during 
my  short  pre-eminence  of  popularity.  I  faith- 
fully observed  the  rales  of  moderation  which 
I  had  resolved  to  follow  before  I  beg;m  my 
course  as  a  man  of  letters..  If  a  man  is  deter- 
mined to  make  a  noise  in  the  world,  he  is  as 
sure  to  encounter  abuse  and  ridicule,  as  he 
who  gallops  furiously  through  a  village,  must 
reckon  on  being  followed  by  the  curs  in  full 
cry.  Experienced  persons  know,  that  in 


1  The  Jolly  Beegar,  attributed  to  King  Jamea  V— Herd', 
donation,  177$. 

a  "la  twice  nve  yeara  the  'greateit  liTing  poet,1 
Like  :o  the  champion  in  the  ftsty  ring. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


159 


stretching  to  flog  the  latter,  the  rider  is  very 
npt  to  catch  a  had  fall ;  nor  is  an  attempt  to 
chastise  a  malignant  critic  attended  with  less 
(lunger  to  the  author  On  this  principle,  I  let 
parody,  burlesque,  and  squibs,  find  their  own 
level ;  and  while  the  latter  hissed  most  fierce- 
ly, I  was  cautious  never  to  catch  them  up,  as 
scliool-boys  do,  to  throw  them  back  against 
the  naughty  boy  who  tired  them  oif,  wisely 
remembering  that  they  are,  in  such  cases,  apt 
to  explode  iu  the  handling.  Let  me  add,  that 


rny  reign  '  (since  Byron  has  so  called  it)  was 
marked  by  some  instances  of  good-nature  as 
well  as  patience.  I  never  refused  a  literary 
person  of  merit  such  services  in  smoothing 
his  way  to  the  public  as  were  in  my  power : 
and  1  had  the  advantage,  rather  an  uncommon 
one  with  our  irnlable  race,  to  t;njoy  general 
favour,  without  incurring  permanent  ill-will, 
so  far  as  is  known  to  me,  among  any  of  my 
contemporaries.  W.  S. 

Aubotsford,  April  1830. 


if 


TO    THE 

MOST  NOBLE  JOHN  JAMES  MARQUIS  OF  ABERCORN, 
$c.  $c.  $c. 

THIS   POEM"    IS   INSCRIBED    BY 
THE   AUTHOR. 

ARGUMENT. 

Tlie  Scene  of  the  followin/j  Poem  is  laid  chiefly  in  the  Vicinity  of  Loch- Katrine,  in  the  Western 
Highlands  of  Pertltshire.  The  time  of  Action  includes  Six  Days,  and  tlie  transactions  of  each  Day 
occupy  a  Canto. 


of 


CANTO    FIRST. 


THE    CHASE. 

Harp  of  the  North !  that  mouldering  long  hast 

hull? 
On  the  witch-elm  that  shades  Saint  Fillan's 

spring. 
Anil  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung. 

Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling. 
Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  string, — 

0  minstrel  Harp,  still   must  thine  accents 

sleep  ? 

Mill  rustling  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring. 
Still  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence 

keep. 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to 

weep? 
Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon, 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festal  crowd, 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  won. 

Aroused  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  proud. 
At  each  according  pause,  was  heard  aloud 

Thine  ardent  symphony  sublime  and  high  ! 
Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bow'd, 

For  still  Ihe  burden  of  thy  minstrelsy 
Was  KnightliiK)d's  dauntless  deed,  and  Beau- 
ty's matchless  eye. 

1  "Sir  Walter  reign  d  before  me."  ic. 


0  wake  once  more !  how  rude  soe'er  the  hand 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray ; 

0  wake  once  more!   though  scarce  nay  skill 

command 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay : 
Though  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away, 

And  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain. 
Yet  if  one  heart  throb  higher  at  its  sway, 
The  wizard  note  has  not  been  touch'd  in 

vain. 

Then  silent  be  no  more !    Enchantress,  wake 
again ! 


I. 

The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill. 

Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 

And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 

In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade : 

But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head. 

The  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way. 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne. 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

II. 

As  Chief,  who  hears  his  warder  rail, 
"  To  arms  !  the  foemen  storm  the  wall," 
The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  waste 
Sprung  from  his  heather}'  couch  in  haste. 
But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took, 
The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 

2  Punished  by  John  Bnllantyoe  &  Co.  in  4to,  wilh  en- 
Itraveil   froutiapiece  of  Saxon',  portrait  of  Scott,  Si.  2,. 


100                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 
Tos.s'd  iiis  lieam'd  frontlet  to  the  "sky  ; 
A  moment  gazed  ado«'n  the  dale, 
A  moment  snntTd  Hie  tainted  gale, 
A  moment  hsten'd  to  the  cry. 
That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh  ; 
Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear'd. 
With  one  brave  hound  the  copse  he  clear'd, 
And.  stretching  forward  free  and  far. 
Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uain-Var. 

III. 
Yell'd  on  the  view  the  opening  pack  ; 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern,  paid  them  back  ; 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awaken'd  mountain  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and  strong, 
Clalter'd  a  hundred  steeds  along. 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  join'd  the  shout; 
With  hnrk,  and  whoop,  and  wild  halloo. 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  ech'.ies  knew.  1 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe. 
Close  in  hej  covert  cower'd  the  doe, 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Returu'd  from  cavern,  cliff,  anil  linn, 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still. 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  Hill. 

IV. 
Less  loud  the  sounds  of  silvan  war 
Disturh'd  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 
And  roused  the  cavern,  where  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old  ;  - 

Mir  ere  that  steep  assent  was  won, 
-lisrli  in  his  pathway  hune  the  sun, 
\nd  manv  a  gallant,  srav'd  perforce. 
Uiis  fain  tn  breathe  his  faltering  horse, 
And  of  tin:  trackers  of  the  deer, 
•MM'-fi-  half  (lie  lessening  pack  was  near; 
So  shrewdlv  on  the  niouniain  side 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  metlle  tried. 
V. 
The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now, 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
The  varied  realms  of  f;-.ir  MenteiMi. 
With  anxious  eye  he  wander'd  o'er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 
And  ponder'd  refuge  from  his  toil, 
By  far  Lochard  3  or  Aberfoyle. 
But  nearer  was  the  copsewood  grry. 
That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray, 
And  mingled  wilh  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue. 
Fresh  vigour  with  the  hope  return'd, 
With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spurn'd. 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race, 
And  left  behind  the  panting  chase. 
VI. 
'Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er, 
As  swept  the  hunt  through  Camhus  more  ;  * 
What  reins  were  tighlen'd  in  despair, 
When  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air;* 
Who  flasg'd  upon  Bochasile's  heath. 
Who  shunn'd  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith,  —  6 
For  twice  that  duy.  from  shor.!  to  shore, 
The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far, 
That  reach'd  the  lake  of  Vennaclmr;? 
And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won,8 
The  headmost  horseman  nxle  alone. 

of  3330  feet  above  I  he  level  of  the  »ea. 
2  See  Appendix,  Kale  A. 
3  »  About  a  mile  to  Ihe  westward  of  the  inn  of  Aber- 
foyle.  Lot-hard  opens  In  Ihe  view.     A  few  hundred  yards 

distiiictneKs.     Upon  pronouncing,  wilh  a  firm  voice,  a  line 
of  ten  syllables,  it  is  returned,  first  from  tlte  opposite  side 
of  the  lake  :  and  when  that  is  finished,  it  ie  r-  pea!,  J  wilh 
equaldislinrlnesi  from  the  wood  ontheeast.    The  day  mu»t 

more  than  Ihiny  feet  in  height,  firming,  in  the  rainy  »ea- 

of  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile."  —  Graham's  Sltlthci  of 
Pirthihirt.  ai  edit.  p.  1*2,  A-c 

nncommonly  picturesque.     Directing  the  eye  nearly  west- 

the  worted  banks  of  Ihe  Keliie.  a  tributary  of  the  T-itli, 
is  the  seat  of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Buchanan,  whom 

rock  sometime*  peeping  through  amongst  the  clump*.    Im- 
mediately under  Ihe  eye.  the  lower    lake,  strrtching  oul 
from  narrow  beginnings  lo  a  breadth  of  about  half  a  mile. 

which  bounds  the  horizon  on  the  north-west  from  Calteif 
der.    The  name,  according  lo  the  Celtic  etymologist*,  sig- 
nifies the  Mountain  of  Gal. 

than  half  way  up. 
"  Advancing  to  the  westward,  the  view  of  Ihe  lake  is  loxl 

ai.d  the  river  thu«  formed   thenceforth  take*  Ihe  name  of 

tipper  lake  presents  itself  from  a  rising  ground    near  its 

—  Vraham. 

into  Ihe  wood   that  overhangs  this  connecting  stream. 

(from  tile  east)  lo  the  Brief,  or  Bridge  of  Turk  (the  scene 

rising,  at  Ihe  dista'n.  e  of  «ii  mile*,  in  the  form  of  a  regu- 
lar cone,  ils  sides  presenting  a  gentle  slope  to  Ihe  -N    W 
and  S  E.    On  Ihe  rielil  is  the  lofty  mountain  of  Benoghrie 
running  west  toward*  the  deep  vale  in  which  Lochcon  lies 
concealed    from    Ihe    eye.     In    the    foreground,    Locbard 
»lretche*  out  to  Ihe  west  in  the  fairest  prospect  ;  its  length 

upon  the  traveller's  eye  a  sudden  and  wide  propped  of  the 
windings  of  the  river  that  issues  from  l>oe)i  Arliray,  wilh 
lhat  aweet  lake  it«elf  in  front  ;   the  gently  rolling  river 

dow  ;  at  the  west  end  of  Ihe  lake,  on  Ihp  side  of  Aberfoyle, 

extremity  of  the  lake  i«  diversified  wi'h   meadows,  awl 
corn-lie!.!*,  and  farm-houses.     Ou  Ihe  left,  few  marks  of 

From  this  eminence  are  to  be  seen  also,  on  the  riirht  hand. 
the  enlmnce  to  Olenfialaa,  and  in  the  distance  Benvenue." 
—  Graham. 

"  Farther  on.  the  traveller  patsei  along  the  verge  of  the 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


161 


VII. 

Alone,  bul  with  unbated  zeal, 
That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel  : 
For  jaded  now.  and  spent  wuh  toil, 
Emboss  'd  with  foam,  and  dark  with  soil, 
Wtnle  every  gasp  witli  sobs  he  drew, 
The  labouring  slug  strain'd  full  in  view. 
Two  doss  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 
Unmateh'd  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed,1 
Fast  <m  his  flying  traces  came 
And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game  : 
For,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  his  haunch, 
Vindictive  toil'd  the  bloodhounds  stanch; 
Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain, 
Nor  farther  might  the  quarry  strain. 
Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake, 
Between  the  precipice  and  brake, 
O'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take. 

VIII. 

The  Hunter  mark'd  that  mountain  high, 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary. 
And  deem'd  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay, 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd  the  way  ; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize, 
Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes": 
For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo, 
Muster'd  his  breath,  his  winyard  drew;  —  3 
But  thundering  as  he  came  prepared, 
With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared, 
The  wily  quarry  shunn'd  the  shock, 
And  turn'd  him  from  the  opposing  rook; 
Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 
Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 
In  the  deep  Trosach's  3  wildest  nook 
His  solitary  refuge  took. 
There,  wlnle  close  conch'd,  the  thicket  shed 
Cold  dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  head, 
He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vam 
Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain, 
Chiding  the  rocks  that  yell'd  again. 

IX. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came, 
To  cheer  them  on  the  vanish'd  game  ; 
But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell, 
The  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell. 
The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 
To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein, 
For  the  good  steed,  his  labours  o'er, 
Slretch'd  his  stiff  limbs,  to  rise  no  more; 
Then,  touch'd  with  pity  and  remorse, 
He  sorrow'd  o'er  the  expiring  horse. 
"  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 
I  slack'd  upon  the  banks  of  Seine, 
That  Highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed 
On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed  ! 
Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day, 
That  costs  thy  life,  my  gallant  grey  !" 


Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds, 
From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds 
Back  limp'd,  with  slow  and  crippled  pace, 
The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase  ; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  press'd, 
With  drooping  tail  and  humbled  crest; 
But  still  the  dingle's  hollow  throat 
Prolor.g'd  the  swelling  bugle-note. 


The  owlets  started  from  their  dream, 
The  eagles  answer'd  with  their  scream. 
Round  and  around  the  sounds  were  cast. 
Till  echo  seem'd  an  answering  blast; 
And  on  the  hunter  hied  Ins  way. 
To  join  some  comrades  of  the  day ; 
Yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road. 
So  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  show'd. 

XI. 

The  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
Roll'd  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way; 
Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below. 
Where  twined  the  path  in  shadow  liid, 
Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid. 
Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 
Its  thunder-splinter'd  pinnacle; 
Round  many  an  insulated  mass. 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass, 
Huge  as  the  tower*  which  builders  vai» 
Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain.-* 
The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 
Form'd  turret,  dome,  or  battlement, 
Or  seem'd  fantastically  set 
With  cupola  or  minaret. 
Wild  crests  as  pagod  ever  deck'd, 
Or  mosque  of  Eastern  architect. 
Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  bare, 
Nor  lack'd  they  many  a  banner  fair; 
For,  from  their  shiver'd  brows  display'd, 
Far  o'er  the  unfathomable  glade, 
All  twinkling  with  the  dewdrops  sheen, 
The  briar-rose  fell  in  streamers  green. 
And  creeping  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes. 
Waved  in  the  west-wind's  summer  sighs. 

XII. 

Boon  nature  scatter'd.  free  and  wild, 
Kach  plant  or  flower,  the  mountain's  child. 
Here  eglantine  embalm'd  the  air. 
Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingled  there; 
The  primrose  pale  and  violet  flower, 
Pound  in  each  cliff  a  narrow  bower ; 
Fox-glove  and  night-shade,  side  by  side, 
Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride, 
Group'd  their  dark  hues  with  every  stain 
The  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 
With  boughs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 
Grey  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath ; 
Aloft,  the  ash  and  warrior  oak 
Cast  anchor  in  the  rifted  rock  ; 
And,  higher  vet,  the  pine-tree  hung 
His  shatter'd  truuk,  and  frequent  flung, 
Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  boughs  athwart  the  narrow'd  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced. 
Where  glist'ning  streamers  waved  and  danced, 
The  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view 
The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue  ; 
So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream. 

XIII 

Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 
A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 
Afford  ing  scarce  such  breadth  of  hrim. 
As  served  the  wild  duck's  brood  to  swim. 


1  See  Appendix,  No 

2  See  Appendix,  No 


3  '•  The  term  TmiKht  litni 
ilory  "—  Orihmn. 

4  Thf  Tower  of  Babel.—  Be 


the  rmte/i  or  brutltd  ter- 


162                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

'  Lost  for  a  space,  through  thickets  veering, 

Like  that  same  hermit's,  thin  and  spare, 

But  broader  when  again  appearing. 

The  copse  must  give  my  evening  fare  ; 

Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  their  face 

Some  tiiossr  bank  my  couch  must  be, 

Could  on  the  dark-blue  mirror  trace  ; 

Some  rustling  oak  my  canopy. 

And  farther  as  the  hunter  strav'd. 

Yet.  pass  we  t!mt  :  the  war  and  chase 

Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made. 

Give  little  choice  of  resting-place:  — 

The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood, 

A  summer  night,  in  greenwood  spent, 

Emerging  from  entangled  wood, 

Were  but  to-morrow's  merriment  : 

But,  wave-enciroled.  seem'd  to  float, 

But  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  abound, 

Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat; 

Such  as  are  better  miss'd  than  found  ; 

Yet  broader  floods  extending  still 

To  meet  with  Highland  plundorers  here. 

Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill, 

Were  worse  than*  loss  of  steed  or  deer.—* 

Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 
An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 

I  am  alone  ;  —  my  bugle-strain 
May  call  some  straggler  of  the  train  ; 

XIV. 

Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide, 

And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 

Ere  now  this  falchion  has  been  tried." 

No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken, 

XVII. 

Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 

But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound. 

A  far  projecting  precipice.' 
The  broom's  lough  roots  his  ladder  made, 
The  hazel  saplings  lent  their  aid  ; 
And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won, 

When  lo  !  forth  starting  at  the  sound, 
From  underneath  an  aged  oak. 
That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 
A  damsel  gmder  of  its  wav. 

Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 
One  burnish  'd  sheet  of  living  gold, 
Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  him  roll'd,* 
In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay. 

A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay. 
That  round  the  promontory  steep 
Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep. 
Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave. 

With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay, 
And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 
Floated  amid  the  livelier  light. 
And  mountains,  that  like  giants  stand, 
To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 

The  weeping  willow-twig  to  lave. 
And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 
The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 
The  boat  had  touoh'd  this  silver  strand, 
Just  as  the  Hunter  left  his  stand. 

High  on  the  south,  huge  Benvenue  » 
Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 
Crags,  knolls  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurl'd, 
The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world 
A  wildering  forest  feather'd  o'er 
His  rum'd  sides  and  summit  hoar. 
While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 
Beii-an1  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare. 

And  stood  conceal'd  arnid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake. 
The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 
She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 
With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent, 
And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent. 
And  locks  fluug  back,  and  lips  apart, 
Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 

XV. 

In  listening  mood,  she  seem'd  to  stand, 

From  the  steep  promontory  gazed 

The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand. 

The  stranger,  raptured  and  amazed. 

XVIII. 

And,  "  What  a  scene  were  here,"  he  cried, 
"  For  princely  pomp,  or  churchman's  pride! 
On  this  bold  brow,  a  lordly  tower; 

And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  chase 
A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 

In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower; 
On  yonder  meadow,  far  away. 
The  turrets  of  a  cloister  grey  ; 
How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 
Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn! 
How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute 
Chime,  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute  ! 
And.  when  the  midnight  moon  should  lave 
Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave, 

Of  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face  ! 
What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown, 
Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown,  — 
The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light, 
Had  dyed  her  glowing  hue  so  bright, 
Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 
Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow  : 
What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 
To  measured  mood  had  train'd  her  pace,  — 

flow  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 
The  holy  matins'  distant  hum. 

A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true. 
Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dash'd  the  dew  ; 

While  the  deep  peal's  commanding  tone 
Should  wake,  in  yonder  islet  lone, 
A  sainted  hermit  from  his  cell, 

K'en  the  slight  harebell  raised  its  head, 
Klastic  from  her  airy  tread  : 
What  though  upon  her  speech  rhere  hung 

To  drop  a  bend  with  every  knell  — 
And  bugle,  lute,  and  bell,  and  all 

The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue,— 
Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear. 

Should  each  bewilder'd  stranger  call 

The  listener  held  his  breath  to  hear  ! 

To  friendly  feast,  and  lighted  hall. 

XIX. 

XVI. 

A  Chieftain's  daughter  seem'd  the  maid  ; 

"  Blithe  were  it  then  to  wander  here  ! 

Her  satin  snood,6  her  silken  plaid, 

But  now,—  beshrew  yon  nimble  deer,— 

Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  Iretray'd. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

3  Bmznuu—'\»  literally  the  little   mountain  —  i.  e.  u   ! 

Notes  lo  the  Fair  Maid  of  Penh,  the  author  ha»  «ie.,ili.-d  '      4  According  to  Graham.  Ren-au,  or  Bennan,  ii  a  mer« 

hi«  belief  that  the  lake  wa«  named  after  the  CrKfer.ni,  or    diminutive  of  Rn  —  Mountain. 

wild  robber*,  who  haunted  iu  shore*. 

6  See  Appendix.  Note  K. 

6  See  Note  on  Canto  III.  stanza  6. 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


163 


And  selilorn  was  a  snood  amid 
Sucli  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair, 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care. 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye ; 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue. 
Gives  back  the  shag;/  hanks  more  true, 
Than  every  free-born  glance  cont'ess'd 
Tlie  guileless  movements  of  her  breast; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  pity  claim'd  a  sigh, 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  puur'd  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  call'd  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unreveal'd. 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  conceal'd, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame:  — 
0  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name ! 

XX. 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn, 
Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne  :  — 
"Father!''  she  cried  ;  the  rocks  around 
Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. 
A  while  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — 
"Malcolm,  was  thine  the  blast!"  the  name 
Less  resolutely  utter'd'  fell, 
The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 
"  A  stranger  I !"  the  Huntsman  said, 
Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  maid,  alarm'd,  with  hastv  oar, 
Push'd  her  light  shallop  from' the  shore, 
And  when  a  space  was  gain'd  between, 
Closer  she  drew  her  bosom's  screen  ; 
(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swing, 
So  turn  to  prune  his  ruffled  wing.) 
Then  safe,  though  flutter'd  and  amazed, 
She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed. 
Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye, 
That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly. 

XXI. 

On  his  bold  visage  middle  age 
Had  slightly  press 'd  its  signet  sage, 
Yet  had  not  quench'd  the  open  truth 
And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth  ; 
Forward  and  frolic  glee  was  there, 
The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare, 
The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire, 
Of  hasty  love,  or  headlong  ire. 
His  limbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould, 
For  hardy  sports  or  contest  bold  ; 
And  though  in  peaceful  garb  array 'd, 
And  weaponless,  except  his  blade, 
His  stately  mien  as  well  implied 
A  high-born  heart,  a  martial  pride, 
As  if  a  Baron's  crest  he  wore, 
And  sheathed  in  armour  trode  the  shore. 
Slishiing  the  petty  need  he  show'd, 
He  told  of  his  benighted  road  ; 
His  ready  speech  flow'd  fair  and  free, 
In  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy  ; 
Yet  seem'd  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland, 
Less  used  to  sue  than  to  command. 

XXII. 

A  while  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed, 
Anil,  reassured,  at  length  replied, 


That  Highland  halls  were  open  s'ill 
To  wilder'd  wanderers  of  the  hill. 
"  Nor  think  you  unexpected  come 
To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  iiome ; 
Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew, 
This  morn,  a  couch  was  pull'd  for  you ; 
On  yonder  mountain's  purple  head 
Have  ptarmigan  and  heath-cock  bled, 
Aud  our  broad  nets  have  swept  ohe  mere, 
To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cheer." — 
"  Now,  by  the  rood,  my  lovely  maid, 
Your  courtesy  has  err'd,"  he  said  ; 
"  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced, 
The  welcome  of  expected  guest. 
A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost, 
My  way,  my  friends  my  courser  lost, 
I  ne'er  before,  believe  me,  fair. 
Have  ever  drawn  your  mountain  air, 
Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand, 
I  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land  !" — 

xxur. 

"  I  well  believe,"  the  maid  replied, 

As  her  light  skiff  approach'd  the  side,— 

"  I  well  believe,  that  ne'er  before 

Your  foot  has  trod  Loch  Katrine's  shore  ; 

But.  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight, 

Old  Allan-bane  foretold  your  plight,— 

A  grey-hair'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 

Was  on  the  vision'd  future  bent. 

He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  grey, 

Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way; 

Painted  exact  your  form  and  mien, 

Your  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green, 

That  tassell'd  horn  so  gaily  gilt. 

That  falchion's  crooked  blade  and  hilt, 

That  cap  with  heron  plumage  trim. 

And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark  and  grim. 

He  bade  that  all  should  ready  be, 

To  grace  a  guest,  of  fair  degree ; 

But  light  1  held  his  prophecy, 

And  deein'd  it  was  my  father's  horn. 

Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne." 

XXIV. 

The  stranger  smiled  :  —  "  Since  to  your  home 
A  destined  errant-knight  1  come. 
Announced  by  prophet  sooth  and  old. 
Doom'd,  doubtless,  for  achievement  bold, 
I'll  lightly  front  each  high  emprise, 
For  one  kind  glance  of  those  bright  eyes. 
Permit  me,  first,  the  task  to  guide 
Your  fairy  frigate  o'er  the  tide." 
The  maid,  with  smile  suppress'd  and  sly, 
The  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try; 
For  seldom  sure,  if  e'er  before, 
His  noble  hand  had  grasp'd  an  oar: 
Yet  with  main  strength  his  strokes  he  drew, 
And  o'er  the  lake  the  shallop  flew; 
With  heads  erect,  and  whimpering  cry, 
The  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 
Nor  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break 
The  dark'nmg  mirror  of  the  lake, 
Until  the  rocky  isle  they  reach. 
And  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach. 

XXV. 

The  stranger  view'd  the  shore  around  ; 
"('was  all  so  close  with  copsewood  bound, 
Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 
That  human  foot  frequented  there, 
Until  the  mountain  maiden  show'd 
A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 


164 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  winded  through  the  tangled  screen. 
And  open'd  on  a  narrow  green, 
Where  weeping  hircli  and  willow  round 
With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 
Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour. 
Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower.  1 

XXVI. 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size. 

But  strange  of  structure  and  device; 

Of  such  materials,  as  around 

The  workman's  hand  had  readiest  found. 

Lopp'd  off  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks 

bared. 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared. 
To  give  the  walls  their  destined  height, 
The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite ; 
While  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combined 
To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind. 
The  lighter  pine-trees,  over-head. 
Their  slemler  length  for  rafters  spread, 
And  wither'd  heath  and  rushes  dry 
Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 
Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green, 
A  rural  portico  was  seen, 
Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne, 
Of  motin'am  fir.  with  bark  unshorn. 
Where  Ellen's  hand  had  taught  to  twine 
The  ivy  and  Idaean  vine. 
The  clematis,  the  favour'd  flower 
Which  boasts  the  name  of  virgin- bower, 
And  everv  hardy  plant  could  bear 
Loch  Katrine's  keen  and  searching  air. 
An  instant  in  this  porch  she  stay'd, 
And  eaily  to  the  stranger  said. 
"  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call, 
And  enter  the  enchanted  hall !" 

XXVIT. 

"My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be. 
My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." 
He  cross'd  the  threshold  — and  a  clang 
Of  angry  steel  that  instant  rang. 
To  his  bold  brow  bis  spirit  rush'd. 
But  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blush'd. 
When  on  the  floor  he  saw  display'd. 
Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  blade 
Dropp'd  frmn  the  sheath,  that  careless  flung 
Upon  a  stag's  huge  anilers  swung; 
For  all  around,  the  walls  to  grace, 
Huug  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase : 
A  target  there,  a  bugle  here, 
A  battle-axe,  a  hunting-spear, 
And  broadswords,  bows,  and  arrows  store, 
With  the  tusk'd  trophies  of  the  hoar. 
Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died, 
And  there  the  wild-cat's  lirindled  hide 
The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns, 
Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns : 
Pennnns  and  flags  defaced  and  stain'd. 
That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retain'd, 
And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun,  and  white, 
With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite, 
In  rude  and  uncouth  tapestry  all, 
To  garnish  forth  the  silvan  hall. 

XXVIII. 

The  wondering  stranger  round  him  gazed. 
And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised :  — 
Few  were  the  arms  whose  sinewy  strength 
Sufficed  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length, 


And  as  the  brand  he  poised  and  sway'd, 

"  I  i:ever  knew  but  one."  he  said. 

"Whose  stalwart  arm  might  hrook  to  wield 

A  Made  like  this  in  battle-field.1' 

She  sigh'd,  then  smiled  and  took  the  word: 

"  You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword : 

As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand. 

As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand  ; 

My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 

Of  Ferragns  or  Ascabart ; " 

But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold 

Are  women  now,  and  menials  old." 

XXIX. 

The  mistress  of  the  mansion  came, 
Mature  of  ace.  a  graceful  dame ; 
Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 
Had  well  become  a  princely  court, 
To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew, 
Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due. 
Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  she  made, 
And  every  courteous  rite  was  paid, 
That  hospitality  could  claim, 
Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name.* 
Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest. 
That  fellest  foe  might  join  the  feast. 
And  from  his  deadliest  foeman's  door 
Unquestion'd  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 
At  leneth  his  rank  I  he  stranger  names, 
"  The  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-Jauies ; 
Lord  of  a  barren  heritage. 
Which  his  brave  sires,  from  age  to  age. 
By  their  good  swords  h;id  held  with  toil ; 
His  sire  had  fallen  in  such  turmoil. 
And  he.  God  wot,  was  forced  to  stand 
Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 
This  morning,  with  Lord  .Moray's  train, 
He  chased  a  stalwart  stag  in  vain, 
Outstripp'd  his  comrades,  rniss'd  the  deer, 
Lost  his  good  steed,  and  wander'd  here." 

XXX. 

Fain  would  the  Knight  in  turn  require 
The  name  and  state 'of  Ellen's  sire. 
Well  show'd  the  elder  lady's  mien. 
That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen  ; 
Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  display'd 
The  simple  grace  of  silvan  maid. 
In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face 
Show'd  she  w;is  come  of  gentle  race. 
'Twere  s'rarige,  in  ruder  rank  to  find. 
Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mind 
Each  hint  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun  gave, 
Dame  Margaret  heard  with  silence  grave ; 
Or  Ellen,  innocently  gay. 
Turn'd  ail  inquiry  light  away  :  — 
'•  Weird  women  we  !  by  dale  and  down. 
We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town. 
We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast, 
On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast; 
While  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string, 
'Tis  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing." 
She  sung,  and  still  a  harp  unseen 
Fill'd  up  the  symphony  between.4 

XXXI. 

SO  N  O. 

"  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er. 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking; 
Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more. 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 


1  See  Appendix.  Note  O. 


3  Ibid,  Hole  H. 


3  See  Appendix.  Note  I. 


4  Ibid.  No 


THE   LADY   01 

1    THE    LAKE.                       165 

In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall. 
Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairv  strains  of  music  fall, 

["hey  come,  in  dim  procession  led. 
The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead  ; 
As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay, 

Every  sense  in  slumlier  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest  !  thv  warfare  o'er. 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more  : 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

As  if  they  parted  yesterday. 
And  doubt  distracts  him  at  the  view, 
)  were  his  senses  false  or  true  ! 
3ream'd  he  of  death,  or  broken  vow, 
Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now  !  i 

"  No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear. 

XXXIV. 

Armour's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 

Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 

rle  seem'd  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love  ; 

Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 

She  listeti'd  with  a  blush  and  sigh. 

At  the  day-break  from  the  fallow, 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 
Booming  from  the  sedzy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near. 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here. 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 

rlis  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high, 
rle  sought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp, 
And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp  ; 
The  phantom's  sex  was  changed  and  gone, 
Upon  its  head  a  helmet  shone  ; 
Slowly  enlarged  to  eiant  size. 

Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping." 

With  darken'd  cheek  and  threatening  eyes, 

XXXII. 

The  grisly  visage,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  tUlen  still  a  likeness  bore  — 

She  paused—  then,  blushing,  led  the  lay 
To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 

He  woke,  and.  panting  with  affright, 
Recall'd  the  vision  of  the  night. 

Her  mellow  notes  awhile  prolong 

The  hearth's  decaying  brands  were  red, 

The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 
Till  to  her  lips  in  measured  frame 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  shed. 
Half  showing,  half  concealing,  all 

The  minstrel  verse  spontaneous  came. 

The  uncouth  trophies  of  the  hall. 

Mid  those  the  stranger  tix'd  his  eye. 

SONG     COKTINTJBD. 

Where  that  huge  falchion  hung  on  high. 

"  Huntsman,  rest  !  thy  chase  is  done. 
While  our  slumbrous  spells  assail  ye, 
Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun. 
Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille^ 

And  thoughts  on  thoughts,  a  countless  throng, 
Hush  'd.  chasing  countless  thoughts  along, 
Until,  the  giddy  whirl  to  cure, 
He  rose,  and  sought  the  moonshine  pure. 

Sleep!  the  deer  is  in  his  den; 

Sleep!  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying; 

XXXV. 

Sleep  !  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen. 
How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 
Huntsman,  rest  !  thy  chase  is  done, 

The  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  broom, 
Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume: 
The  birch-trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm, 

Think  not  of  the  rising  sun. 
For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye. 
Here  no  bugles  sound  reveilleV' 

The  aspens  slept  beneath  the  calm  ; 
The  silver  light,  with  quivering  glance, 
Play'd  on  the  water's  still  expanse,  — 

Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  sway 

XXXIII. 
The  hall  was  clear'd  —  the  stranger's  bed 

Could  rage  beneath  the  sober  ray  ! 
He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest. 

Was  there  of  mountain  heather  spread, 

While  thus  he  communed  with  his  breast  :  — 

Where  oft  a  hundred  guests  had  lain. 

•'  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  1  trace 

And  dream'd  their  forest  sports  again. 
But  vainly  did  the  heath-flower  shed 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race  ? 
Can  I  not  mountain  maiden  spy. 

Its  moorland  fragrance  round  his  head  ; 

But  she  must  hear  the  Douglas  eye? 

Not  Ellen's  spell  had  lull'd  to  rest 

Can  I  not  view  a  Highland  brand. 

The  fever  of  his  troubled  breast. 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand? 

In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fever'd  dream, 

Of  varied  perils,  pains,  and  woes  : 

But  still  the  Douglas  is  the  theme  ? 

His  steed  now  flounders  in  the  brake, 

I'll  dream  no  more  —  by  manly  mind 

Now  sinks  his  barge  upon  the  lake; 

Not  even  in  sleep  is  will  resigu'd. 

Now  leader  of  a  broken  host. 

My  midnight  orisons  said  o'er, 

His  standard  falls,  his  honour's  lost. 

I'll  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more." 

Then,  —  from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might 

His  midnight  orisons  he  told. 

Chase  that  worst  phantom  of  the  night  !  — 

A  prayer  with  every  bead  of  gold. 

Again  relurn'd  the  scenes  of  youth, 

Consign'd  to  heaven  his  cares  and  woes, 

Of  confident  undoubting  truth; 

And  sunk  iu  undisturb'd  repose  : 

Again  Ins  soul  he  interchanged 

Until  the  heath-cock  shrilly  crew, 

With  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 

And  morning  dawn'd  on  Benvenue. 

1"  Ye  guardian  »pirit»,  to  whom  man  is  dear. 

"Or  are  vou  sportive?  —  bid  the  morn  of  youlh 

From  rhrse  foul  detnnns  xhit-ld  the  midnight  gloom  : 

Rise  to  ut-w  Uhl,  and  beam  afresh  the  days 

Ang.-K  of  fancy  and  of  lovr,  be  near, 

Of  iniioceiu-i-,  simplicity,  and  truth; 

Evoke  tlie  sacral  yliailr*  of  Un-rre  and  Rome, 

What  lmii«pirt,  to  relrue  our  r>ovi»h  pktvs, 

And  M  them  T.rtuo  wiih  a  look  impart; 

Our  easy  blim,  when  ench  thing  joy  supplied  ; 

But     liu/.  awti.lv,  <>:   lend  us  Horn  li:e  tomb 

The  woods.  lh<-  mountains,  and  the  warbling  male 

Those  loi.g  lost  friei.ds  for  whom  iu  love  we  smart, 

Of  ti.e  wild  brooks  :  "  —  Vault  of  litdvlaux,  Uanlo  I. 

And  fill  with  pious  awe  and  joy-milt  woe  the  heart. 

1  OO                                     D\J\J  1   J.      O      1  \J  Ij  L  L\j  1\.  U      »IV7i\IVO. 

IV. 

JTlje  SLa^s  of  tte  JLafep. 

As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide. 

The  shallop  reach  'd  the  mainland  side, 

CAN  TO   SECOND. 

The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look, 

Where  easily  his  eye  might  reach 

The  Flarper  on  the  islet  beach. 

Reclined  against  a  blighted  tree. 

THE    ISLAND. 

As  wasted,  grey,  and  worn  as  lie. 

To  minstrel  meditation  given. 

I. 

His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven, 

As  from  Ihe  rising  sun  to  claim 

At  morn  the  black-cock  trims  his  jetty  wing, 

A  sparkle  of  inspiring  flame. 

'Tis  morning  prompts  the  linnet's  blithest 

His  hand,  reclined  upon  the  wire. 

lay. 

Seem'd  watching  the  awakening  fire  ; 

All  Nature's  children  feel  the  matin  spring 

So  still  he  sate,  as  those  who  wait 

Of  life  reviving,  with  reviving  day; 

Till  judgment  speak  the  doom  of  fate  ; 

And  while  yon  little  hark  glides  down  the  bay. 

So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 

Watting  Ihe  stranger  on  h.s  way  again. 

To  lift  one  lock  of  hoary  hair  ; 

Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  grey. 

So  still,  as  life  itself  were  fled. 

And  sweetly  o'er  the   lake  was  heard  thy 

In  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped. 

strain, 

Mu'd  with  Ihe  sounding  harp,  0  white-hair'd 

VI. 

Allan-Bane  !  ' 

II. 

Upon  a  rock  with  lichens  wild, 
Beside  him  Kllen  sate  and  smiled  — 

Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 

SONG. 

l*;id  forth  his  fleet  upon  the  lake. 

"Not  faster  vonder  rowers'  might 
Flmes  frorii  their  oars  the  spray, 
Not  faster  vonder  ripulmg  bright, 
That  tracks  the  shallop's  course  in  light. 

While  her  vex'U  spaniel,  from  the  beach, 
Bay'd  at  the  prize  beyond  his  reach  ? 
Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows, 
Why  deepen'd  on  her  cheek  the  rose  ?  — 

Melts  in  the  lake  away. 

Forgive,  forgive.  Fidelity  ! 

'1  ban  men  from  memory  erase 

Perchance  the  maiden  smiled  to  see 

The  benefits  of  former  days  ; 

You  parting  linserer  wave  adieu. 

Then,  stranger,  go  !  good  speed  the  while, 

And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew  ; 

Nor  think  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

And.  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 
Condemn  the  heroine  of  my  lyre. 

"  High  place  to  thee  in  royal  court, 
High  place  in  battle  line. 

Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy, 
And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye! 

Good  hawk  and  hound  for  sylvan  sport, 

Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort, 

VI. 

The  honour'd  meed  be  thine! 

True  he  thy  sword,  thv  friend  sincere. 

While  yet  he  loiter'd  on  the  spot, 

Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear. 

It  seem'd  as  Ellen  mark'd  him  not; 

And  lust  in  love  and  friendship's  smile 

But  when  he  iiirn'd  him  to  the  glade, 

Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

One  courteous  parting  sign  she  maile  ; 
And  after,  oft  the  knight  would  say, 

in. 

That  not  when  prize  of  festal  dav 

Was  dealt  him  by  the  brightest  fair, 

SONO     CONTINUED. 

Who  e'er  wore  jewel  in  her  hair, 

So  hishly  did  his  bosom  swell, 

"Bnt  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

As  at  that  simple  mute  farewell. 

A  plaided  stranger  roam. 

Now  with  a  trusty  mountain  guide. 

Whose  drooping  crest  and  stifled  sigh, 

And  his  dark  stag-hounds  by  his  side, 

And  sun-  en  cheek  and  heavy  eye. 
Pine  for  his  Highland  home; 

He  parts  —  the  maid,  unconscious  still. 
Watch'd  him  wind  slowly  round  the  hill  ; 

Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 

But  when  his  stately  form  was  hid, 

The  care  that  soothes  a  wanderer's  woe  ; 

The  guardian  in  her  bosom  chid  — 

Remember  then  thy  ha|i  ere  while, 

"Thy  Malcolm!  vain  and  selfish  maid  !" 

A  stranger  in  the  lonely  isle. 

'Twas  thus  upbraiding  conscience  said,— 

"  Nor  so  had  Malcolm  idly  hung 

"  Or  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 

On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue  , 

Mishap  shall  mar  thy  sail  ; 

Not  so  had  Malcolm  stram'd  his  eye, 

If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain, 

Another  step  than  thine  to  spy. 

Woe,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain 

Wake,  Allan-Bane."  aloud  she  cried, 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale  ; 

To  the  old  Minstrel  hy  her  side.— 

Waste  not  a  xixh  on  fortune  changed, 

"Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream  i 

On  thankless  couris.  or  friends  estranged. 

I'll  give  thy  harp  heroic  theme. 

1  But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  smile, 

And  warm  thee  with  a  noble  name: 

To  greet  thee  in  the  lonely  isle." 

Pour  forth  the  glory  of  the  Graeme  !  "  5 

1  8«  Appendix,  Now  L. 

3  Sec  Appendix,  Nott  M. 

THE   LADY   OF   THE    LAKE.                      167 

Scarce  from  her  lip  the  word  had  rush'd. 
When  deep  the  conscious  maiden  blush'd; 

'  For  me,  whose  memory  scarce  conveys 
An  image  of  more  splendid  days. 

For  of  his  clan,  in  hall  and  bower. 

This  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea, 

Young  Malcolm  Graeme  was  held  the  flower. 

May  well  my  simple  emblem  be; 

t  drinks  heaven's  dew  as  blithe  as  rose 

VII. 

That  in  the  king's  own  garden  grows; 

The  Minstrel  waked  his  harp  —  three  times 

And  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair, 

Arose  the  well-known  martial  chimes, 

Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear 

And  thrice  their  hish  heroic  pride 

He  ne'er  saw  coronet  so  fair." 

In  melancholy  murmurs  died. 

Then  plavfullv  the  c.haplet  wild 

"Vainly  thou  bid'st,  0  noble  maid," 

She  wreath'd  m  her  dark  locks,  and  smiled. 

Clasping  his  wither'd  hands,  he  said, 

••  Vaiuly  thou  bid'st  me  wake  the  strain, 

X. 

Though  all  unvvont  to  bid  m  vain. 
Alas  !  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 
Has  tuned  mv  harp,  my  strings  has  spann'd  ! 

Her  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway. 
Wiled  the  old  harper's  mood  away. 
With  such  a  look  as  hermits  throw. 

I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 

When  angels  stoop  to  soothe  their  woe. 

And  mournful  answer  notes  of  woe; 
And  the  proud  inarch  which  victors  tread, 

He  gazed,  till  fond  regret  and  pride 
Thrill'd  to  a  tear,  then  thus  replied  : 

fc-inks  m  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 

"Loveliest  and  best!  thou  little  know'st 

0  well  for  me.  if  mine  alone 

The  rank,  the  honours,  thou  hast  lost. 

That  dirge's  deep  prophetic  tone  ! 

O  might  1  live  to  see  thee  grace, 

If,  as  my  tuneful  fathers  said. 
This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd,l 

In  Scotland's  court.  Ihy  birth-right  place, 
To  see  my  favourite's  step  advance, 

(an  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell. 
Then  welcome  be  the  minstrel's  knell! 

The  lightest  in  the  courtly  dance. 
The  cause  of  every  gallant's  sigh, 

VIII. 

And  leading  star  of  every  eye. 

And  theme  of  every  wmistrel's  art, 

"  But  ah  !  dear  lady,  thus  it  sigh'd 
The  eve  thy  sainted  mother  died  ; 

The  Lady  of  the  Bleeding  Heart  !  "* 

And  such  the  sounds  which,  while  I  strove 

XI. 

To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love, 
Came  marring  all  the  festal  mirth. 
Appalling  me  who  gave  them  birth, 

"Fair  dreams  are  these,"  the  maiden  cried 
(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sigh'd  ;) 
"  Yet  is  this  mossy  rock  to  me 

And,  disobedient  to  my  call. 
Wail'd  loudly  through   bothwell's   banner'd 

Worth  splendid  chair  and  canopy; 
.Nor  would  my  footsteps  spring  more  gay 

hall. 
Ere  Douglasses,  to  ruin  driven.2 
Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven.  — 
Oh!  if  yet  worse  mishap  ami  woe, 
My  master's  house  must  undergo, 
Or  aught  hut  weal  to  Ellen  fair, 
Brood  in  tiiese  accents  of  despair. 
No  future  bard,  sad  Harp!   shall  tlin? 
Triumph  or  rapture  from  thy  string; 
One  short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow, 
F'ranght  with  unutterable  woe. 
Then  shiver'd  shall  thy  fragments  lie, 

In  courtly  dance  than  blithe  strathspey, 
Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 
To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  thine. 
And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high, 
To  bend  before  mv  conquering  eve,  — 
Thou,  flattering  bard  !  thyself  w'ilt  sar, 
That  grim  Sir  Koderick  owns  its  sway. 
The  Saion  scourge,  Clan-Alpine's  prule. 
The  terror  of  Loch  Lomond's  side. 
Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st,  delay 
A  Lennox  foray  —  for  a  day."  — 

1  hy  master  cast  him  down  and  die  1  " 

XII. 

IX. 

The  ancient  hard  his  glee  repress'd  : 

Soothing  she  answer'd  him.  "Assuage, 

"111  hast  thou  chosen  theme  for  jest  ! 

Mine  honour'd  friend,  the  fears  of  age; 

For  who,  through  all  this  western  wild. 

All  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 

Named  Black  Sir  Koderiek  e'er,  and  smiled  ! 

That  harp  has  runs,  or  pipe  has  blown, 

In  Holy-Rood  a  knight  he  slew  ;  4 

In  Lowland  vale  or  Highland  glen. 

I  saw,  when  back  the  dirk  he  drew. 

From  Tweed  to  Spey  —  what  marvel,  then, 

Courtiers  give  place  before  the  stride 

At  times,  unhidden  notes  should  rise, 

Of  the  undaunted  homicide; 

Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 

And  since,  though  outlaw'd,  hath  his  hand 

Entangling,  as  they  rush  along. 
The  war-march  with  the  funeral  song?  — 

Full  sternly  kept  his  mountain  laud. 
Who  else  dared  give  —  ah  !  woe  the  day, 

Small  ground  is  now  for  boding  fear; 

That  1  such  hated  truth  should  say  — 

Obscure,  but  safe,  we  rest  us  here. 

The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 

My  sire,  in  native  virtues  great, 

Disown'd  by  every  noble  peer,* 

Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state, 

Even  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here  ? 

Not  then  to  fortune  more  resign'd. 

Alas,  this  wild  marauding  Chief 

Than  yonder  oak  might  give  the  wind  ; 

Alone  might  hazard  our  relief. 

The  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave, 
The  noble  stem  they  cannot  grieve. 

And  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand, 
Looks  for  his  guerdon  in  thy  hand  ; 

For  me,"  —  she  stoop'd,  and,  looking  round. 

Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought, 

Piuck'd  a  blue  hare-bell  from  the  ground,  — 

To  back  his  suit,  from  Home  be  brought. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  N.           2  Ibid,  Note  O 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

1  The  vrll-kuown  cognizance  of  the  Douglas  family. 

6  See  Appendix,  Mote  ft. 

168                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hill, 

Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 

XV. 

Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear; 

"What  think  I  of  him?  —  woe  the  while 

And  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear. 

That  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle  ! 

That  thou  mightst  guide  with  silken  thread, 
Slave  of  thy  will,  this  chieftain  dread  ; 

Thy  father's  battle-brand,  of  yore 
For  Tme-man  forged  by  fairy  lore,* 

Yet.  O  loved  maid,  thy  mirth  refrain  ! 

What  time  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes, 

Thy  hand  is  on  a  lion's  mane."  — 

His  Border  spears  wii  h  Hotspur's  bows, 

XIII. 

Did.  self-unscahbanled,  foreshow 

"Minstrel."  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 
'•  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know  : 
All  that  a  mother  could  bestow. 
To  lady  Margaret's  care  I  owe. 

The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe.  5 
If  courtly  spy  hath  harhour'd  here, 
What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear? 
What  for  this  island,  deem'd  of  old 
Clan-  Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold  ? 
If  neither  spy  nor  foe.  I  prav 

Since  first  an  orphan  in  the  wild 
She  sorrow'd  o'er  her  sister's  child  ; 
To  her  brave  chieftain  son.  from  ire 
Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds  my  sire, 
A  deeper,  holier  debt  is  owed  ; 
And.  could  I  pay  it  with  my  blood, 
Allan  !  Sir  Roderick  should  command 

What  yet  mav  jealous  Roderick  say? 
—Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdainful  head, 
Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 
That  kindled,  when  at  Beltane  game 
Thou  led'st  the  dance  with  Malcolm  Grseme  ; 
Still,  though  thy  sire  the  peace  renew'd. 
Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud  ; 

My  blood,  niv  life,—  but  not  mv  hand. 
Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 
A  votaress  in  -Maronnan's  cell  ;  ' 
Rather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  world's  cold  charity. 
Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 
And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard, 
An  outcast  pilgrim  will  she  rove. 
Than  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love.2 

Beware  !  —  But  hark,  whst  sounds  are  these  ? 
My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 
No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspens  wake. 
Nor  breuth  is  dimpling  in  the  lake, 
Still  is  the  canna'so  hoary  bf.ml. 
Yet,  by  my  minstrel  faith.  1  heard  — 
And  bark  again  !  some  pipe  of  war 
Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar." 

XIV. 
"  Thou  shakest,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  grey,— 
That  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 
But  what  1  own  ?  —  1  grant  him  brave, 
But  wild  as  Bracklinn's  thundering  wave  ;  3 
And  generous,  save  vindictive  mood. 
Or  jealous  transport,  chafe  his  blood  : 
I  grant  him  true  to  friendly  band, 
As  his  claymore  is  to  his  hand  ; 
But  0  !  that  very  blade  of  steel 
More  mercy  for  a  foe  would  feel  : 
I  grant  him  liberal,  to  fling 
Among  his  clan  the  wealth  they  bring. 
When  back  by  lake  and  glen  they  wind, 
And  in  the  Lowland  leave  behind, 
Where  once  some  pleasant  hamlet  stood, 
A  mass  of  ashes  slaked  with  blood. 
The  hand  that  for  my  father  fought, 
I  honour,  as  his  daughter  ought  ; 
But  can  I  clasp  it  reeking  red, 
From  peasants  slaughter'd  in  their  shed  7 
No!  wildly  while  his  virtues  gleam. 
They  make  his  passions  darker  seem, 
And  flash  along  his  spirit  high, 
Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 

XVI. 
Far  up  the  lengthen'd  lake  were  spied 
Four  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide, 
That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view, 
Four  mann'd  and  masted  barges  grew. 
And.  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyie, 
Steer'd  full  upon  the  lonely  isle; 
The  point  of  Bnanchoil  they  pass'd, 
And,  to  the  windward  as  they  cast, 
Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 
The  bold  Sir  Roderick  s  hanner'd  Pine. 
Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear. 
Spear,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 
Now  might,  you  see  the  tartans  brave. 
And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave  : 
Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 
As  his  lough  oar  the  rower  plies; 
See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 
The  wave  ascending  into  smoke; 
See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow. 
And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 
From  their  loud  chanters  '  down,  and  sweep 
The  furrow'd  bosom  of  the  deep, 
As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain, 
They  plied  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

While  yet  a  child,  —  and  children  know, 

Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe,— 

XVII. 

1  shudder'd  at  his  brow  of  gloom, 

Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 

His  shadowy  plaid,  and  sable  plume  ; 

And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud. 

A  maiden  grown,  I  ill  could  bear 

At  first  the  sound,  by  distance  tame 

His  haughty  mien  and  lordly  air  : 
But.  if  Inou  join'st  a  suitors  claim. 

Mellow'd  along  the  waters  came. 
And,  lingering  long  by  rape  and  bay, 

In  serious  mood,  to  Roderick's  name, 

Wail'd  every  harsher  note  away  ; 

1  thrill  with  anguish  !  or.  if  e'er 

Then  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear. 

A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 

The  clan's  shrill  Gathering  they  could  hear; 

To  change  such  odious  theme  were  best.  — 

Those  thrilling  sounds,  that  call  the  might 

What  think'st  thou  of  our  stranger  guest  ?  "  — 

Of  old  Clan-Alpine  to  the  fight.  8 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  R 

Z££$3S£tf»^~ttm~"  ""'  "•"•'  °r  • 

been  improved  by  contrast      She  ia  beautiful,  frank,  affec- 

6 (Jot  ton-grass.                  7  The  pipe  of  the  bigpipe. 

tionate,  rational,  and   playful,  combining  the  innocence 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


169 


Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 
The  mustering  hundreds  shake  tlie  glen, 
And,  hurrying  at  the  signal  dread, 
The  baller'd  earth  returns  their  tread. 
Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone, 
Express'd  Iheir  merry  marching  on, 
Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose. 
With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows; 
And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward. 
As  broad  sword  upon  target  jarr'd ; 
And  groaning  pause,  ere  yet  again, 
Condensed,  the  battle  yeil'd  amain; 
The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout. 
Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout, 
And  hursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 
Cian-Alpine's  conquest.  —  all  were  there. 
Nor  ended  thus  the  strain  ;  but  slow, 
Sunk  in  a  moan  prolong'd  and  low, 
And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell, 
For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

XVIII. 

The  war-pipes  censed  ;  but  lake  and  hill 
Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still; 
And.  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 
Bade  their  tioarse  chorus  wake  again. 
While  loud  a  hundred  clansmen  raise 
Their  voices  in  their  Chieftain's  praise. 
Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar, 
With  measured  sweep  the  burden  bore, 
In  such  wild  mdence,  as  the  breeze 
Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 
The  chorus  tirst  could  Allan  know, 
"Roderick  Vich  Alpine,  ho!  iro!" 
And  near,  and  nearer  as  they  row'd, 
Distinct  the  martial  dilty  flow'd. 

XIX. 

BOAT     SONO. 
Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances! 

Honour'd  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  Pine  ! 
Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances, 
Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line  ! 
Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 
Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gayly  to  bnureeon,  and  broadly  to  grow, 
While  every  Highland  glen 
Sends  our  shout  hack  agen, 
"Rodengh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroel"' 
Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade ; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stnpp'd  every  leaf  on 

the  mountain, 
The  more  shall  Clan-Alpine  exult  in  her 

shade. 

Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 
Firmer  lie  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow ; 
Memeith  and  Breadalbane,  then, 
Echo  his  praise  agen. 
"Rodengh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe!" 

XX. 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 
And    Bannochar's    groans    to    our   slogan 

replied ; 
Glen  Luss  and  Koss-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in 

rum, 
And  the  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on 

her  side. 2 

Widow  and  Saxon  maid 
Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 


Think  of  Clan-Alpine  with  fear  and  with  woe; 
Lennox  and  Leven-glen 
Shake  when  they  hear  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe ! " 
Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of.  the  High- 
lands ! 
Stretch  to   vour  oars,  for  the  ever-green 

Pine"! 

O !  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands, 
Were  wreathed  in  a  garland  around  him  to 

twine  ! 

O  that  some  seedling  gem, 
Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honour'd  and  bless'd  in  their  shadow  might 

grow ! 

Loud  should  Clan-Alpine  then 
Ring  from  the  deepmost  glen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe  ! " 

XXI. 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band. 
Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand. 
Ix>ose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew, 
And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  threw, 
As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 
And  chorus  wild,  the  Chieftain's  name ; 
While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art, 
The  darling  passion  of  his  heart. 
The  Dame  call'd  Ellen  to  the  strand, 
To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land  : 
'•  Come,  loiterer,  come  !  a  Douglas  thou, 
And  shun  to  wreathe  a  victor's  brow?  " — 
Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 
The  unwelcome  summoning  obey'd, 
And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung, 
In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung : — 
"  List.  Allan-Bane !    from  mainland  cast, 
1  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 
Be  ours,"  she  cried,  "  the  skitf  to  guide. 
And  waft  him  from  the  mountain  side." 
Then,  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright, 
She  darted  to  her  shallop  light, 
And,  eagerly  while  Roderick  scann'd. 
For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band, 
The  islet  far  behind  her  lay. 
And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

XXII. 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given, 
With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven : 
And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 
From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 
A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 
It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek, 
Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 
Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head ! 
And  as  the  Douglas  to  his  breast 
His  darling  Ellen  closely  press'd, 
Such  holy  drops  her  tresses  steep'd, 
Though  'twas  an  hero's  e}'e  that  weep'd. 
Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue 
Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 
Mark'd  she,  that  fear  (affection's  proof) 
Still  held  a  graceful  youth  aloof ; 
No  !  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 
Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 

XXIII. 

Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while, 
.Mark'd  Roderick  landing  on  the  isle; 
His  master  piteously  he  eyed, 
Then  gazed  upon  the  Chieftain's  pride. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 


2  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 


170 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  riash'd.  with  hasty  hand,  away 

From  his  dimm'il  eye  the  gathering  spray ; 

And  Doualas.  as  liis  hand  he  laid 

On  Malcolm's  shoulder,  kindly  said, 

"Cans   tliim.  young  friend,  no  meaning  spy 

In  my  poor  follower's  glistening  eye  ? 

I'll  tell  thee :  —  he  recalls  the  day, 

When  in  my  praise  he  led  the  lay 

O'er  the  arch'd  gate  of  Bothwell  prond, 

While  many  a  minstrel  answer'd  loud, 

When  Perry's  Norman  pennon,  won 

In  bloody  field,  before  me  shone. 

And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 

As  mighty  as  yon  Chief  may  claim. 

Gracing  my  pomp,  behind  me  came. 

Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 

Was  I  of  all  that  marsnall'd  crowd. 

Though  the  waned  crescent  own'd  my  might, 

And  in  my  train  troop'd  lord  and  knisht. 

Though  Blantyre  hymn'd  her  holiest  lays. 

And  Both  well's  bards  flung  back  my  praise. 

As  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear. 

And  I  his  poor  maid's  affection  dear, 

A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true. 

Than  aught  my  better  fortunes  knew. 

Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast, 

O !  it  ouvbeggars  all  I  lost !'' 

XXIV. 

Delightful  praise !  —  Like  summer  rose, 
That  brighter  in  the  dew-drop  glows. 
The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appear'd. 
For  Douglas  spoke,  and  .Malcolm  heard. 
The  flush  of  shame-laced  joy  to  hide, 
The  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  cares  divide ; 
The  loved  caresses  of  the  maid 
The  doss  with  crouch  and  whimper  paid; 
And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 
The  falcon  took  her  favourite  stand. 
Closed  his  dark  wing,  relax'd  his  eye, 
Nor,  though  unhooded.  sought  to  fly. 
And,  trust,  while  in  such  guise  she  stood, 
Like  fabled  Goddess  of  the  wood. 
That  if  a  father's  partial  thought 
O'erweigh'd  her  worth  and  beauty  aught, 
Well  might  the  lover's  judgment  fail 
To  balance  with  ajusterscale  ; 
For  with  each  secret  glance  he  stole, 
The  fund  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 


Of  stature  tall,  and  slender  frame. 

But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 

The  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 

Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose ; 

His  flaxen  hair  of  sunny  hue, 

Curl'd  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue. 

Train'd  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 

The  ptarmigan  in  snow  could  spy : 

F.ach  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath, 

He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith ; 

Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark-brown  doe, 

When  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow, 

And  scarce  that  doe,  though  wing'd  with  fear, 

Outsinpp'd  in  speed  the  mountaineer: 

Right  up  Ben-Lomond  could  he  press, 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind; 

A  blither  heart,  till  Ellen  came, 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame ; 

It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast, 

As  play'd  the  feather  on  his  crest. 


Yet  friends,  who  nearest  knew  the  youth, 
His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth. 
And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold, 
When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old, 
Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 
Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 
Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame, 
But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Gr<eme. 

XXVI. 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  way, 
And.  "  O  my  sire !"  did  Ellen  say, 
"  Why  urge  thy  chase  so  far  astray  ? 
And  why  so  laie  retuni'd  ?    And  why"— 
The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 
"  My  child,  the  chase  1  follow  far, 
Tis  mimicry  of  noble  war; 
And  with  that  gallant  pastime  reft 
Were  all  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 
I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  stray'd. 
Far  eastward,  in  Glenfinhis'  shade. 
Nor  stray'd  I  safe;  for.  all  around. 
Hunters  and  horsemen  scour'd  the  ground. 
This  youth,  though  still  a  royal  ward, 
Risk'd  life  and  land  to  be  my  guard, 
And  through  the  passes  of  the  wood 
Guided  my  steps,  not  unpursued  ; 
And  Roderick  shall  his  welcome  make, 
Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 
Then  must  he  seek  Strath-Endrick  glen, 
Nor  peril  ought  for  me  agen." 

XXVII. 

Sir  Roderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 
Redden'd  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Graeme, 
Yet.  not  in  action,  word  or  eve, 
Fail'd  aught  in  hospitality. 
In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 
The  morning  of  that  summer  day ; 
But.  at  high  noon  a  courier  lisht 
Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight. 
Whose  moody  aspect  soon  declared, 
That  evil  were  the  news  he  heard. 
I  leep  thought  seem'd  toiling  in  his  head ; 
Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made, 
Ere  he  assembled  round  the  flame. 
His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Graeme, 
And  Ellen,  too;  then  cast  around 
His  eyes,  then  fix'd  them  on  the  ground, 
As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 
Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale. 
I-ons:  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  play'd. 
Then  raised  his  haughty  brow,  anil  said  :  — 

XX  VIII. 

"  Short  be  my  speech ;  —  nor  time  affords, 
Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozmg  words 
Kinsman  and  father,  —  if  such  name 
Douslas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim ; 
Mine  honour'd  mother;  —  Ellen  —  why, 
My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye?  — 
And  Gnerne  ;  in  whom  I  hope  to  know 
Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe. 
When  age  shall  eive  thee  thy  command, 
And  leadine  in  thy  native  land, — 
List  all !— The  King's  vindictive  pride 
Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side.1 
Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 
To  share  their  monarch's  silvan  game. 
Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared ; 
And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared, 
And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flung. 
O'er  their  ow«  gateway  struggling  hung. 


1  S«  Appendix,  No 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE.                     171 

Loud  cries  their  blood  from  Mesa's  rn«ad, 

XXXI. 

From  Yarrow  br.ies.  and  banks  of  Tweed, 
Where  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  glide, 

There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour, 
In  slumber  scaled  a  dizzy  tower. 

And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side  ; 
The  dales,  where  martial  claix  did  ride, 

And.  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 
The  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar, 

Are  now  one  sheep-walk,  waste  and  wide. 
Tins  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  thn.ue. 
So  faithless  and  so  ru:h  ess  known. 
Now  hither  conies  ;  his  end  the  same, 

Dream'd  calmly  out  their  damterpus  dream, 
Till  waken'd  by  the  morning  beam; 
When,  dazzled  by  the  eastern  glow, 
Such  startler  cast  his  dance  below, 

The  same  pretext  of  silvan  game. 
What  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 

And  saw  unmeasured  depth  around, 
And  beard  unmtermitted  sound, 

By  fate  of  Border  chivalry.1 

And  thought  the  battled  fence  so  frail. 

Vet  more  ;  amid  Glentinl'as  green. 

It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale  ;  — 

Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen. 

Amid  his  senses'  giddy  wheel, 

Tins  by  espial  sure  I  know  ; 
Your  counsel  in  the  streight  I  show." 

Did  he  not  desperate  impulse  feel. 
Headlong  to  plunse  himself  below. 

XXIX. 

And  meet  the  worst  his  fears  foreshow  I  — 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

Thus.  Ellen,  dizzy  and  astound, 

Sought  comfort  in  each  o  her's  eye, 
Then  turn'iJ  their  ghastly  look,  each  one, 
This  to  her  sire  —  that  to  her  son. 

As  sudden  ruinyawn'd  around. 
By  crossing  terrors  wildly  toss'd, 
S'ill  for  the  Douglas  fearing  most. 

The  hasty  colour  went  and  came 
In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcolm  Graeme; 

Could  scarce  the  desperate  thought  withstand, 
To  buy  his  safety  with  her  hand. 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appear'd, 

Twas  but  for  Eilen  that  he  fear'd; 

XXXII. 

While,  sorrowful,  but  undismay'd, 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcolm  spy 

The  Douglas  tlius  his  counsel  said  :  — 

In  Ellen's  quivering  lip  and  eye. 

"  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar. 

And  eager  rose  to  speak  —  but  ere 

It  may  but  thunder  and  pass  o'er; 

His  tongue  could  hurry  forth  his  fear, 

Nor  will  I  here  remain  an  hour, 

Had  Douglas  mark'd  the  hectic  strife. 

To  draw  the  lightning  on  thy  bower; 
For  well  thou  know'st,  at  this  grey  head 

Where  death  seem'd  combating  with  life  ; 
For  to  her  cheek,  in  feverish  flood, 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped 

One  instant  rush'd  the  throbbing  blood, 

For  Ihee.  who.  a!  thy  KIIIK'S  command, 

Then  ebbing  back,  with  sudden  sway. 

Canst  aid  him  with  a  gallant  band. 

Left  its  domain  as  wan  as  clay. 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride, 

'•  Roderick,  enough  !  enough  !"  he  cried, 

Shall  turn  the  Monarch's  wraih  aside. 

"  My  daughter  cannot  be  thy  bride  ; 

Poor  remnants  of  the  Bleeding  Heart, 

Not  that  the  blush  to  wooer  dear. 

Ellen  and  1  will  seek,  apart. 

Nor  paleness  that  of  maiden  fear. 

The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell. 

It  may  not  be—  forgive  her,  Chief, 

There,  like  the  hunted  quarry,  dwell, 

Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  relief. 

Till  on  ihe  mountain  and  the  miHir. 

Against  his  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er 

The  stem  pursuit  be  pa-ss'd  and  o'er."  — 

Will  level  a  rebellious  spear. 

XXV 

Twas  I  that  taught  his  youthful  hand 

"No,  by  mine  honour,"  lioderick  said, 
"So  help  me,  heaven,  and  my  good  blade! 
No,  never  !  Blasied  be  you  Pine, 

To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand  ; 
I  see  him  yet,  the  princely  boy  ! 
Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  and  joy; 
I  love  him  still,  despite  my  wrongs, 

My  fathers'  ancient  crest  and  mine, 
If  from  its  slitule  in  danger  part 
The  lineage  of  the  Bleeding  Heart! 
Hear  my  blunt  speech  :  Grant  me  this  maid 

By  hasty  wrath,  and  slanderous  tongues. 
O  seek  the  grace  you  well  may  find, 
Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined." 

To  wife,  thy  counsel  to  mine  aid  ; 

XXXIII. 

To  Douglas,  leagued  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
Will  friends  and  allies  flock  enow; 

Twice  through  the  hall  the  Chieftain  strode  ; 

Like  cause  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  erief, 
Will  bind  to  us  each  Western  Chief. 
When  the  loud  pipes  mv  bridal  tell, 
The  Links  of  For  h  shall  hear  the  knell. 
The  guards  shall  s  art  m  Stirling's  porch; 
And,  when  I  liglit  the  nuptial  torch, 
A  thousand  vi  liases  in  flames. 
Shall  scare  the  slumbers  of  Kin?  James  ! 
—  Nay.  Ellen,  blunch  not  thus  away. 
And,  mother,  cease  these  sisnis.  1  pray; 
1  meant  not  all  my  heart  misht  say.— 
Small  need  of  inroad,  or  of  tight, 
When  the  sasre  Douglas  may  unite 
Each  mountain  rian  in  friendly  band, 
To  guard  the  passes  of  Iheir  land, 
Till  the  foil'd  king-,  from  pathless  glen. 
Shall  bootless  turn  Imn  home  a^en." 

The  waving  of  his  tartans  broad, 
Ami  darken'd  brow,  where  wounded  pride 
With  ire  and  disappointment  vied, 
Seem'd.  by  ihe  torcti's  srlooniy  light, 
Like  the  ill  Demon  of  the  night, 
Stooping  Ins  pinions'  shadowy  sway 
Upon  the  nighted  pilgrim's  way: 
But.  unrequited  Love  1  thy  dart 
Plunged  deepest  its  enveiiom'd  smart. 
And  Roderick,  with  thine  anguish  stung, 
At  length  the  hand  of  Dougla.«  wrung, 
While  eyes,  that  mock'd  at  tears  before. 
With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'er. 
The  death  pangs  of  long-cherish'd  hope 
Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope, 
But.  struggling  with  his  spirit  proud. 
Convulsive  heaved  its  chequer  d  shroud, 
While  every  sob—  so  mute  were  all  — 

1  S«e  Appendix.  Note  Z. 

Was  heard  distinctly  through  the  hall. 

172 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  son's  despair,  the  mother's  look, 
111  might  the  gentle  Ellen  brook  ; 
She  ruse,  and  to  her  side  there  came, 
To  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Graeme. 

XXXIV. 

Then  RodericK  from  the  Douglas  broke— 
As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke, 
Kindling  its  wreaths,  Ions,  dark,  and  low, 
To  one  hroad  blaze  of  ruddy  flow, 
So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair 
Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. 
With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid : 
"  Back,  beardless  boy !"  he  sternly  said, 
"  Back,  minion !  hold'st  thou  thus  at  naught 
The  lesson  I  so  lately  tausrht  T 
This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid, 
Thank  thou  for  punishment  delay'd. " 
Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game. 
Fiercely  with  Roderick  grappled  Graeme. 
"Perish  my  name,  if  aught  afford 
Its  Chieftain  safety  save  his  sword !" 
Thus  as  they  strove,  their  desperate  hand. 
Griped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand. 
And  death  had  been — but  Douglas  rose. 
And  thrust  between  the  struggling  foes 
His  giant  strengtli : — "  Chieftains,  forego ! 
I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe. — 1 
Madmen,  forbear  your  frantic  jar ! 
What !  is  the  Douglas  fall'n  so  far, 
His  daughter's  hand  is  doom'd  the  spoil 
Of  such  dishonourable  broil !" 
Sullen  and  slowly  they  unclasp. 
As  struck  with  shame,  their  desperate  grasp, 
And  each  upon  his  rival  glared. 
With  foot  advanced,  and  blade  half  bared. 

XXXV. 

Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung, 
Margaret  on  Roderick's  mantle  hung. 
And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen's  scream, 
As.  falter'd  through  terrific  dream. 
Then  Roderick  plunged  in  sheath  his  sword, 
And  veil'd  his  wrath  in  scornful  word. 
"Rest  safe  till  morning:  pity  'twere 
Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air !' 
Then  mayesi  thou  to  James  Stuart  tell, 
Roderick  will  keep  the  lake  and  fell. 
Nor  lackey,  with  his  freelmm  clan. 
The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 
More  would  he  of  Clan-Alpine  know. 
Thou  canst  our  strength  and  passes  show  — 
Malise,  what  ho !''— his  henchman  came  ;3 
"  Give  our  safe-conduct  to  the  Grseme." 
Young  Malcolm  answer'd,  calm  and  bold, 
"  Fear  nothing  for  thy  favourite  hold ; 
The  spot,  an  angel  deigned  to  grace. 
Is  bless'd.  though  robbers  haunt  the  place. 
Thy  churlish  courtesy  for  those 
Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 
As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 
At.  midnight  as  in  blaze  of  day, 
Though  with  his  boldest  at  his  hack 
Even  Roderick  Dhu  beset  the  track. — 
Brave  Douglas. — lovely  Ellen.— nay, 
Nought  here  of  parting  will  I  say. 
Earth  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen, 
So  secret,  but  we  meet  agen  — 


1  Tile  Author  has  to  apologize  for  the  inadvertent  appro 
priation  of  a  whole  line  from  the  trappy  of  Douglas, 
"  I  hold  the  first  who  strike*,  my  foe," 

KaU  to  lite  Hand  alitim. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A.  3  Ibid,  Kote  3  B. 


Chieftain  !  we  too  shall  find  an  hour." — 
He  said,  and  left  the  silvan  btiwer. 

XXXVI. 

Old  Allan  follow'd  to  the  strand, 
(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command.) 
And  anxious  told,  how,  on  the  morn, 
The  si  era  Sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn, 
The  Fiery  Cross  should  circle  o'er 
Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down,  and  moor. 
Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Graeme, 
From  those  who  to  the  sisnal  came  ; 
Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land, 
Himself  would  row  him  to  the  strand. 
He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  wind. 
While  Malcolm  did,  unheeding,  hind, 
Round  dirk  and  pouch  and  broadsword  roll'd, 
His  ample  plaid  in  tighten'*)  fold. 
And  stripp'd  his  limbs  to  such  array, 
As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way,— 

XXXVII. 

Then  spoke  abrupt :  "  Farewell  to  thee, 
Pattern  of  old  fidelity !" 
The  Minstrel's  hand  he  kindly  press'd, 
"  O !  could  I  point  a  place  of  rest ! 
My  sovereign  holds  in  ward  my  land, 
My  uncle  leads  my  vassal  hand  ; 
To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid. 
Poor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blade. 
Yet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Grame, 
Who  loves  the  Chieftain  of  his  name, 
Not  long  shall  honour'd  Doualas  dwell, 
Like  hunted  slag  in  mountain  cell ; 
Nor.  ere  yon  pride-swull'n  robber  dare,— 
I  may  not  give  the  rest  to  air ! 
Tell  Roderick  Dhu,  I  owed  him  nought, 
Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat. 
To  waft  me  to  von  mountain-side." 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  flashing  tide. 
Bold  o'er  the  flood  his  head  he  bore, 
And  stoutly  steer'd  him  from  the  shore  ; 
And  Allan  strain'd  his  anxious  eye, 
Par  'mid  the  lake  his  form  to  spy. 
Darkening  across  each  puny  wave, 
To  which  the  moon  her  silver  gave, 
Fast  as  the  cormorant  could  skim, 
The  swimmer  plied  each  active  limb; 
Then  landing  in  the  moonlight  dell, 
Loud  shouted  of  his  weal  to  tell. 
The  Minstrel  heard  the  far  halloo. 
And  joyful  from  the  shore  withdrew. 


s  ot  ttje  3Lafee. 

CAHTO  THIRD. 

THE    GATHERING. 

I. 
Time  rolls  his  ceaseless  course.    The  race  of 

yore, 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee. 

And  told  our  marvelling  boyhood  legends  store. 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happ'd  by  land  or 

sea, 
How  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be ! 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


173 


How  few.  all  weak  and  wither'd  of  their 

force, 

Wait  on  the  verge  of  dark  eternity, 
Like  s'randed  wrecks,  the  tide  returning 

hoarse. 

To  sweep  them  from  our  sight!    Time  rolls 
his  ceaseless  course. 

Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  well, 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  buale  blew, 
Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,  cliff,  and  dell, 

And  solitary  litsitli,  the  signal  knew: 
And  fast  the  faithful  ohm  around  him  drew. 

What  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly 

wound. 
What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew, 

While  clamorous  war-pipes  yell'd  the  ga- 
thering sound, 

And  while   the   Fi.-ry  Cross  glanced,  like  a 
meteor,  round.  1 
II. 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 
To  purple  changed  Loch  Katrine  blue; 
Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 
Just  kiss'd  the  lake,  just  stirr'd  the  trees. 
And  the  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 
Trembled  but  dimpled  not  for  joy; 
Tlie  mouutain-sliauVws  on  her  breast 
Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 
In  bright  uncertainty  they  lie. 
Like"  future  joys  to  Fancy's  eye. 
The  watei-h)y  to  the  light 
Her  chalice  rear'd  of  silver  bright; 
The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn. 
Begemm'd  with  dew-drops,  led  her  fawn; 
The  grey  mist  left  the  mountain  side, 
The  torrent  show'd  its  glistening  pride; 
Invisible  in  flecked  sky, 
The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry : 
The  blackbird  and  the  speckled  thrush 
Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  bush ; 
In  answer  coo'd  the  cushut  dove 
Her  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  and  love. 

III. 

No  thought  of  pence,  no  thousrht  of  rest, 
Assuaged  the  storm  in  Roderick's  breast. 
With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand, 
Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand, 
And  eyed  the  rising  sun.  and  laid 
His  hand  on  his  impatient  blade. 
Beneath  a  rock,  his  vassals'  care 
Was  prompt  the  ritual  to  prepare, 
With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught; 
For  such  Antiquity  had  taught 
Was  preface  meet,  ere  yet  abroad 
The  Cross  of  Fire  should  take  its  road. 
The  shrinking  band  stood  oft  aghast 
At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast; — 
Such  glance  the  moun'ain  eagle  threw, 
As.  from  the  cliffs  of  Benvenue, 
She  spread  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind, 
And,  high  in  middle  heaven,  reclined. 
With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake. 
Silenced  the  warblers  of  the  brake. 

IV. 

A  heap  of  wither'd  bouzhs  was  piled, 
Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild. 
Mingled  with  shivers  from  the  oak. 
Rent  by  the  lightning's  recent  stroke. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C.  2  IbiJ.  Nnle  2  D. 


Brian,  the  Hermit,  by  it  stood, 

Barefooted,  in  his  frock  and  hood. 

His  giisled  beard  and  matted  hair 

Jhscured  a  visage  of  despair; 

His  naked  arms  and  legs,  seam'd  o'er, 

The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face,1 

The  impending  danger  of  his  race 

Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude, 

Far  iti  Benharrow's  bosom  rude. 

Not  his  the  mien  of  Christian  priest. 

But  Druid's,  from  the  grave  released. 

Whose  harden'd  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look ; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mix'd  in  the  charms  he  mutter'd  o'er. 

The  halloyv'd  creed  gave  only  worse 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse  ; 

No  peasant,  sought  that  Hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilarim  shunn'd  with  care, 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound. 

And  in  mid  chase  call  d  off  his  hound ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath. 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  path. 

He  pray'd,  and  ,-ign'd  the  cross  between, 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien. 

V. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told.  * 
His  mother  watch'd  a  midnight  fold. 
Built  deep  within  a  dreary  glen. 
Where  sratter'd  lay  the  bones  of  men, 
In  some  forgotten  battle  slain, 
And  bleach'd  by  drifting  wind  and  rnin. 
It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart. 
To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art! 
The  knot-grass  fetter'd  there  the  hand, 
Which  once  could  burst  an  iron  band  ; 
Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone. 
That  buckler'd  heart  to  fear  unknown, 
A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest, 
The  field-fare  framed  her  lowly  nest ; 
There  the  slow  blind-worm  left  his  slime 
On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mock'd  at  time; 
And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull, 
Still  wreath'd  with  chaplet.  flush'd  and  full, 
For  heath-bell  with  her  purple  bloom, 
Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plume. 
All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 
Sate,  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade : 
— She  said,  no  shepherd  sought  her  side, 
No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untied, 
Yet  ne'er  aeain  to  braid  her  hair 
The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear;* 
Gone  was  her  maiden  glee  and  sport. 
Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short. 
Nor  sought  she.  from  that  fatal  night, 
Or  holy  church  or  blessed  rite. 
But  lock'd  her  secret  in  her  breast, 
And  died  in  travail,  uncoufess'd. 

VI. 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeers, 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years ; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy. 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 
Hearing  each  taunt  which  careless  tongue 
On  his  mysterious  lineaee  fluu?. 
Whole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale, 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail, 
Till,  frantic,  he  as  truth  received 
What  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  J  E.  4  Ihi.i,  Note  2  K. 


174 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire. 
To  meet  and  know  his  Phantom  Sirel 
In  vain,  to  soothe  his  wayward  fate, 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate ; 
In  vain,  the  learning  of  the  age 
Unrlasp'd  the  sabie-lelter'd  page  ; 
Even  m  its  treasures  he  could  find 
Pood  for  the  fever  of  his  mind. 
Eager  he  read  whatever  tells 
Of  magic,  cabala,  and  spells. 
And  every  dark  pursuit  allied 
To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride ; 
Till  with  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'erstrung, 
And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung, 
Desperate  he  sought  Benharrow's  den, 
And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

VII. 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild, 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.  1 

Where  with  black  cliffs  the  torrents  toil, 

He  watch'd  the  wheeling  eddies  boil. 

Till,  from  their  foam,  his  dazzled  eyes 

Beheld  the  River  Demon  rise ; 

The  mountain  mist  took  form  and  limb, 

Of  noontide  hag.  or  goblin  grim  ; 

The  midnight  wind  came  wild  and  dread, 

Swell'd  with  the  voices  of  the  dead ; 

Far  on  the  future  battle-heath 

His  eye  lieheld  the  ranks  of  death  : 

Thus  the  lone  Seer,  from  mankind  hurl'd, 

Shafied  forth  a  disembodied  world. 

One  lingering  sympathy  of  mind 

Still  bound  him  to  the  mortal  kind ; 

The  only  parent  he  could  claim 

Of  ancient  Alpine's  lineage  came. 

Late  had  he  heard,  in  prophet's  dream, 

The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream  ;  2 

Sounds,  1 1 10.  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 

Along  Benliarrow's  shingly  side. 

Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  might  ride ; 3 

The  thunderbolt  had  split  the  pine, — 

All  augur'd  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 

He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 

The  signals  of  impending  WOK, 

And  now  stood  prompt  to  bless  or  ban, 

As  bade  the  Clueftam  of  his  claii. 

VIII. 

Twas  all  prepared  ; — and  from  the  rock, 
A  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  flock, 
Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid. 
And  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 
Patient  the  sickening  victim  eyed 
The  life-blood  ebb  in  crimson  tide. 
Down  his  clogg'd  heard  and  shaggy  limb, 
Till  darkness  glazed  his  eyeballs  dim. 
The  grisly  priest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 
A  slender  crosslet-form'il  with  care, 
A  cubit's  length  in  measure  due; 
The  shaft  and  limbs  were  rods  of  yew. 
Whose  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave* 
Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave, 
And.  ausweiing  Lomond's  breezes  deep, 
Soolhe  many  a  chieftain's  endless  sleep. 
The  Cross,  thus  form'd.  he  held  on  high, 
With  wasled  hand,  and  haggard  eye. 
And  strange  and  mingled  feelings  woke, 
W|»|e  his  ana'henia  he  spoke. 

1  Sre  Appendix,  Sole  2  O.  2  Ibi •;,  Nc:«  J  H. 


"  Woe  to  the  clansman,  who  shall  view 
Tins  symbol  of  sepulchral  yew. 
Forgetful  that  its  branches  grew 
Where  weep  ihe  heavens  ilieir  holiest  dew 

On  Alpine's  dwelling  low  ! 
Deserter  of  his  Chieftain's  trust, 
He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  ilnst, 
But,  from  his  sires  and  kindred  thrust, 
Each  clansman's  execration  just 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  woe." 
He  paused ;  —  the  word  the  vassals  took, 
With  forward  step  and  fiery  look, 
On  high  their  naked  brands  they  shook, 
Their  clattering  targets  wildly  strook ; 

And  first  in  murmur  low, 
Then,  like  the  billow  in  his  course, 
That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source, 
And  Sings  to  shore  his  muster'd  force. 
Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

"  Woe  to  the  traitor,  woe !  " 
Ben-an's  grey  scalp  the  accents  knew, 
The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew, 
The  exulting  eagle  scream'd  afar, — 
They  knew  the  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 


The  shout  was  hush'd  on  lake  and  fell, 
The  monk  resumed  his  mutter'd  spell : 
Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came. 
The  while  he  scathed  the  Cross  with  flame ; 
And  the  few  words  that  reached  the  air, 
Although  the  holiest  name  was  there. 
Had  more  of  blasphemy  than  prayer. 
But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd 
Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud  : — 
"  Woe  to  the  wretch  who  fails  to  rear 
At  this  dread  sign  the  ready  spear! 
For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear, 
Her  home,  the  refuge  of  his  fear, 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know; 
Far  o'er  its  roof  the  volumed  flame 
Clan-Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim. 
While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 
Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  shame, 

And  infamy  and  woe." 
Then  rose  the  cry  of  females,  shrill 
As  goss-hawk's  whistle  on  the  hill, 
Denouncing  misery  and  ill. 
Mingled  with  childhood's  babbling  trill 

Of  curses  stammer'd  slow ; 
Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 
"  Sunk  be  his  home  in  emigre  red ! 
And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 
That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head, 

We  doom  to  want  and  woe  ! " 
A  sharp  and  shrieking  echo  gave, 
Coir-Unskio,  thy  goblin  r;m-  ! 
And  the  grey  pass  where  birches  wave, 

Ou  Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 

Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  anew. 
I  And  hard  Ins  labouring  breath  he  drew. 
i  While,  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hand, 
i  And  eyes  that  glow'd  like  fiery  brand, 
i  He  meditated  curse  more  dread, 
i  And  deadlier,  on  the  clansman's  head. 

Who,  siimiiion'd  to  his  Chieftain's  aid, 

The  signal  saw  and  disoliey'd. 


9  St*  Appendix,  Note  21. 


t  Ibid,  Sole  2  K. 


THE   LADY  OF   THE    LAKE.                      175 

The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood. 

The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand. 

He  quench'd  among  the  bubbling  blood, 
And,  as  again  the  sign  he  rear'd. 

The  swarthy  smith  look  dirk  and  brand; 
With  changed  cheer,  the  mower  blithe 

Hollow  and  hoarse  his  voire  was  heard  : 

Left  in  the  half-cut  swathe  the  scythe  ; 

"When  flits  this  Cross  from  man  to  man, 

The  herds  without  a  keeper  stray  d. 

Vir.h-  Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 

The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid, 

Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed  ! 

The  falc'ner  toss'd  his  hawk  away, 

Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed  ! 

The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay  ; 

Mav  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes. 

Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms. 

Wolves  make  the  coward  heart  their  prize! 

Kach  son  of  Alpine  rush'd  to  arms; 

As  sinks  that  blood  stream  in  the  earth. 

So  swept  the  tumult,  and  atfray 

So  may  Ins  heart's-blood  drench  his  hearth  ! 

Along  the  margin  of  Achray. 

As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark. 

Alas,  thou  lovely  hike  !  that  e'er 

Quench  thou  his  light.  Destruction  dark, 

Thy  banks  should  echo  sounds  of  fearl 

And  be  the  grace  to  him  denied, 

The  rocks,  the  bosky  thickets,  sleep 

Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside  !  " 

So  stilly  on  thy  bosom  deep, 

He  ceased  ;  no  echo  gave  agen 

The  lark's  blithe  carol,  from  the  cloud. 

The  murmur  of  the  deep  Amen. 

Seems  for  the  scene  too  gaily  loud. 

XII. 

XV. 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look. 
From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took  : 

Speed,  Malise  speed  !  the  lake  is  past, 

"Speed.  Malise,  speed  !  "  he  said,  and  gave 
The  crosslet  to  his  henchman  brave. 
"The  muster-place  be  Lannck  mead  — 
Instant  the  time  —  speed,  Malise,  speed  !  " 
Like  heath-bird,  when  the  hawks  pursue, 
A  barge  across  Loch  Katrine  flew; 
High  stood  the  henchman  on  the  prow  ; 
So  rapidly  the  barse-men  row. 
The  bubbles,  where  they  launch'd  the  boat, 
Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat, 
Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still. 
When  it  had  tiear'd  the  mainland  hill  ; 
And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 

Duncraggaii's  huts  appear  at  last, 
And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen, 
Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green  ; 
There  mavesi  thou  rest,  thy  labour  done, 
Their  l.oril  shall  speed  tiie  signal  on.— 
As  sloops  the  hawk  upon  his  prey, 
The  henchman  shot  him  down  the  way. 
—  What  wilful  accents  load  the  gale  ? 
The  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail! 
A  gallant  hunter's  sport  is  o'er, 
A  valiant  warrior  fights  no  more. 
Who,  in  the  battle  or  the  chase, 
At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place  !  — 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide. 
When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 
The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

Within  the  hall,  where  torches'  ray 
Supplies  the  excluded  beams  of  day, 
Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier, 
And  o'er  him  streams  his  widow's  tear. 

XIII. 

His  stripling  son  stands  mournful  by, 

Sperd,  Malise,  speed  !  the  dun  deer's  hide 

His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not'  why  ; 

On  fleeter  loot  was  never  tied.' 

The  village  maids  and  matrons  round 

Speed,  Malise,  speed  !  such  cause  of  haste 

The  dismal  coronach  resound.1 

Thine  active  smews  never  braced. 

Bend  'gainst  the  sleepy  hill  thy  breast, 

XVI. 

Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest  ; 

With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 

CORONACH* 

The  trembling  hog  and  false  morass  ; 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

Across  the  brook  like  roebuck  bound, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest. 

And  thread  the  brake  like  questing  hound  ; 

Like  a  summer-dried  fountain. 

The  crag  is  high,  the  scaur  is  deep, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 

Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desperate  leap: 

The  font,  reappearing, 

Parch'd  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow, 

From  the  rain-drops  shall  borrow, 

Yet  bv  the  fountain  pause  not  now  ; 

But  to  us  conies  no  cheering, 

Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  ! 

Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career  ! 

The  hand  of  the  reaper 

The  wounded  hind  thou  track's!  not  now. 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 

Pursuest  not  maid  through  greenwood  bough, 

But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flying  pace, 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 

With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race  ; 

The  autumn  winds  rushing 

But  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed, 
Are  in  thy  course  —  speed,  Malise,  speed  ! 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest, 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing, 

XIV. 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi.a 

In  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise; 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 

From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown, 

Red  hand  in  the  foray, 

They  pour'd  each  hardy  tenant  down. 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber! 

Nor  slack'd  the  messenger  his  pace; 

Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain, 

He  show'd  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 

And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind, 

Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain, 

Left  clamour  and  surprise  behind. 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever  I 

]  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I,. 

3  Or  com.    The  hollow  side  of  Ihc  hill,  where  eame 

li  Stre  Appi-lidix,  Note  2  M. 

US-ally  let. 

176                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

That  graced  the  sable  strath  with  green, 

XVII. 

The  cha[iel  of  St.  Bride  was  seen. 

See  Stumah.l  who,  the  bier  beside, 

Swoln  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge, 

His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed, 

But  Aneus  paused  not  on  the  edge  ; 

Poor  Stumah  !  whom  his  least  halloo 

Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 

Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew, 

Though  reel'd  his  sympathetic  eye, 

Bristles  his  crest,  and  points  his  ears, 

He  dash'd  amid  the'torrent's  roar: 

As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 

His  right  hand  high  I  he  crosslet  bore, 

Tis  not  a  mourner's  muffled  tread. 

His  left  the  pole-axe  grasp'd.  to  guide 

Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead, 

And  stay  his  fooling  in  the  tide. 

Bui  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear, 

He  stumbled  twice  —  the  foam  splash'd  high, 

Urge  the  precipitate  career. 

With  hoarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by  ; 

All  stand  aghast  :—  unheeding  all. 

And  had  he  fall'n.—  for  ever  there. 

The  henchman  bursts  into  the  hall  ; 

Farewell  Duncraggan's  orphan  heir! 

Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood  ; 

But  still,  as  if  in  parting  life, 

Held  forth  the  Cross  besmear'd  with  blood  ; 

Firmer  he  erasp'd  the  Cross  of  strife, 

"  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead  ; 

I'ntil  the  opposing  bank  he  gain'd. 

Speed  forth  the  signal  !  clansmen,  speed  !" 

And  up  the  chapel  pathway  stram'd. 

XVIII. 

XX. 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line. 
Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 
In  haste  the  stri  jling  to  his  side 
His  father's  dirk  and  broadsword  tied  ; 
But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 
Watch  him  in  speechless  agony. 
Back  to  her  open'd  arms  he  flew, 
Press'd  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu  — 
"  Alas  !"  she  sobb'd,  —  "  and  yet,  be  gone, 
And  speed  thee  forth,  like  Duncan's  son  !" 
One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier, 
Dash'd  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear. 
Breathed  deep  to  clear  his  labouring  breast, 
And  toss'd  aloft  his  bonnet  crest. 
Then,  like  the  high-bred  colt.  when,  freed, 
First  lie  essays  his  fire  and  speed. 
He  vanish'd.  and  o'er  moor  and  moss 
Sped  forward  with  the  Fiery  Cross. 
Suspended  was  the  widow's  tear, 
While  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear; 
And  when  she  mark'd  the  henchman's  eye 
Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy. 

A  blithesome  rout,  that  morning  tide, 
Had  sought  the  chapel  of  St.  Bride. 
Her  troth  Tombesa's  Mary  gave 
To  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave. 
And,  issnin?  from  the  Gothic  arch. 
The  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 
In  rude,  but  glad  procession,  came 
Bonneted  sire  and  coif-clad  dame  ; 
And  plaided  youth,  with  jest  and  jeer. 
Which  snooded  maiden  would  not  hear; 
And  children,  that,  unwitting  why, 
Lent  the  eay  shout  their  shrilly  cry; 
And  minstrels,  that  in  measures  vied 
Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride. 
Whose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 
The  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 
With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand, 
She  held  the  kerchiefs  snowy  band  ; 
The  gallant  bridegroom  by  her  side, 
Beheld  his  prize  with  victor's  pride, 
And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 
Was  closely  whispering  word  of  cheer. 

'•  Kinsman."  she  said.  "  his  race  is  run, 

XXI. 

That  should  have  sped  thine  errand  on; 
The  oak  has  fall'n,  —  the  sapling  bough 
Is  all  Duncraggan's  shelter  now. 
Yet  trust  1  well,  his  dutv  done, 
The  orphan's  God  will  guard  my  son.  — 
And  5'ou,  in  many  a  danger  true. 
At  Duncan's  hest  your  blades  that  drew, 
To  arms,  and  guard  that  orphan's  head  ! 
Let  babes  and  women  wail  the  dead." 
Then  weapon-clang,  and  martial  call, 
Resounded  through  the  funeral  hall. 
While  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 
Snatch'd  sword  and  targe,  with  hurried  hand  ; 
And  short  and  Hitting  eneray 
Glanced  from  the  mourner's  sunken  eye, 
As  if  the  sounds  to  warrior  dear. 
Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 
But  faded  soon  that  borrow'd  force  ; 
Grief  claim'd  his  right,  and  tears  tiieir  course. 

Who  meets  them  at  the  churchyard  gate  T 
The  messeneer  of  fear  and  fate  ! 
Haste  in  his  hurried  accent  lies. 
And  grief  is  swimming  in  his  eyes. 
All  dripping  from  the  recent  flood, 
Panting  and  travel-soil'd  he  stood, 
The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sword 
Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  word: 
"The  muster  place  is  Lanrick  mead  ; 
Speed  forth  the  signal  !  Norman,  speed  !" 
And  must  he  change  so  soon  the  hand, 
Just  link'd  to  his  bv  holy  band. 
For  the  fell  Cross  of  blood  and  brand  ? 
And  must  the  day.  so  blithe  that  rose, 
And  promised  rapture  in  the  close. 
Before  its  setting  hour,  divide 
The  bridegroom  from  the  plighted  bride  T 
O  fatal  doom  !  —  it  must  !  it  must  ! 
Clan-Alpine's  cause,  her  Chieftain's  trust, 

XIX. 

Her  summons  dread,  brook  no  delay; 

Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire. 

Stretch  to  the  race  —  away  !  away  1 

It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire.* 
O'er  dale  and  hill  the  summons  tlew, 

xxn. 

Yet  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside. 

Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew  ; 

And.  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride, 

The  tear  that  gather'd  in  his  eye 

Until  he  saw  the  stinting  tear 

He  left  the  mountain  breeze  to  dry  ; 

Speak  woe  he  miffht  not  stop  to  cheer  ; 

Vntil.  where  Teith's  voting  waters  roll, 

Then,  trusting  not  a  second  look, 

i  Betwixt  him  and  a  w'ooded  knoll. 

In  haste  he  sped  him  up  the  brook. 

1  Fan  V«.'.    Tb«  name  of  a  dog. 

'J  S«  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


177 


Nor  backward  glanced,  till  on  the  heath 
Where  Labnaigs  lake  supplies  t.he  Teilh. 
— What  in  the  racer's  bosom  stirr'd  ? 
The  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferr'd, 
And  memory,  with  a  torturing  train 
Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain. 
Mingled  with  love's  impatience,  came 
The  manly  thirst  for  martial  lame : 
The  stormy  joy  of  mountaineers. 
Ere  yet  they  rush  upon  the  spears  : 
And  zeal  for  Clan  and  Chieftain  burning, 
And  hope,  from  well-fought  field  returning, 
With  war's  red  honours  on  his  crest, 
To  clasp  his  Mary  to  his  breast. 
Stung  by  such  thoughts,  o'er  bank  and  brae, 
Like  tire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 
While  high  resolve,  and  feeling  strong, 
Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

XXIII. 


The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 
The  bracken'  cuitain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Far,  far,  from  love  and  thee,  Mary ; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid. 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid, 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Maty! 
I  may  not,  dare  not.  fancy  now" 
The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 
I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow, 

And  all  it  promised  me.  Mary. 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know; 
When  bursls  Clan  Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught, 
For.  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought. 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee.  Mary. 
And  if  retnrn'd  from  conquer'd  foes. 
How  blithely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose. 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary ! 

XXIV. 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze,2 
Rushing,  in  conflagration  strong. 
Thy  deep  ravines  and  dells  along, 
Wrapping  thy  cliffs  in  purple  glow, 
And  reddening  the  dark  lakes  below ; 
Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far, 
As  o'er  thy  heaths  the  voice  of  war. 
The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil 
The  sullen  margin  of  Loch  Voil, 
Waked  still  Loch  Doine,  and  to  the  source 
Alarm'd,  Balvaig,  thy  swampy  course; 
Thence  southward  lurn'd  its  rapid  road 
Adown  Slrath-Gartney's  valley  broad, 
Till  rose  in  arms  each  man  might  claim 
A  portion  in  Clan-Alpine's  name. 
From  the  grey  sire,  whose  trembling  hand 
Could  hardly  buckle  on  his  brand, 
To  the  raw  hoy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 
Were  yet  scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 
Each  valley,  each  sequester'd  glen, 
Muster'd  its  little  horde  of  men, 


That  met  as  torrents  from  the  height 

In  Highland  dales  their  si  reams  unite, 

Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 

A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong. 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood 

By  hundreds  prompt  for  blows  and  blood ; 

Each  train 'd  to  arms  since  life  began, 

Owning  no  tie  but  to  his  clan, 

No  oath,  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand, 

No  law,  but  Roderick  Dim's  command. 3 

XXV. 

That  summer  morn  had  Roderick  Dim 
Survey'd  the  skirts  of  Benvenue, 
And  sent  his  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath, 
To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 
All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce ; 
Still  lay  each  martial  Graeme  and  Bruce, 
In  Rednoch  courts  no  horsemen  wait, 
No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 
On  Duchray's  towers  no  beacon  shone, 
Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch  Con ; 
All  seem'd  at  peace.  —  Now,  wot  ye  why 
The  Chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 
Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair. 
This  western  frontier  scann'd  with  care?  — 
In  Benvenue's  must  darksome  cleft, 
A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left ; 
For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true, 
That  morning  from  the  isle  withdrew, 
And  in  a  deep  sequester'd  dell 
Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 
By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue. 
Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung;* 
A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave, 
And  call'd  the  grot  the  Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 

It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell,  upon  the  mountain's  crest, 
Yawn'd  like  a  gash  on  warrior's  breast; 
Its  trench  had  staid  full  many  a  rock, 
Hurl'd  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Benvenue's  grey  summit  wild, 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled, 
They  frown'd  incumbent  o'er  the  spot, 
And  form'd  the  rugged  silvan  grot. 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made, 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone, 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth,  Futurity. 
No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still, 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 
But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 
A  sullen  sound  would  upward  break. 
With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
Suspended  cliffs,  with  hideous  sway, 
Seem'd  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  grey. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung. 
In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young; 
Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair 
Sought  for  a  space  their  safety  there. 
Grey  Superstition's  whisper  dread 
Dcbarr'd  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort, 
And  satyrs5  hold  their  silvan  court. 
By  moonlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 
And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 


1  Bracbn — Fern. 

2  Set  Appendix,  Note  2  O. 


3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P.  4  Ihid,  Note  »  Q. 

5  The  Unit,  or  Highland  «atyr.     See  Note  cm  the  pn 


178                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

XXVII. 

Shall  seem  with  down  of  eider  piled. 

Now  eve,  with  western  shadows  Ions, 

If  thy  protection  hover  there. 

Flouted  on  Katriue  bright  and  strong, 
When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 
Repass'd  the  heights  of  Benvenue. 
Above  the  Goblin-cave  they  go, 

The  murky  cavern's  heavy  air 
Shall  breathe  of  balm  if  thou  hast  smiled  ; 
Then,  Maiden  !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer; 
Mother,  list  a  suppliant  child  ! 

Through  the  wild  pas*  of  Beal-nam-bo  :  1 
The  prompt  retainers  speed  before. 
To  launch  the  shallop  from  the  shore, 
For,  cross  Loch  Katrine  lies  his  way 
To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 
And  place  his  clansmen  in  array. 
Vet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind, 
Unwonted  sight,  his  men  behind. 
A  single  page,  to  tear  his  sword, 

Ave  Maria! 
Ave  Maria  !  stainless  styled  ! 
Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air. 
From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 
Shall  flee  before  thy  presence  fair. 
We  bow  us  to  our  lot  of  care, 
Beneath  thv  guidance  reconciled  ; 
Hear  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  praver, 
And  for  a  father  hear  a  child  ! 

Alone  attended  on  his  lord  ;  2 

Ave  Maria! 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

XXX. 

And  soon  await  him  by  the  lake. 

Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn  — 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight. 

Unmoved  in  attitude  and  limb, 

To  view  them  from  the  neighbouring  height, 
By  the  low-levell'd  sunbeams  light  ! 

As  list'ning  still,  Clan-Alpine's  lord 
Stood  leaning  on  his  heavy  sword, 

For  strengt  h  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Until  the  page,  with  humble  sign. 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man, 

Twice  pointed  to  the  sun's  decline. 

As  even  afar  might  well  be-  seen. 

Then  while  his  plaid  he  round  him  cast, 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien. 

"It  is  the  last  time  —  'tis  the  last," 

Their  feathers  dance,  their  tartans  float, 

He  mutter'd  thrice,  —  "the  last  time  e'er 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  bv  the  boat 

That  angel  voice  shall  Roderick  hear  !" 

A  wild  and  warlike  group  they  stand, 

It  was  a  goading  thought  —  his  stride 

That  well  became  such  mountain-strand. 

Hied  hastier  down  the  mountain-side  ; 

Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat. 

XXVIII. 

And  instant  'cross  the  lake  it  shot. 

Their  Chief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 

They  landed  in  that  silvery  bay. 

Was  lingering  on  the  craggy  hill, 

And  eastward  held  their  hasty  way, 

Hard  by  where  tnrn'd  apart  the  road 

Till,  with  the  latest  beams  of  light, 

To  Douglas's  obscure  abode. 

The  band  arrived  on  Laurick  height, 

It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn, 

Where  muster'd,  in  the  vale  below. 

That  Koderick  Dim  had  proudly  sworn 

Clan-Alpine's  men  in  martial  show. 

To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar, 

XXXI 

Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more: 
But  he  who  steins  a  stream  with  sand, 
And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  baud, 
Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove  — 
By  firm  resolve  to  conquer  love! 
Eve  finds  the  Chief,  like  restless  ghost, 
Still  hovering  near  his  treasure  lost  ; 
For  though  his  haughty  heart  deny 
A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye. 
Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear, 
The  accents  of  her  voice  to  hear, 
And  inly  did  he  curse  the  breeze 
That  waked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 
But  hark  !  what  mingles  in  the  strain? 
It  is  the  harp  of  Allan-  Bane. 
That  wakes  its  measure  slow  and  high, 
Attuned  to  sacred  minstrelsy. 
What  melting  voice  attends  the  strings  I 
Tis  Ellen,  or  an  angel,  sings. 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made, 
Some  sate,  some  stood,  some  slowly  stray'd  ; 
But  most  with  mantles  folded  round. 
Were  couoh'd  to  rest  upon  the  ground, 
Scarce  to  he  known  by  curious  eye, 
From  the  deep  heather  where  they  lie, 
So  well  was  match'd  the  tartan  screen 
With  heath  bell  dark  and  brackens  green; 
Unless  where,  here  and  there,  a  blade, 
Or  lance's  point,  a  glimmer  made, 
Like  glow-worm  twinkling  through  the  shade. 
But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom, 
They  saw  the  Chieftain's  eagle  plume. 
Their  shout  of  welcome,  shrill  and  wide, 
Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 
Thrice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 
Three  times  returu'd  the  martial  yell  ; 
It  died  upon  Bochastle's  plain. 
And  Silence  claim'd  her  evening  reign. 

XXIX. 

HYMN    TO    THE    VIRGIN. 

Ave  Maria  !  maiden  mild  ! 
Listen  to  a  maiden's  prayer  ! 

Clje  £at>2  of  t{je  SLaite. 

Thou  canst  hear  though  from  the  wild. 

Thou  canst  save  amid  despair. 
Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  thy  care. 
Though  banish  '(1,  outcast,  and  reviled  — 

CANTO   FOURTH. 

Maiden  !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer; 

Mother,  hear  a  suppliant  child  ! 

THE    PROPHECY. 

Ave  Maria! 

Ave  Maria!  nndeSIed! 

L 

The  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share 

"The  rose  is  fairest  when  'tis  buddin?  new, 

And  hnn*»  is  lin?ht.Rst  when  it  dawns  frum 

1  Bee  Appendix,  Now  2  K.               3  Ibid,  Note  3  8.       '               fears  ; 

THE   LADY   OP   THE   LAKE.                     179 

The  rose  is  sweetest  wash'd  with  morningdew, 

MALISE. 

And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalm'd  in  tears. 
O  wilding  rose,  whom  fancy  thus  endears. 

"Ah  !  well  the  gallant  brute  I  knew  ! 
The  choicest,  of  the  prey  we  had. 

I  bid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave, 
Emblem   of   hope    and  love   through  future 

When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad.* 
His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark, 

years  !  '' 
Thus  spoke  young  Norman,  heir  of  Annandave. 
What  tune  the  sun  arose  on  Vennachar's  broad 

His  red  eye  glow'd  like  fiery  spark  ; 
So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet, 
Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat, 

wave. 

And  kept  our  stoutest  kernes  in  awe, 

n. 

Even  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'maha. 

Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung, 
I.ove  prompted  to  the  bridegroom's  tongue. 
All  while  he  stripp'd  the  wild-rose  spray, 
His  axe  and  how  beside  him  lay. 

But  steep  and  flinty  was  the  road, 
And  sharp  the  hurrying  pikemen's  goad, 
And  when  we  came  to  Dennan's  Row, 
A  child  might  scatheless  stroke  his  brow."  — 

For  on  a  pass  'twixt  lake  and  wood. 

V. 

A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood. 

NORMAN. 

Hark  !  on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung-, 

"That  bull  was  slain  :  his  reeking  hide 

And  instant  to  his  arms  he  sprung. 
"Stand,  or  thou  diest!—  What,  .MaliseT—  soon 
Art  thou  return'd  from  Braes  of  Doune. 
By  thv  keen  step  and  glance  I  know, 
Thou'bring'st  us  tidings  of  the  foe."— 
(For  while  the  Fiery  Cross  hied  on. 
On  distant  scout  had  Malise  gone.) 
"  Where    sleeps  the  Chief?"  the  henchman 

They  stretch'd  the  cataract  beside, 
Whose  waters  their  wild  tumult  toss 
Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 
Of  that  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 
Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe  3 
Couch'd  on  a  shelve  beneath  its  brink, 
Close  where  the  thundering  torrents  sink, 
Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway, 

said.  — 
"Apart,  in  yonder  misty  glade  ; 
To  his  lone  couch  I'll  he  your  guide."  — 
Then  call'd  a  slumberer  by  his  side, 
And  stirr'd  him  with  his  slacken'd  bow  — 
"Up,  up.  Glentarkin  !  rouse  thee.  ho! 
We  seek  the  Chieftain  ;  on  the  track, 
Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back." 

And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  spray, 
Midst  groan  of  rock,  and  roar  of  stream, 
The  wizard  waits  prophetic  dream. 
Nor  distant  rests  the  Chief;  —  but  hush  ! 
See,  gliding  slow  through  mist  and  bush, 
The  hermit  gams  yon  rock,  and  stands 
To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 
Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost, 

III. 

That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughter'd  host  1 

Together  up  the  pass  they  sped  : 
"  What  of  the  foemen  ?"  Norman  said.  — 
"Varying  reports  from  near  and  far; 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke,* 
His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  7" 

This  certain,  —  that  a  band  of  war 

MALISB. 

Has  for  two  days  been  ready  bonne, 

—  "  Peace  !  peace  !  to  other  than  to  me, 

At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doune; 

Thy  words  were  evil  augury; 

King  James,  the  while,  with  princely  powers, 

But  still  I  hold  Sir  Roderick's  blade 

Holds  revelry  in  Stirling  towers. 

Clan-Alpine's  omen  and  her  aid, 

Soon  will  this  dark  and  gathering  cloud 

Not  aught  that,  glean'd  from  heaven  or  hell, 

Speak  on  our  glens  in  thunder  loud. 

Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell. 

Inured  to  bide  such  bitter  bout. 

The  Chieftain  joins  him,  see  —  and  now, 

The  warriors  plaid  may  hear  it  out  ; 

Together  they  descend  the  brow." 

But,  Norman,  flow  wilt  thou  provide 

A  shelter  for  thv  bonnv  bride  ?"  — 

VI. 

'•  What  !  know  ye  not  'that  Roderick's  care 

And,  as  they  came,  with  Alpine's  Lord 

To  the  lone  isle  hath  caused  repair 

The  Hermit  Monk  held  solemn  word:— 

Each  maid  arid  matron  of  the  clan, 

"  Roderick  !  it  is  a  fearful  strife, 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

For  man  endow'd  with  mortal  life. 

Unfit  for  arms  ;  and  given  his  charge, 

Whose  shroud  of  sentient  clay  can  still 

Nor  skiff  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge. 

Feel  feverish  pang  and  fainting  chill. 

Upon  these  lakes  shall  float  at  large, 

Whose  eye  can  stare  in  stony  trance. 

But  all  beside  the  islet  moor. 

Whose  hair  can  rouse  like  warrior's  lance,  — 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure  ?"  — 

'Tis  hard  for  such  to  view,  unfurl'd, 

The  curtain  of  the  future  world. 

IV. 

Vet,  witness  every  quaking  limb, 

"  'Tis  well  advised  —  the  Chieftain's  plan 
Bespeaks  the  father  of  his  clan. 
But  wherefore  sleeps  Sir  Roderick  Dhu 

My  sunken  pulse,  my  eyeballs  dim, 
My  soul  with  harrowing  anguish  torn,  — 
This  for  rny  Chieftain  have  I  borne!  — 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true?"  — 

The  shapes  that  sought  my  fearful  couch, 

"  It  is,  because  last  evening-tide 

An  human  tongue  may  ne'er  avouch  ; 

Brian  an  augury  hath  tried. 

No  mortal  man,  —  save  he,  who.  bred, 

Of  that  dread  kind  which  must  not  be 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead, 

Unless  in  dread  extremity. 

Is  gifted  beyond  nature's  law,  — 

The  Taghairm  call'd  ;  by  which,  afar. 

Had  e'er  survived  to  say  he  saw. 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war.1 

At  length  the  fatal  answer  came, 

Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew." 

In  characters  of  living  name  ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T.                  2  Ibid,  Note  2  U. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2V.                4  Ibid,  Hole  2  W. 

180                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Nor  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll, 

Shifting  like  flashes  darted  forth 

But  liorne  and  branded  on  my  soul  ;— 

By  the  red  streamers  of  the  north  : 

Which  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 

1  mark'd  at  morn  how  close  they  ride, 

That  party  conquers  in  the  slr\fe."  —  * 

Thick  rnoor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side, 

VII 

Like  wild-ducks  couching  in  the  fen. 

"  Thanks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care  1 

When  stoops  the  hawk  upon  the  glen. 
Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 

Good  is  thine  augury,  and  f.iir. 

The  peril  on  the  mainland  side. 

Clan-Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  stood, 
But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood. 
A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 

Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  c;ire 
Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare  3"  — 

Self-offer'd  to  the  auspicious  blow  : 

X. 

A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  morn,  — 

No  eve  shall  witness  his  return  1 

ELLEN. 

Sly  followers  guard  each  pass's  month, 
To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south  ; 
Red  Murdoch,  brined  to  be  his  guide, 

"  No,  Allan,  no  !    Pretext  so  kind 
My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 
When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave, 

Has  charge  to  lead  his  steps  aside, 

Douglas  a  parting  blessing  crave, 

Till,  in  deep  path  or  dingle  brown, 

The  tear  that  glisten'd  in  his  eye 

He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  down. 
—But  see,  who  comes  his  news  to  show  1 

Drown'd  not  his  purpose  fix'd  on  high. 
My  soul,  though  feminine  and  weak, 

Malise  !  what  tidings  of  the  foe  ?"  — 

Can  image  his  ;  e'eu  as  the  lake. 

Itself  disturb'd  by  slight  es:  stroke, 

VIII. 

Reflects  the  invulnerable  nick. 

"At  Doune.  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive 

He  hears  report  of  battle  rife, 

Two  Barons  proud  their  banners  wave. 

He  deems  himself  the  cause  of  strife. 

I  saw  the  Moray's  silver  star. 

I  saw  him  redden,  when  the  theme 

And  mark'd  the  sable  pale  of  Mar  "  — 

Turn'd.  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream, 

•'  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those  ! 

Of  Malcolm  Graeme,  in  fetters  bound. 

I  love  to  hear  of  worthy  foes. 

Which  I.  thou  saidst.  alwut  him  wound. 

When  move  they  on  ?''—  "  To-morrow's  noon 

Thiuk'st  thou  he  trow'd  thine  omen  aught  ? 

Will  see  them  here  for  battle  l>oune."  —  a 

Oh  no  !  'twas  apprehensive  thought 

"Then  shall  it  see  a  meeting  stem  !  — 

For  the  kind  youth,—  for  Roderick  too— 

But,  for  the  place  —  sav,  couldst  thou  learn 

(Let  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true  ; 

Nought  of  the  friendly'  clans  of  Earn? 

In  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause  ! 

Sirensthen'd  bv  them,  we  well  might  hide 

Minstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 

The  battle  on  Benledi's  side 

Whv  else  that  solemn  warning  given. 

Thou  couldst  not?  —  Well!  Clan-Alpine's  men 

1  If  hot  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven  !' 

Shall  man  the  Trosach's  shaggy  glen  ; 

Why  else,  to  Cambus-kenneth's  fane, 

Within  Loch  Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight, 

If  eve  return  him  not  again. 

All  in  our  maids'  and  matrons'  sight, 

Am  I  to  hie,  and  make  me  knnwn  ? 

Each  for  his  hearth  and  household  fire, 

Ahis  !  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne. 

Father  lor  child,  and  son  for  sire,  — 

Buvs  his  friend's  safety  with  his  own  ;  — 

Lover  for  maid  beloved  !  —  But  why  — 
Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye  ? 

He'goes  to  do  —  what  I  had  done, 
Had  Douglas'  daughter  been  his  son!" 

Or  dost  thou  come.  iU-omen'd  tear! 

A  messenger  of  doubt  or  fear  ? 

XI. 

No  !  sooner  may  the  Saxon  lance 

"  Nay.  lovelv  Ellen  !—  dearest,  nay  ! 

Unfix  Benledi  from  his  stance. 

If  aught  should  his  return  delay, 

Than  doubt  or  terror  can  pierce  through 

He  only  named  yon  holy  fane 

The  unyielding  heart  of  Roderick  Dhu! 
'Tis  stubborn  as  his  trusty  tares.  — 

As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 
Be  sure  he's  safe  :  and  for  the  Grsme,  — 

Each  to  his  post!  —  all  know  their  charge." 

Heaven's  blessing  on  his  gallant  name  !  — 

The  pibroch  sounds,  the  bauds  advance. 

My  vision  'd  sight  may  yet  prove  true, 

The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance, 

Nor  bode  of  ill  to  him  or  you. 

Obedient  to  the  Chieftain's  glance. 

When  did  my  gifted  dream  beguile  ? 

—  I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar, 

Think  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle. 

And  seek  Coir-Unskin  once  more. 

And  think  upon  the  harpings  slow, 

IX. 

That  presaged  this  approaching  woe! 

Where  is  the  Douglas?  —  he  is  gone  ; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  grey  stone 
Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan  ; 
While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  pour'd  on  her  unheeding  ear  — 
"  lie  will  return  —  Dtar  lady,  trust!  — 
With  joy  return;  —  he  will  —  he  must. 

Sooth  was  my  prophecy  of  fear  ; 
Believe  it  when  it  aueurs  cheer. 
Would  we  had  left  this  dismal  spot  ! 
Ill  luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  grot. 
Of  such  a  wondrous  tale  1  know  — 
Dear  ladv,  change  that  look  of  woe. 
My  harp  'was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer."  — 

Well  was  it  lime  to  seek,  afar. 

ELLEN. 

Some  refuge  from  impending  war, 
When  e'en  Clan-Alpine's  rugged  swarm 
Are  cow'd  by  the  approaching  storm. 
1  saw  their  boa's,  with  many  a  light, 
Floating  the  live-long  yesternight, 

"  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt  ;  I  hear. 
But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear." 
The  Minstrel  tried  his  simple  art, 
But  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

2  For  bftile  bonne—  ready  for  battle. 

THE    LADY   OF    THE    LAKE.                       181 

XII. 

XIV. 

B  A  L  L  A.  D.  1 

BAILAD    CONTINUED. 

ALJCE  BRAND. 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 
When  the  mavis  »  and  merle  3  are  singing. 
When  the  deer  sweeps  hy,  and  the  hounds 
are  in  cry. 

Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 
Though  the  birds  havestill'd  their  singing; 
The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise, 
And  Richard  is  fagots  bringing. 

And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

Up  Unran  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

"0  Alice  Brand,  my  native  land 
Is  lost  for  love  of  you  ; 
And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold, 
As  outlaws  wont  to  do. 

Before  Lord  Richard  stands, 
And,  as  he  cross'd  and  hless'd  himself, 
"I  fear  not  sign."  quoth  the  grisly  elf, 
"That  is  made  with  bloody  hands.'' 

"  0  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright, 
And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue, 
That,  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight, 
Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 
That  woman,  void  of  fear.  — 
"And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 
'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer."  — 

•'Now  loud  thou  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood  ! 

"Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech 

It  cleaves  unto  his  hand. 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 

The  stain  of  thine  own  kindlv  blood 

For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed. 

The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand." 

And  stakes  to  fence  our  cave. 

Then  forward  stepp'd  she,  Alice  Brand, 

"  And  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

And  made  the  holy  sign,  — 

That  wont  on  harp  to  stray. 

"And  if  there's  blood  on  Richard's  hand, 

A  cloak  must  sheer  from  the  slaughter'd  deer 

A  spotless  hand  is  mine. 

To  keep  the  cold  away."  — 

"  And  I  conjure  thee.  Demon  elf, 

"  0  Richard  !  if  my  brother  died, 

By  Him  whom  Demons  fear. 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance; 
For  darkling  was  the  battle  tried, 

To  show  us  whence  thou  art  thyself, 
And  what  thine  errand  here  ?"  — 

And  fortune  sped  the  lance. 

XV. 

"  If  pa'l  and  vair  no  more  I  wear, 

Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen, 

BALLA.T}     CONTINUED. 

As  warm,  we'll  suy,  is  the  russet  grey, 
As  gay  the  forest  green. 

"Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  Fairy-land, 

"  And.  Richard,  if  our  lot  be  hard, 
And  lost  thv  native  land, 

W  hen  fairy  birds  are  singing, 
When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch's 
side, 

Still  Alice  has  her  own  Kichard, 
And  he  his  Alice  Brand." 

With  bit  and  bridle  ringing  : 

XIII. 

BALLAD      CONTINUED. 

"And  gaily  shines  the  Fairv-land  — 
But  all  is  glistening  show",  8 
Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 
Can  dart  on  ice  and  snow. 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 
So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  smsin?  ; 

"And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side, 

Is  our  inconstant  shape, 

Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 

Up  spoke  the  moody  Elfin  King, 

And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

Who  won'd  within  the  hill.—  < 

"  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruin'd  church, 

When  the  Fairy  King  has  power. 

His  voice  was  ghostly  shrill. 

That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 

"  Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak, 
Our  moonlight  circle  s  screen? 

And,  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatch'd  away 
To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower.  9 

Or  who  conies  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

"  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  .'  * 

Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign, 

Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

I  might  regain  my  mortal  mold. 

The  fairies'  fatal  green  ?  6 

As  fair  a  form  as  thine." 

"  Up,  Urgan,  up  !  to  yon  mortal  hie, 
For  thou  wert  christen'd  man:  1 

She  cross'd  him  once  —  she  cross'd  him  tw.ie  — 
That  lady  was  so  brave  ; 

For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly, 

The  fouler  srew  his  goblin  hue 

For  mntter'd  word  or  ban. 

The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

"  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  wither'd  heart, 
The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eve  ; 
Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  his  life  would  part, 
Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die." 

She  cross'd  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold  ; 
He  rose  beneath  her  hand 
The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mold, 
Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand  ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  5  Y.     2  Thrush.      3  Blackbird. 

6  8er  Appendix.  Note  3  B.              7  Ibid,  Note  3  C. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  1  Z.       6  Ib:d,  Note  3  A. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3D.             9  Ibid,  Note  3  K. 

182 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Merry  it.  is  in  good  greenwood, 
When  the  mavis  mid  merle  are  singing, 

Bui  merrier  were  they  m  Duuferruliue  grey, 
When  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 

XVI. 

Jnst  as  the  minstrel  sounds  were  staid, 
A  stranger  climb'd  the  sleepy  glade  : 
His  martial  step,  his  stately  mien, 
His  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green. 
His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims — 
Tis  Snowdoun's  Knight.  'I  is  James  Filz-James. 
Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream. 
Then,  starting,  scarce  suppress' d  a  scream : 
•'  O  stranger !  in  such  hour  of  fear. 
What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here  ?"— 
"  An  evil  hap  how  can  it  he, 
That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee? 
By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide 
Met  me  betimes  this  morning  tide, 
And  marshall'd.  over  hank  and  bourne, 
The  happy  path  of  my  return."— 
"The  happy  path  !— what !  said  he  nought 
Of  war.  of  battle  to  be  fought. 
Of  guarded  pass 7" — "  No.  by  my  faith ! 
Nor  saw  1  aught  could  augur  scathe."— 
"  O  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, 
— Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern  ; 
Learn  thou  his  purpose,  and  con.iure 
That  he  will  guide  the.  stranger  sure  I—- 
What prompted  thee,  unhappy  man  7 
The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 
Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear, 
Unknown  to  him  to  guide  thee  here." — 

xvn. 

"Sweet  Ellen,  dear  my  life  must  be, 

Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee ; 

Yet  life  1  hold  hut  idle  breath. 

When  love  or  honour's  weigh'd  with  death. 

Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance. 

And  speak  my  purpose  bold  at  once. 

I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild, 

Where  ne'er  before  sucli  blossom  smiled  ; 

By  this  soft,  hand  to  lead  thee  far 

From  frantic  scenes  of  feud  and  war. 

Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait : 

They  bear  us  soon  to  Stirling  gate. 

I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 

I'll  guard  thee  like  a  tender  flower" — 

"0!  hush,  Sir  Knight !  'twere  female  art, 

To  say  I  do  not  read  thy  heart ; 

Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 

Was  idlv  soothed  my  praise  to  hear. 

That  fatal  bait,  hath  lured  thee  back. 

In  deathful  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track ; 

And  how,  O  how,  can  I  atone 

The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on! — 

One  way  remains— 1 11  tell  him  all — 

Yes!  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shall ! 

Thou,  whose  light  folly  hears  the  blame. 

Buy  thine  own  pardon  with  thy  shame  ! 

But  first — my  father  is  a  man 

Outlaw'd  and  exiled, under  ban; 

The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head, 

With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed. — 

Still  wouldst  thou  sp'eak?  — then  hear  the 

truth  ! 

Fitz-James,  there  is  a  noble  youth, — 
If  yet  he  is! — exposed  for  me 
And  mine  to  dread  extremity — 
Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my' heart ; 
Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart !" 


XVIII. 

•"itz-James  knew  every  wily  train 
A  lady's  fickle  heart  to  gain  ; 
But  here  he  knew  and  felt  Ihim  vain. 
There  shot  no  glance  from  Ellen's  eye, 
To  give  her  steadfast,  speech  the  lie ; 
[n  maiden  confidence  she  stood. 
Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  the  blood. 
And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 
Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony. 
As  dealh  had  seal'd  her  Malcolm's  doom, 
And  she  sat.  sorrowing  on  his  tomb. 
Hope  vanish'd  from  Fitz-James's  eye, 
But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 
He  proffer'd  to  attend  her  side. 
As  brother  would  a  sister  snide  — 

0!  liltle  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart ! 
Safer  for  boi  h  we  go  apart. 
O  haste  Ihee,  and  from  Allan  learn. 
If  thou  may'st  trust  yon  wily  kern.'' 
With  hand  upon  his  forrhead  laid. 
The  conflict  of  his  mind  to  shade, 
A  parting  step  or  two  he  made  ; 
Then,  as  some  thought  had  cross'd  his  brain, 
He  paused,  and  turn'd.  and  came  again. 

XIX. 

"Hear,  lady,  yet,  a  parting  word  !— 
It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 
Preserved  the  life  of  Scotland's  lord. 
This  ring  the  grateful  Monarch  gave. 
And  hade,  when  I  had  boon  to  crave, 
To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  claim 
The  recompense  that  I  would  name. 
Ellen.  I  am  no  courtly  lord, 
But  one  who  lives  by  lance  and  sword, 
Whose  castle  is  his  helm  and  shield, 
His  lordship  the  embattled  field. 
What  from  a  prince  can  I  demand, 
Who  neither  reck  of  state  nor  land? 
Ellen,  thy  hand — the  ring  is  thine ; 
Each  guard  and  usher  knows  the  sign. 
Seek  thou  the  king  without  delay ; 
This  signet  shall  secure  thy  way; 
And  claim  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 
As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me." 
He  placed  the  golden  circlet  on. 
Paused— kiss 'd  her  hand— and  then  was  gone. 
The  aged  Minstrel  stood  aghast, 
So  hastily  Kitz-Jaroes  shot  past. 
He  join'd  his  guide,  and  wending  down 
The  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown. 
Across  the  stream  they  took  their  way, 
That  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Achray. 

XX. 

AH  in  the  Trosach's  glen  was  still. 
Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill: 
Sudden  his  guide  whoop'd  loud  and  high — 
"  Murdoch  !  was  that  a  signal  cry  7" — 
He  stammer'd  forth. — "  I  shout  to  scare 
Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare." 
He  look'd — he  knew  the  raven's  prey, 
His  own  brave  steed  :— •'  Ah  !  gallant  grevl 
For  thee — for  me,  perchance — 'twere  well 
We  ne'er  had  seen  the  Trosach's  dell. — 
Murdoch,  move  first— but  silently; 
Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shall  die  !" 
Jealous  and  sullen  on  they  fared. 
Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard. 

XXI. 

Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


183 


When  lo !  n  wasted  female  form, 

Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 

In  tatter'd  weeds  and  wild  array, 

Stood  on  the  cliff  beside  the  way, 

And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye. 

Upon  i  lie  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky. 

Seeni'd  nought  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy. 

Her  brow  was  wreatii'd  with  gaudy  broom  ; 

With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume 

Of  feathers,  which  the  eagles  fling 

rl'n  crag  and  cliiF  from  dusky  wing; 

Sui-li  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought 

Where  scarce  was  tooting  for  the  goal. 

The  tartan  plaid  she  first  descried. 

And  shriek'd  till  all  the  rocks  replied  ; 

As  loud  she  laugh'd  when  near  they  drew, 

For  then  the  Lowland  garb  she  knew ; 

And  then  her  hands  she  wild.y  wrung, 

And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung — 

She  sung  !— the  voice,  in  heller  time, 

Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime  ; 

And  now,  though  strain'd  and  rougheu'U,  still 

Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hill. 

XXIL 

SO  N  Q. 

They  bid  me  sleep,  they  hid  me  pray. 
They  say  my  brain  is  warp'd  and  wrung — 

I  cannot  sleep  on  Highland  brae, 
I  cannot  pray  in  Highland  tongue. 

But  were  I  now  where  Allan  '  glides, 

Or  heard  my  native  De  van's  tides, 

So  sweetly  would  I  rest,  and  pray 

That  Heaven  would  close  my  wintry  day! 

Twas  thus  my  hair  they  hade  me  braid, 
They  made  me  to  the  church  repair; 

It  was  my  bridal  morn  they  said, 
And  my  true  love  would  meet  me  there. 

But  woe  betide  the  cruel  gude, 

That  drowii'd  in  blood  the  morning  smile! 

And  woe  betide  the  fairy  dream! 

1  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream. 

XXIII. 

"  Who  is  this  maid  ?  what  means  her  lay  7 
She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way, 
And  nutters  wide  her  mantle  grey, 
As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing. 
By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring." — 
"'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,"  Murdoch  said, 
"  A  crazed  and  captive  Lowland  maid, 
Ta'en  on  the  morn  she  was  a  bride. 
When  Koderick  foray'd  Devan-side. 
The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made, 
And  felt  our  Chiefs  unconquer'd  blade. 
I  marvel  she  is  now  at  large, 
But  oft  she  'scapes  from  .Maudlin's  charge. — 
Hence,  brain-sick  fool !'"—  He  raised  his  bow: — 
"  Now,  if  thou  strikest  her  hut  one  blow, 
I'll  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 
As  ever  peasant  pitch'd  a  bar !" 
"  Thanks,   champion,    thanks !"    the    Maniac 

cried. 

And  press'd  her  to  Filz-James's  side. 
'•  See  the  grey  pennons  I  prepare, 
To  seek  my  true-love  through  the  air! 
I  will  not  lend  that  savage  groom, 
To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume ! 


\o  !— deep  amid  disjointed  stones, 
The  wolves  shall  batten  on  his  bones, 
And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 
By  bush  and  brier  in  mid  air  staid, 
Wave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free. 
Meet  signal  for  their  revelry." — 

XXIV. 

"  Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still !  "— 
"  O  !  thou  look's!  kindly,  and  1  will.— 
Mine  eve  has  dried  and  wasted  been. 
But  still  it  loves  the  Lincoln  green ; 
And,  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung. 
Still,  still  it  loves  the  Lowland  tongue. 

"  For  0  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true, 
He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away! 

His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  greenwood  hue, 
And  so  blithely  he  tnll'd  the  Lowland  lay ! 

"  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell  .  .  . 
But  thou  art  wise  and  guessest  well." 
Then,  in  a  low  and  broken  tone. 
And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on. 
Still  on  the  Clansman,  fearfully, 
She  fix'd  her  apprehensive  eye; 
Then  turn'd  it  on  the  Knight,  and  then 
Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

XXV. 

"  The  toils  are  pitch'd,  and  the  stakes  are  set, 

Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily; 
The  bows  they  bend,  and  the  knives  they 
whet, 

Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 

"  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten.2 

Bearing  its  branches  sturdily ; 
He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 

Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 

"  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  doe, 

She  was  bleeding  deathfully  ; 
She  warn'd  him  of  the  toils  below, 

O,  so  faithfully,  faithfully ! 

"  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed, 
Ever  sing  wanly,  warily; 

He  had  a  foot,  and  he  could  speed— 
Hunters  watch  so  narrowly." 

XXVI. 

Fitz-Jnmes's  mind  was  passion-toss'd. 
When  Ellen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost; 
But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 
And  Blanche's  song  conviction  brought. — 
Not  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare, 
But  lion  of  the  hunt  aware, 
He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high, 
"  Disclose  thy  treachery,  or  die !" 
Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  flew, 
But  in  his  race  his  how  he  drew. 
The  shaft  just  grazed  Fitz-Jarnes's  crest, 
And  thrill'd  in  Blanche's  faded  breast, — 
Murdoch  of  Alpine !  prove  thy  speed, 
For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  need  I 
With  heart  of  fire,  and  foot  of  wind, 
The  fierce  avenger  is  behind  ! 
Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife  — 
The  forfeit  death  — the  prize  is  life! 
Thy  kindred  ambush  lies  before. 
Close  couch'd  upon  the  heathery  moor ; 


of  Stirling 


184                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Them  couldst  thou  reach  !  —  it  may  not  be  — 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track, 

Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shaltsee, 

By  stream  and  precipice  turn'd  back. 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee  ! 

Heartless,  fatigued,  and  faint,  at.  length. 

—  Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust, 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength, 

As  lightning  strikes  the  pine  to  dust; 

He  oouch'd  him  in  a  thicket  hoar. 

With  foot  and  hand  Fitz-James  must  strain, 

And  thought  his  toils  and  perils  o'er  :— 

Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 

"Of  all  my  rash  adventures  past 

Bent  o'er  the  fall'ii,  with  falcon  eye, 

This  frantic  feat  must  prove  the  last  ! 

He  grimly  smiled  tn  see  him  die  ; 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  guess'd, 

Then  slower  wended  back  his  way, 

That  all  this  Highland  hornet's  nest 

Where  the  poor  maiden  bleeding  lay. 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon 

As  e'er  they  heard  of  bands  at  Ooune  *  — 

XXVII. 

Like  bloodhounds  n»w  they  search  me  out,  — 

She  sate  beneath  the  birchen-tree, 
Her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee  ; 

Hark  to  the  whistle  and  the  shout!  — 
If  farther  through  the  wilds  I  go, 

She  had  withdrawn  the  fatal  shaft. 
And  gazed  on  it,  and  feebly  laugh'd; 
Her  wreath  of  broom  and  feathers  grey, 

I  only  fall  upon  the  foe  : 
I'll  couch  me  here  till  evening  grey, 
Then  darkling  try  my  dangerous  way." 

Daggled  with  blood,  beside  her  lay. 

Y  YTV 

The  Knight  to  stanch  the  life-stream  tried,  — 

AA1A. 

"Stranger,  it  is  in  vain  !"  she  cried. 

The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down, 

"This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more 

The  woods  are  wrapt  in  deeper  brown. 

Of  reason's  power  than  years  before  : 

The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 

For.  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay, 

The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell  ; 

My  frenzied  visions  fade  away. 

Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 

A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die, 

To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright, 

And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye. 

Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 

That  thou  wert  mine  avenger  born  — 

His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 

Seest  thou  this  tress  ?  —  0  !  still  I've  worn 

With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awnke, 

This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair, 

He  climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake  ; 

Through  danger,  frenzy,  and  despair  ! 

And  not  the  summer  solstice,  there, 

It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine, 

Temper'd  the  midnight  mountain  air, 

But  blood  and  tears  have  dimm'd  its  shine. 

But  every  breeze,  that  swept  the  wold. 

I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  shred. 

Benumb'd  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold. 

Nor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head  — 

In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 

Jly  brain  would  turn  !  —  but  it  shall  wave 
Like  plumage  on  thy  helmet  brave, 

Famish'd  and  chill'd,  through  ways  unknown, 
Tangled  and  steep,  he  journey'd  on  ; 

Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 

Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turn'd. 

And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again.  — 

A  watch-fire  close  before  him  bura'd. 

I  waver  still.  —  O  God  !  more  bright 

Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light!  — 

XXX. 

O!  by  thy  knighthood's  honour'd  sign. 
And  for  thy  life  preserved  by  mine. 
When  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 
Who  boasts  him  Chief  of  Alpine's  Clan, 
With  tartan's  broad  and  shadowy  plume, 
And  hand  of  blood,  and  brow  of  gloom, 
Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong, 
And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong! 
They  watch  for  Ihee  by  pass  and  fell  .  .  . 
Avoid  the  path  ...  0  God  !  .  .  .  farewell." 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear, 
Bask'd,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer; 
And  up  he  sprung  with  sword  in  hand,  — 
"  Thy  name  and  purpose  !  Saxon,  stand  !"— 
"A  stranger."  —  "  What  dost  thou  require  ?"  — 
"  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  atid  fire. 
My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost. 
The  gale  has  chill'd  mv  limbs  with  frost."— 
"Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ?"  —  "  No."  — 
"Thou  darest.  not  call  thyself  a  foe?"— 

"  1  dare  !  to  him  and  all  the  hand 

XXXIII. 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand."  — 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz-James  ; 

"  Bold  words!  —  but.  though  the  beast  of  game 

Fast  pour'd  his  eyes  at  pity's  claims. 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim. 

And  now  with  mingled  grief  and  ire, 

Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 

He  saw  the  murder'd  maid  expire. 

Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 

"  God,  in  my  need,  be  my  relief. 

Who  ever  reck'il,  where,  how,  or  when, 

As  I  wreak  this  on  yonder  Chief!  " 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slam  ?  ' 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tresses  fair 

Thus  treacherous  scouts,  —  yet  sure  they  lie, 

He  blended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair  ; 
The  mingled  braid  in  blood  he  dyed. 

Who  say  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy  !"  — 
"  They  do,  by  heaven  !  —  Come  Roderick  Dhu, 

And  placed  it  on  his  bonnet-side  : 

And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 

"  By  Him  whose  word  is  truth!  I  swear, 

And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest. 

No  other  favour  will  I  wear. 

I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest."  — 

Till  this  sad  token  1  imbrue 

"  If  by  the  blaze  I  mark  aright. 

In  the  best  blood  of  Roderick  Dhu  ! 

Thou'bear'st  the  licit  and  spur  of  Knight."  — 

—  But  hark  !  what  means  yon  faint  halloo  I 
The  chase  is  up.  —  but  they  shall  know, 

"  Then  by  these  tokens  mayest  thou  know 
Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe.''— 

The  stag  at  bay  's  a  dangerous  foe." 

"  Enough,  enough  ;  sit  down  and  share 

Barr'd  from  the  known  but  guarded  way. 

A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare. 

Through  copse  and  cliffs  Fitz-James   must 

stray. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


185 


XXXI. 

He  gave  him  of  his  Highland  cheer, 
The  harden'il  flesh  of  mountain  deer ;  1 
Dry  fuel  ou  the  tire  he  laid, 
And  hade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 
He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest, 
Then  thus  his  farther  speech  address'd. 
"  Stranger.  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 
A  clansman  horn,  a  kinsman  true  ; 
Each  word  against  his  honour  spoke, 
Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke; 
Yet  more,  —  upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 
A  nuglity  Augury  is  laid. 
It.  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, — 
Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne  ; 
it  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand, 
Worn  as  thoii  art,  to  bid  Ihee  stand : 
But.  not  for  clan,  nor  kindred's  cause, 
Will  I  depart  from  honour's  laws; 
To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 
And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ; 
Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 
In  vain  he  never  must  require 
Then  rest  thee  here  till  dawn  of  day ; 
Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way. 
O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 
Till  past  Clan- Alpine's  outmost  guard, 
As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford : 
From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword." — 
"  I  take  thy  courtesy,  by  heaven, 
As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given  !" — 
"  Well,  rest  thee;  for  the  bittern's  cry 
Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." 
With  that  he  shook  the  gather'd  heath. 
And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath; 
And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  side, 
lay  peaceful  down,  like  brothers  tried, 
And  slept  until  the  dawning:  beam 
Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream. 


of 


CANTO   FIFTH. 


THE    COMBAT. 

I. 
Fair  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  light, 

When  first,  by  the  bewilder'd  pilgrim  spied, 
It  smiles  upon  the  dreary  brow  of  night. 

And  silvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 
And  lights  the  fearful  path  on  mountain  side ; — 

Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far, 
Giving  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride. 
Shine  martial  Faith,  and  Courtesy's  bright 

star, 

Through  all  the  wreckful  storms  that  cloud 
the  brow  of  War. 

II. 

That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen. 
Was  twinkling  through  the  hazel  screen, 
When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 
The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed. 


Look'd  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
Mutter'd  their  soldier  matins  by, 
And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  "steal. 
As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael 3  around  him  threw 
His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue, 
And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way, 
By  thicket  green  and  mountain  erey. 
A  wildering  path  !  —  they  winded  now 
Along  the  precipice's  brow. 
Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath, 
The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 
And  all  the  vales  beneath  that  lie, 
Till  Stirling's  turrets  melt  in  sky  : 
Then,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 
Gain'd  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 
'Twas  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain 
Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain  ; 
So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  through, 
Kach  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew,— 
That  diamond  dew.  so  pure  and  clear, 
It  rivals  all  but  Beauty's  tear ! 

III. 

At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep, 
The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 
Here  Vennachar  in  silver  flows. 
There,  ridge  on  ridge.  Benledi  rose; 
Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on, 
Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone  ; 
An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 
With  hardihood  against  a  host. 
The  rue-ged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 
Was  dwarfish  shrubs  of  birch  and  oak, 
With  shingles  bare,  and  cliffs  between, 
And  patches  bright  of  bracken  green. 
And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  high, 
It  held  the  copse  in  rivalry. 
But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still, 
Dank  osiers  fringed  the  swamp  and  hill ; 
And  oft  both  path  and  lull  were  torn. 
Where  wintry  torrents  down  had  borne, 
And  heap'd  upon  the  cumher'd  land 
Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rocks,  and  sand. 
So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace, 
The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace. 
Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws, 
And  ask'd  Fitz-James,  by  what  strange  cause 
He  sought  these  wilds  ?  traversed  by  few, 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

IV. 

"  Brave  Gael,  my  pass  in  danger  tried, 
Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side  ; 
Yet.  sooth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  I  dreamt  not  now  to  claim  its  aid. 
When  here,  but  three  days  since,  1  came, 
Bewilder'd  in  pursuit  of  game, 
All  seern'd  as  peaceful  and  ;is  still, 
As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill ; 
Thy  dangerous  Chief  was  then  afar, 
Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 
Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain-guide. 
Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied." — 
"  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try  ?" — 
"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why !  — 
Moves  our  free  course  by  such  fix'd  cause, 
As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws? 
Enough,  I  sought  to  drive  away 
The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day; 
Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 
A  Knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide. — 


1  The  Scottish  Highlander  rails  himself  f.'-i-.',  or  Gaul, 


1  Bee  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 


186                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                           ! 

A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  stray'd. 

Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread, 

The  merry  glance  of  numniam  maid  : 

Kor  falten'd  steer  or  household  bread  ; 

Or.  if  a  pith  be  dangerous  known. 

Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry. 

The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone."  — 

And  well  the  mountain  might  reply,  — 

To  you.  as  to  your  sires  of  yore. 

V. 

Belong  the  target  and  claymore  ! 

"  Thy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not  ;  — 

:  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast. 

Yet.  erf  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 
Say,  heard  ye  nought  of  Ix>wland  war, 

Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest.' 
Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 

Against  Clan-Alpine,  raised  by  Mar?" 

I'hink'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth, 

—  '•  No,  by  mv  word  ;  —  of  bands  prepared 

To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may. 

To  guard  King  James's  sports  I  heard  : 

And  from  the  robber  rend  the  preyt 

Nor  doubt  I  anght,  but,  when  they  hear 

Ay,  by  my  soul  !  —  While  on  yon  plain 

This  muster  of  the  mountaineer. 

The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain; 

Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung, 

While,  of  ten  thousand  herds,  there  strays 

Which  else  in  Dunne  had  peaceful  hung."  — 

But  one  along  yon  river's  maze,  — 

"  Free  be  thev  Hong  !  —  for  we  were  loth 

The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir. 

Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth. 

Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share.* 

Free  be  they  flung!  —as  fr»e  shall  wave 

Where  live  the  mountain  Chiefs  who  hold, 

Clan-  Alpine's  pine  in  banner  brave. 

That  plundering  Lowland  field  and  fold 

But.  Stranger,  peaceful  since  yon  came, 

ts  aught  hut  retribution  true  ? 

Bewilder'd  in  the  mountain  game, 

Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu."  — 

Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 

Vich-Alpine's  vow'il  and  mortal  foe?"  — 

VIII. 

"Warrior,  but  vester  morn.  I  knew 
Nought  of  thy  Chieftain.  Roderick  Dhu, 
Save  as  an  outlaw'd  desperate  man, 
The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan. 

Answer'd  Fitz-James.—  "  And,  if  I  sought. 
Think'st  thou  no  other  could  he  brought? 
What  deem  ve  of  my  path  waylaid  ? 
My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ?"  — 

Who,  in  the  Regent's  court  and  sight. 

"  As  of  a  meed  to  rashness  due  : 

With  ruffian  dagger  stahb'd  a  knight: 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true,— 

Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 

1  seek  mv  hound,  or  falcon  stray'd. 

Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart." 

I  seek,  good  faith,  a  Highland  maid.— 

VI. 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go  ; 

Wrothful  at  such  arraignment  foul, 
Dark  lower'd  the.  clansman's  sable  scowl. 
A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 
"  And  heard'st  thoa  why  he  drew  his  blade  T 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 
Nor  yet.  for  this,  even  as  a  spy, 
Hadst  thou.  unheard,  been  doom'd  to  die. 
Save  to  fulfil  an  augury  •  "— 
'*  Well,  let  it  pass  ;  nor  will  I  now 

Heard'st  thon  that  shameful  word  and  blow 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow. 

Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe  ? 
What  reck'd  the  Chieftain  if  lie  stood 
On  Highland  heath,  or  Holy-Rood  ? 

To  chafe  thy  moml  and  cloud  thy  brow. 
F.noneh,  1  am  hv  promise  tied 
To  match  me  w'ith  this  man  of  pride  : 

He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given. 
If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven    — 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpine's  glen 
In  peace  ;  but  when  I  come  agen. 

"Still  was  it  outrage;  —  yet.  'tis  true. 
Not  then  claim'd  sovereignty  his  due  ; 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow. 
As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 

While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand. 

Held  horrow'd  truncheon  of  command,  1 
The  young  King,  mew'd  in  Stirling  tower, 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour. 
As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

'Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 
But  then,  thy  Chieftain's  robber  life  !  — 

This  rebel  Chieftain  and  his  band  !"  — 

11  Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife, 

IX. 

Wrenching  from  ruin'd  Lowland  swain 

"Have,  then,  thy  wish  !"—  he  whistled  shrill. 

His  herds  and  harvest  rear'd  in  vain  — 

And  he  was  answer'd  from  the  hill  ; 

Methinks  a  soul,  like  thine,  should  scorn 

Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 

The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne." 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew. 

Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

VII. 

Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows  ; 

The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while. 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 

And  answer'd  with  disdainful  smile,  — 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe  : 

"Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 

From  shingles  grev  their  lances  start. 

I  mark'd  Ihee  send  delighted  eye, 

The  bracken  hush'  sends  forth  the  dart, 

Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

Extended  in  succession  gay. 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand. 

Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green, 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between:  — 
These  fertile  plains,  that  soften'd  vale, 

To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 
That  whistle  garrison'd  the  glen 

Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael  ; 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 

The  stranger  came  wilh  iron  hand, 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 

A  subterranean  host  had  given. 

Where  dwell  we  now  !  See,  rudely  swell 

Wa'ching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 

Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 

I  See  Ap|ti><  'X,  Note  3  H. 

3  See  Appendix,  Sot*  3  I. 

THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE.                     187 

Like  the  loose  crags,  whose  threatening  mass 

Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sought  round 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass. 

The  vanish'd  guardians  of  the  ground, 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep. 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 
With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep, 
And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain. 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 

The  Mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 

Along  Benledi's  living  side, 

The  pass  was  left  ;  for  then  they  wind 

Then  fix'd  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Along  a  wide  and  level  green. 

Full  on  Fitz-  James  —  "  How  say'st  thou  now  7 

Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 

These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true; 

Nor  rush  nor  hush  of  broom  was  near, 

And,  Saxon,  —  I  am  Roderick  Dim!" 

To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 

X. 

XII. 

Fitz-  James  was  brave  :  —  Though  to  his  heart 

The  Chief  in  silence  strode  before, 

The  life-blood  ihnll'd  with  sudden  start, 

And  reach'd  that  torrent's  sounding  shore, 

He  niann'd  himself  with  dauntless  air, 
Return'd  the  Chief  his  haughty  stare, 

Which,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes, 
From  V'ennachar  in  silver  breaks. 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore. 
And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before:  — 

Sweeps  through  Hie  plain,  and  ceaseless  mines 
On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines. 

"Come  one.  come  all  !  this  rock  shall  fly 

Where  Home,  the  Empress  of  the  world, 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." 

Of  vore  her  eagle  wings  unfuiTd.  2 

Sir  Roderick  rriark'd—  and  in  his  eyes 

And  here  his  course  the  Chieftain  staid, 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 
And  the  stern  joy'  which  warriors  feel 

Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid. 
And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said  :  — 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 
Short,  space  he  stoml—  then  waved  his  hand: 
Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band; 

"  Bold  Saxon  !  to  his  promise  j  list, 
Vich-  Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 
This  murderous  Chief,  this  ruthless  man, 

t.ach  warrior  vanish'd  where  he  stood. 

This  head  of  a  rebellions  clan, 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood  ; 

Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 

Far  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard. 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low  ; 

Now,  man  to  man.  ami  steel  to  steel, 

It  seem'd  as  if  their  mother  Earth 

A  Chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shall  feel. 

Had  swallow'd  up  her  warlike  hirth. 

See  here,  all  vanlageless  I  stand, 

The  wind's  last  breath  had  toss'd  in  air, 

Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand  :  3 

Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair,  — 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 

The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 
Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide  : 

And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  S'.vord." 

The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted  back. 

XIII. 

From  spear  onu  glaive,  from  targe  and  jack,  — 
The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 
On  bracken  green,  and  cold  grey  stone. 

The  Saxon  paused  :  —  "  I  ne'er  delay'd. 
When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade; 
Nay,  more,  brave  Chief,  I  vow'd  thy  death  : 

XI. 

Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith. 

Fitz-James  look'd  round  —  yet  scarce  believed 
The  witness  that  his  sight  received  ; 

And  my  deep  debt,  for  life  preserved, 
A  better  meed  have  well  deserved  : 

Such  apparition  well  might  seem 

Can  nought  but  blood  our  feud  atone  ? 

Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Are  there  no  means  V  —  -'No.  Stranger,  none  ! 

Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eved. 

And  hear.—  to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal,  — 

And  to  his  look  the  Chief  replied. 

The  Saxoncause  rests  on  thy  steel  ; 

•'  Fear  nought  —  nay.  t  hat  I  need  not  say  — 

For  thus  spoke  Fate,  bv  prophet  bred 

But  —  doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead  ; 

Thou  art  my  guest  ;—  I  pledged  my  word 

'  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 

As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford  : 

His  party  conquers  in  the  strife  '"  — 

Nor  would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 

"Then  by  my  word."  the  Saxon  said, 

For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand, 

"  The  riddle  is  already  read 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 
Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  Hie  Gael, 

Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff,— 
There  lies  Red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 

So  move  we  on  ;  —  I  only  meant 

Thus  Fate  has  solved  her  prophecy, 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me. 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu."i 
They  moved  :  —  I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave, 
As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive  ; 
Yet  dare  not  say,  that  now  his  blood 

To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go. 
When,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe. 
Or  if  the  King  shall  not  agree 
To  grant  thee  grace  and  favour  free. 
I  plight  mine  honour,  oath,  and  word. 

Kept  on  its  wont  and  temper'd  flood. 
As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 
That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 

That,  to  thy  native  strengths  restored. 
With  each  advantage  shall  thou  stand. 
That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land." 

Which  vet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 

With  lances,  that,  to  take  his  life, 

XIV. 

Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide, 
So  late  dishonour'd  and  defied. 

Dark  lightning  flash'd  from  Roderick's  eye  — 
"  Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high. 

1  See  Appendix,  Nile  3  K.                  1  Ibid,  Note  3  L. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  9  M. 

188                    SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew. 

They  tug.  they  striin  !  down,  down  they  go, 

Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dim  t 

The  Gael  above,  Fitz-James  below. 

He  yields  not,  he.  to  man  nor  Fate  ! 

The  Chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compress'd, 

Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate  :— 

His  knee  was  planted  in  his  breast; 

My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. 

His  clot'eil  locks  he  backward  threw, 

Not  yet  prepared  ?—  By  heaven.  I  change 

Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew. 

Mv  thought,  and  hold  thy  valour  light 

From  bliKid  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight. 

As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight, 

Then  gleamed  aloft  his  dagger  bright!  — 

Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 

—  Bui  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied 

And  whose  besi  boast  is  but  to  wear 

The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide, 

A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair."  — 

And  all  too  late  the  advantage  came, 

"  f  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word  ! 

To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 

It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword; 

For,  while  the  dagger  gleam'd  on  high. 

For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 

Reel'd  soul  and  sense,  reel'd  brain  and  eye. 

In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 

Down  came  the  blow  !  but  in  the  heath 

Now,  truce,  farewell  !  and.  ruth,  begone  !  — 

The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 

Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone. 

The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 

Proud  Chief!  can  courtesv  be  shown; 

The  fainting  Chiefs  relaxing  gra>p  ; 

Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn, 
Start  at  my  whistle  clansmen  stern. 

I'nwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose. 

Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 

XVII. 

Would  fearful  odd*  against  thee  cast. 
But  fear  not  —  doubt  not  —  which  thou  wilt  — 

He  falter'd  thnnks  to  Heaven  for  life. 

We  try  this  quarrel  hilt  to  hilt."  — 
Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw. 
Each  look'd  to  sun.  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again  : 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eve  opposed. 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed. 

Rrdeem'd.  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife; 
Next  on  his  foe  ins  look  he  cast, 
Whose  every  gasp  appear'd  his  last; 
In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipt  the  braid.  — 
"  Poor  Blanche  !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid  : 
Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die,  or  live, 
The  praise  that  Faith  and  Valour  give." 
With  that  he  blew  a  bugle-note. 

XV. 

Undid  the  collar  from  his  throat, 

Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu. 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw.' 
Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 
Had  death  so  often  dash'd  aside  ; 
For.  truin'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 

Unbonneted,  and  by  the  wave 
Sate  down  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 
Then  faint  afar  are  heard  the  feet 
Of  rushing  steeds  in  gallop  fleet  : 
The  sounds  increase,  and  now  are  seen 
Four  mounted  squires  in  Lincoln  green  ; 

He  practised  every  pass  and  ward, 
To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard  ; 
While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far. 
The  Gael  maintain'd  unequal  war. 
Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood. 

Two  who  bear  lance,  and  two  who  lead, 
By  loosen'd  rein,  a  saddled  steed  ; 
Kach  onward  held  iiis  headlong  course. 
And  by  Fitz-James  rein'd  up  his  horse,  — 
With  wonder  view'd  the  bloody  spot  — 

And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  drank  blood; 
No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide. 
The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 
Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain. 
And  shower'd  his  blows  like  wintry  rain  ; 
And.  as  firm  rock,  or  castle-roof. 
Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof, 
The  foe.  invulnerable  still. 
Foil'd  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill; 
Till,  at  advantage  ta'en,  his  brand 
Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand. 
And  backward  borne  upon  the  lea. 

-  "Exclaim  not,  gallants  !  question  not.— 
You,  Herbert  and  Luffness.  alight, 
And  bind  the  wounds  of  yonder  knight; 
Let  the  grey  palfrey  bear  his  weight. 
We  destined  for  a  fairer  freight. 
And  bring  him  on  to  Stirling  straight; 
I  will  before  at  better  speed, 
To  seek  fresh  horse  and  fitting  weed. 
The  sun  rides  high  ;  —  I  must  be  boune, 
To  see  the  archer-game  at  noon  ; 
But  lightly  Bavard  clears  the  lea.— 
De  Vaux  and  Henries,  follow  me. 

Brought  the  proud  Chieftain  to  his  knee. 

XVIU. 

"  Stand,  Bayard,  stand  !"  —  the  steed  obey'd. 

XVI. 

With  arching  neck  and  bended  head, 

"'Now,  vield  thee.  or  by  Him  who  made 

And  glancing  eye  and  quivering  ear. 

The  world,  thy  heart's  blrxnl  dves  my  blade  !"— 

As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  hear. 

"Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  1  defy  ! 

No  foot  Fitz-James  in  stirrup  staid, 

Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die."* 

No  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid. 

—  Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil. 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil. 

But  wreath'd  his  left  hand  in  the  mane, 
And  lightly  hounded  from  the  plain, 

Like  mountain  cat  who  guards  her  young, 

Turn'd  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel, 

Full  at  Filz-James's  throat  he  sprung; 

And  stirr'd  his  courage  with  the  steel, 

Keceived,  but  reck'd  not  of  a  wound. 

Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air, 

And  lock'd  his  arms  his  foeman  round.— 

The  rider  sate  erect  and  fair. 

Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own  ! 

Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 

No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown  ! 

Forth  launch'd  along  the  plain  they  go. 

That  desperate  gmsp  thy  frame  might  feel. 

They  dash'd  that  rapid  torrent  through, 

Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel  !  — 

And  up  Carhouie's  hill  they  flew  ; 

1  See  Appendix,  .Note  3  K. 

t  See  Ajipeu.iil,  Note  3  O. 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


189 


Still  at  the  gallop  prick'd  the  Knight, 
His  merry-men  follow'd  as  they  might. 
Along  thy  banks,  swifr.  Teith  !  they  ride, 
And  in  the  race  they  mocK  thy  tide; 
lorry  and  Lcndnpk  now  are  past. 
And  Deanstown  lies  behind  them  cast; 
They  rise,  the  hanner'd  lowers  of  Doune,* 
They  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon  : 
Blair-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire. 
They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre  ; 
They  mark  just  glance  and  disappear 
The  lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier ; 
They  bathe  their  courser's  sweltering  sides, 
Dark  Fonh!  amid  thy  sluggish  tides, 
And  on  the  opposing  shore  take  ground. 
With  plash,  wn.li  scramble,  and  with,  bound. 
Right-hand  they  leave  thy  cliifs.  Craig- Forth!2 
And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  North, 
Grey  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  town, 
Upon  their  fleet  career  look'd  down. 

XIX. 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strain'd, 
Sudden  his  steed  ths  leader  rein'd  ; 
A  signal  to  his  squire  he  flung. 
Who  instant  to  his  stirrup  sprung : — 
"Seest  ihou,  De  Vaux,  yon  woodsman  grey, 
Who  town-ward  holds  the  rocky  way, 
Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 
Mark'st  thou  the  firm,  yet  active  stride, 
With  which  he  scales  the  mountain-side  t 
Know'st  thou   from  whence   he   comes,  or 

whom  ?"— 

"  No,  by  my  word  ;— a  burly  groom 
He  seems,  "who  in  the  field  or  chase 
A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace." — 
"  Out,  out,  De  Vaux !  can  fear  supply, 
And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye? 
Afar,  ere  to  the  hill  he  drew. 
That  stately  form  and  step  I  knew; 
Like  form  fn  Scotland  is  not  seen, 
Treads  not  such  step  on  Scottish  green. 
'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  Saint  Serle  ! 
The  uncle  of  the  bamsh'd  Earl. 
Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 
The  near  approach  of  dreaded  foe  : 
The  King  must  stand  upon  his  guard  : 
Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared." 
Then   right-hand   wheel'd   their  steeds,  am) 

straight 
They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate. 

XX. 

The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 
From  Cambus- Kenneth's  abbey  grey, 
Now,  as  he  climb'd  the  rocky  shelf. 
Held  sad  communion  with  himself:  — 
"  Yes !  all  is  true  my  fears  could  frame ; 
A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Grieme, 
And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 
The  vengeance  of  the  royal  steel. 
I.  only  I,  can  ward  their  late,— 
God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late  ! 
The  Abbess  hath  her  promise  given. 
My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  Heaven;  — 
— -  Be  pardon'd  one  repining  tear ! 
For  He,  who  gave  her,  knows  how  dear, 


low  excellent  L but.  that  is  by. 
And  now  my  business  is  —  to  die. 
— Ye  towers!  within  whose  circuit  dread 
\  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled: 
And  thou.  O'sad  and  fatal  mound  !3 

nat  oft  hast  heard  i  he  deat.h-axe  sound, 

4  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 
h'ell  the  stern  headsman's  bloody  hand.— 
The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb 
Prepare  —  for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom  ! 
—  But  hark  !  what  blithe  and  jolly  peal 
Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel? 
And  see!  upon  the  crowded  street, 
In  motley  groups  what  masquers  meet! 
Banner  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum, 
And  merry  mornce-dancers  come. 
I  guess,  by  all  this  quaint  array, 
The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day.* 
James  will  be  there :  he  loves  such  show, 
Where  the  good  yeoman  bends  his  bow, 
And  the  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe, 
As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career, 
The  high-born  tiller  shivers  spear. 
I'll  follow  to  the  Castle-park, 
And  play  my  prize  ; — King  James  shall  mark, 
If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark, 
Whose  force  so  oft,  in  happier  days. 
His  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praise." 

XXI. 

The  Castle  gates  were  open  flung, 
The  quivering  drawbridge  rock'd  and  rung, 
And  echo'd  loud  the  flinty  street 
Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet, 
As  slowly  down  the  steep  descent 
Fair  Scotland's  King  and  nobles  went, 
While  all  along  the  crowded  way 
Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 
And  ever  James  was  bending  low, 
To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-how, 
Doffing  his  cap  to  city  dame, 
Who  smiled  and  blusli'd  for  pride  and  shame. 
And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain, — 
He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 
Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 
Commends  each  pageant's  quaint  attire, 
Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 
And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd. 
Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 
"  Long  live  the  Commons'  King,  King  James !" 
Behind  the  King  throng'd  peer  and  knight, 
And  noble  dame  and  damsel  bright, 
Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brook'd  the  stay 
Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 
—  But  in  the  tram  you  might  discern 
Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stern ; 
There  nobles  mourn'd  their  pride  restrain'd, 
And  the  mean  burghers' joys  disdain'd  ; 
And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan. 
Were  each  from  home  a  banish'd  man, 
There  thought  upon  their  own  grey  tower. 
Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 
And  deem'd  themselves  a  shameful  part 
Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

XXII. 

Now,  in  the  Castle-park,  drew  out 
Their  chequer'd  bands  the  joyous  rout. 


IThe 


tin  With. 

1  It  mav  tv  worth  noting  that  the  Poet  marks  the  pr 
gress  of  tiic  King  by  nam  ng  in  su  cession  j:lacra  fami].; 

lue  Beat  of  the  Homes  of  Kaimfs  ;  Kier,  that  of  the  prim 


pal  family  of  the  name  of  Stirling;  Ochtertyre,  that  of 

Craipfoith,  almost  under  the  walls  of  Stirling  Castle;— all 
younger  days. — £J. 


3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 


4  Ibid,  Note  8  Q. 


190                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

There  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel. 

Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 

And  blade  in  hand,  their  ma/.es  wheel  ; 

Till  murmur  rose  to  clamours  loud. 

But  chief,  beside  the  butts,  there  stand 

Hut.  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 

Bold  Robin  Hood  1  and  all  his  band,— 
Friar  Tuck  with  quarterstalf  and  cowl, 

Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  King, 
With  Dougl;is  held  communion  kind, 

Old  Scalhelocke  with  his  surly  scowl, 

Or  call'd  the  banish'd  man  to  mind  ; 

Maid  Marion,  fair  as  ivory  hone. 

No.  not  from  those  who.  at  the  chase, 

Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  and  Little  John  ; 
Their  bugles  challenge  all  that  will, 

Once  held  his  side  the  honour'd  place, 
Begirt  his  board,  and.  in  the  field, 

In  archery  to  prove  their  skill. 

Found  safety  underneath  his  shield; 

The  Douglas  bent  a  bow  of  might,— 

For  he,  whom  royal  eyes  disown. 

His  first  shaft  centred  in  the  while, 

When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known  ! 

And  when  in  turn  he  shot  again. 

His  second  split  the  first,  in  twain. 

XXV. 

From  the  King's  hand  must  Douglas  take 

The  Monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 

A  silver  dart,  the  archer's  stake; 

And  hade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag. 

Fondly  he  watch'd.  witli  watery  eye, 
Some  answering  glance  of  sympathy,  — 
No  kind  emotion  made  reply  ! 
Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 

Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown, 
7'wo  favourite  greyhounds  should  pull  down 
That  venison  free,  and  Hoiirdeaux  wine, 
Might  serve  the  archerv  to  dine. 

The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright.* 

But  Lufra.—  whom  from  Douglas'  side 

XXIII. 

Nor  bribe  nor  tbreat  could  e'er  divide, 

Now.  clear  the  ring!  for,  hand  to  hand, 
The  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand. 
Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose, 
And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes, 
Nor  call'd  in  vain  ;  for  Douglas  came. 
—  For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame  ; 
Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fare. 

The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  North,— 
Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darled  forth. 
She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid-way. 
And  dashing  on  the  antler'd  prey. 
Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 
And  deep  the  flowing  life-blood  drank. 
The  King's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 

Whom  senseless  home  his  comrades  bear. 
Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring.  3 
While  coldly  glanced  his  eye  of  blue, 
As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 
Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 
His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppress'd; 
Indignant,  then  he  turn'd  him  where 
Their  arms  the  brawny  yeomen  bare, 

By  strange  intruder  broken  short, 
Came  up.  and  with  his  leash  unbound, 
In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 
—  The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn, 
The  King's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 
And  last,  and  worst  to  spirit  proud, 
Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd  ; 
But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred. 
To  share  his  board,  to  watch  his  bed, 
And  oft  would  Ellen  Lufra  's  neck 

When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 
The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 

In  maiden  glee  with  garlands  deck  ; 
They  were  such  playmates,  that  with  name 

From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 
And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky, 
A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark  ;  — 
And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  park, 
The  grey-hair'd  sires,  who  know  the  past, 
To  strangers  point  the  Douglas-cast, 

Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 
His  stifled  wralh  is  brimming  high, 
In  darken'd  brow  and  flashing  eye; 
As  waves  before  the  hark  divide. 
The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride  ; 
Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more, 
The  groom  lies  senseless  in  his  gore. 

Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day. 
XXIV. 

Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 
Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang. 

XXVI. 

The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang. 

Then  clamour'd  loud  the  royal  train, 

The  King,  with  look  unmoved,  bestow  M 

And  brandish  V.  swords  and  staves  amain. 

A  purse  well-fill'd  with  pieces  broad. 

But.  stern  the  Baron's  warning  —  •'  Back  ! 

Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud. 

Back,  oil  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack  ! 

And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd, 

Beware  the  Douglas  —  Yes!  behold, 

Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder,  scan, 

King  James  !  the  Douglas,  doom'd  of  old, 

And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  grey  man; 

And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far, 

Till  whispers  rose  among  the  throng. 

A  victim  to  atone  the  war, 

That  heart  so  free,  and  hand  so  strong, 

A  willing  victim,  now  attends. 

Must  to  the  Doiighus  blood  belong  ; 

Nor  craves  thy  grace  hut  for  his  friends."  — 

The  old  men  mark'd.  and  shook  the  head, 

"Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid  ? 

To  see  his  hair  wi:h  silver  spread, 

Presumptuous  Lord!"  the  monarch  said; 

And  wink'd  aside,  and  told  each  son, 

"Of  thy  mis-proud  anibi  'ions  clan, 

Of  feats  upon  the  English  done, 

Thou,  James  of  Bothwell,  wert  the  man. 

Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand 

The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 

Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 

My  woman-mercy  would  not  know: 

The  women  praised  his  slatelv  form. 

But  shall  a  Monarch's  presence  brook 

Though  wreck'd  by  manv  a  winter's  storm; 

Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look  ?  — 

The  youth  witti  awe  and  wonder  saw 

What  ho  !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard  ! 

His  strength  surpassing  Nature's  law. 

Give  ihii  olfender  tilting  ward.— 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R.                 2  IbiJ,  Nole  3  S. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE.                      191 

Break  off  the  sports  !"—  for  tumult  rose,              With_trailing  arms  anil  drooping  head, 

And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows,—  • 

The  Douglas  up  the  lull  lie  leu. 

"  Bre'ak  off  the  sports!''  he  said,  and  frown'd, 

And  at  the  Castle's  battled  verge. 

"  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 

With  sighs  resign  'd  his  honour'd  charge. 

XXVII. 

XXX. 

Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray 
Marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 
The  horsemen  prick'd  among  the  crowd, 
Repell'd  by  threats  and  insult  loud; 
To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak, 
The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek  : 
With  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar, 
The  hardier  urge  tumultuous  war. 
At  once  round  Douglas  darkly  sweep 
The  royal  spears  in  circle  deep, 
And  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep; 
While  on  the  rear  in  thunder  pour 
The  rabble  with  disorder'd  roar. 
With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw 
The  Commons  rise  against  the  law, 
And  to  the  leading  soldier  said,  — 
"Sir  John  of  Hyndford  !  'twas  mv  blade 
That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid; 
For  that  good  deed,  permit  me  then 
A  word  with  these  misguided  men. 

The  offended  Monarch  rode  apart, 
With  bitter  thought  and  swelling  heart, 
And  would  not  now  vouchsafe  again 
Through  Stirling  streets  to  lead  his  train. 
"O  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 
This  changeling  crowd,  this  common  fool  ? 
Hear'st  thou."  he  said,  "the  loud  acclaim. 
With  which  they  shout  the  Douglas  name? 
With  like  acclaim,  the  vulgar  throat, 
Strain'd  for  King  James  their  morning  note  ; 
With  like  acclaim  they  hail'd  the  day 
When  first  I  broke  the  Douglas'  sway  ; 
And  like  acclaim  would  Douglas  greet, 
If  he  could  hurl  me  from  my  seat. 
Who  o'er  the  herd  would  wish  to  reign, 
Fantastic,  fickle,  fierce,  and  vain! 
Vain  as  the  leaf  upon  the  stream, 
And  fickle  as  a  changeful  dream  ; 
Fantastic  as  a  woman's  mood, 
And  fierce  as  Frenzy's  fever'd  blood. 
Thou  many-headed  monster  thing,  l 

XXVIII. 

0  who  would  wish  to  be  thy  king  ! 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends  !  ere  yet  for  me, 

XXXI. 

Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty. 
My  life,  my  honour,  and  my  cause, 

"  But  soft  !  what  messenger  of  speed 

1  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 

Spurs  hitherward  his  panting  sleed? 

Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 

I  guess  his  cognizance  afar  — 

The  aid  of  your  misguided  ire  ? 
Or,  if  I  suffer  causeless  wrong, 
Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 
My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low, 
That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 

What  from  our  cousin,  John  of  Mar?"  — 
"  He  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound 
Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground  : 
For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown,  —  • 
Most  sure  for  evil  to  the  throne,  — 

Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind, 

The  outlaw'd  Chieftain.  Roderick  Dhu, 

Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind? 
Oh  no!   Believe,  in  yonder  tower 

Has  summon'd  his  rebellious  crew  ; 
Tis  said,  in  James  of  Bothwell's  aid 

It  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour, 
To  know  those  spears  our  foes  should  dread, 

These  loose  banditti  stand  array'd. 
The  Earl  of  Mar,  this  morn,  from  Doune, 

For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red  ; 

To  break  their  muster  march'd,  and  soon 

To  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun, 

Your  Grace  will  hear  of  battle  fought; 

For  me,  that  niottiw  wails  her  son  ; 

But  earnestly  the  Earl  besought, 

For  me,  that  widow's  mate  expires  ; 

Till  for  such  danger  he  provide. 

For  rne,  that  orphans  weep  their  sires; 

With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride."  — 

That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws. 

And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 

XXXII. 

O  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill, 
And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still  !" 

"  Thou  warn'st  me  I  have  done  amiss,  — 
I  should  have  earlier  look'd  to  this  : 

I  lost  it  in  this  hustling  dav. 

AA.1X. 

—  Retrace  with  speed  thy  former  way; 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again 

Spare  not  for  spoiling  of  thy  steed, 

In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 

The  best  of  mine  shall  be  thy  meed. 

With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  pray'd 

Say  to  our  faithful  Lord  of  Mar, 

For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 

We  do  forbid  the  intended  war  : 

Who  for  his  country  felt  alone, 

Roderick,  this  morn,  in  single  fight, 

And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 

Was  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight  ; 

Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life, 

And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 

Bless'd  him  who  staid  the  civil  strife  ; 

Submitted  to  uur  kingdom's  laws. 

And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high, 

The  tidings  of  their  leaders  lost 

The  self-devoted  Chief  lo  spy, 

Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 

Triumphant  over  wrongs  and  ire, 

Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar  feel, 

To  whom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire  : 

For  their  Chief's  crimes,  avenging  steel. 

Even  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved  ; 

Bear  Mar  out  message.  Braco  :  fly  !"  — 

As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved, 

He  turn'd  his  steed,  —  "  My  liege,  I  hie,  — 

1            •            "  Who  deserves  srentness, 

And  hews  down  oaks  with  m*he8.  Hang  ye  !  Trust  ye  7 

Deserves  your  hate;  and  your  affections  are 

With  every  minute  you  ilo  change  a  mind  ; 

And  call  him  noble,  that  was  now  your  hate, 

Which  would  increase  his  evil.     He  that  depend* 

Him  vile  that  waB  your  garland." 

Upon  your  favours,  swims  with  fins  of  lead. 

CoruJumu,  Act  I.  Scene  I. 

192 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Yet.  ere  I  cross  Ihis  lily  lawn. 
I  fear  the  broadswords  will  he  drawn." 
The  turf  the  flyins  courser  spurn VI. 
And  to  his  lowers  the  King  return  VI. 

XXXIII. 

Ill  with  King  James's  mood  that  day, 
Suited  gay  least  anil  minstrel  lay ; 
Soon  svere  dismiss 'd  Ihe  courtly  throng, 
And  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 
Nor  less  upon  the  sadden'd  town 
The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 
The  hursfhers  spoke  of  civil  jar, 
Of  rumour'd  feuils  and  mountain  war, 
Of  Moray.  Mar.  and  Roderick  Dha, 
All  up  in  arms'— the  Douglas  too, 
Tliey  mourn'd  him  pent  within  the  hold, 
"  Where  stout  Earl  William  was  of  old" — » 
And  there  his  word  the  speaker  staid, 
And  miser  on  his  lip  he  laid, 
Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade. 
But  jaded  horsemen,  from  the  west, 
At  evening  to  the  Cas'le  press'd ; 
And  busy  talkers  said  they  bore 
Tidings  of  fight  on  Katrine's  shore; 
At  noon  the  deadly  fray  begun, 
And  lasted  till  Ihe  set  of  sun. 
Thus  giddy  rumour  shook  the  town, 
Till  closed  the  Night  her  pennons  brown. 


of  tf/e 


CANTO   SIXTH 


THE    GUARD-ROOM. 
I. 

THK  sun,  awakening,  through  the  smoky  air 

Of  the  dark  city  casts  a  sullen  glance, 
Rousing  each  caitiff  to  his  task  of  care, 

Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance ; 
Summoning  revellers  from  the  lagging  dance, 

Scaring  the  prowling  robber  to  his  den; 
Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance, 

And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen. 
And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse 
of  men. 

What  various  scenes,  and,  O !  what  scenes  of 

woe, 
Are  witness'd  by  that  red  and  struggling 

l>eam ! 

The  fever'd  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 
Through    crowded    hospital    beholds   its 

stream : 

The  ruin'd  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam, 
The  debtor  wakes  to  thought  of  gyve  and 

jail, 
The  love-lorn  wretch  starts  from  tormenting 

dream, 
The  wakeful  mother,  by  the  glimmering 

pale, 

Trims  her  sick  infant's  couch,  and  soothes  his 
feeble  wail. 


1  Slabbed  by  Ja 


i  II.  la  Stirling  Castle 


II. 

At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirling  rang 
Witli  soldier-step  and  weapon-clang, 
While  drums,  wilh  rolling  note,  foretell 
Relief  to  weary  sentinel. 
Through  narrow  loop  and  casement  barr'd, 
The  sunbeams  sought  the  Court  of  Guard, 
And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air, 
Deaden'J  the  torches'  yellow  glare. 
In  comfortless  alliance  shone 
The  lights  through  arch  of  blacken'd  stone, 
And  show'd  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war, 
Faces  deform 'd  wilh  beard  and  scar. 
All  haggard  from  the  midnight  watch, 
And  lever'd  with  the  stern  debauch; 
Kor  the  oak  table's  massive  board, 
Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored. 
And  beakers  drain'd.  and  cups  overthrown, 
Show'd  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown. 
Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bench  ; 
Some  labour'd  still  their  thirst  to  quench ; 
Some,  chill'd  with  watching,  spread  their 

hands 

O'er  the  huge  chimney's  dying  brands, 
While  round  them,  or  beside  them  flung, 
At  every  step  their  harness  rung. 

in. 

These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 

Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 

Nor  own'd  the  patriarchal  claim 

Of  Chieftain  in  their  leader's  name  ; 

Adventurers  they,  from  far  who  roved. 

To  live  by  battle  which  they  loved.2 

There  the  Italian's  clouded  face, 

The  swarthy  Spaniard's  there  you  trace ; 

The  mountain-loving  Switzer  there 

More  freely  breathed  in  mountain-air; 

The  Fleming  there  despised  the  soil, 

That  paid  so  ill  the  labourer's  toil; 

Their  rolls  show'd  French  and  German  name ; 

And  merry  England's  exiles  came. 

To  share,  with  ill  conceal'd  disdain, 

Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gain. 

A 11  brave  in  amis,  well  train'd  to  wield 

The  heavy  halberd,  brand.'and  shield ; 

(n  camps  licentious,  wild,  and  bold ; 

In  pillage  fierce  and  uncontroH'd; 

And  now,  by  holytide  and  feast. 

From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV. 

They  held  debate  of  bloody  fray, 
Fought  'twixt  Loch  Katrine  anil  Achray. 
Fierce  was  their  speech,  and,  'mid  their  words, 
Their  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords; 
Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 
Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near, 
Whose  mangled  limbs,  and  bodies  gored. 
Bore  token  of  the  mountain  sword, 
Though,  neighbouring  to  the  Court  of  Guard. 
Their  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard  ; 
Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  joke, 
And  savage  oath  by  fury  spoke  ! — 
At  length  up-started  John  of  Brent, 
A  yeoman  from  the  hanks  of  Trent ; 
A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear, 
In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer 
In  host  a  hardy  mutineer. 
But  still  the  boldest  of  the  crew, 
When  deed  of  danger  was  to  do. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


193 


He  grieved,  that  day.  their  games  cut  short, 
And  niarr'd  the  dicer's  brawling  sport, 
And  shouted  loud,  "  Renew  the  bowl ! 
And,  while  a  merry  catch  I  troll. 
Let  each  the  buxom  chorus  l>ear, 
Like  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear." 


SOI/DIBR    S    SONG. 

Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule 
Laid  a  swinging  longcurse  on  the  bonny  brown. 

bowl, 
That  there's  wrath  and  despair  in  the  jolly 

black-jack. 

And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack ; 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby  !  otf  with  thy  liquor. 
Drink  upsees  '  out,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar ! 

Our  vicar  he  calls  it  damnation  to  sip 
The  ripe  ruddy  dew  of  a  woman's  dear  lip. 
Says,  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so 

sly, 
And  Apollyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry 

black  eye ; 

Yet  whoop,  Jack  !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker, 
Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the 

vicar! 

Our  vicar  thus  preaches  —  and  why  should  he 

not? 
for  the  dues  of  his  cure  are  the  placket  and 

pot; 

And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch. 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our  good  Mother 

Church. 

Yet  whoop,  bally-boys !  off  with  your  liquor. 
Sweet  Marjorie's  Ilie  word,  and  a  fig  for  the 

vicar  I 

VI. 

The  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 

Staid  in  mid-roar  the  merry  shout. 

A  soldier  to  the  portal  went. — 

"Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent; 

And. — beat  for  jubilee  the  drum  ! 

A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come." 

Bertram,  a  Fleming,  grey  and  scarr'd, 

Was  entering  now  the  Court  of  Guard, 

A  harper  with  him,  and  in  plaid 

All  muffled  close  a  mountain  maid. 

Who  backward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 

Of  the  loose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 

"  What  news  ?"  they  roar'd  : — "  I  only  know, 

From  noon  till  eve  we  fought  with  foe, 

As  wild  and  as  untameahle 

As  the  rude  mountains  where  they  dwell; 

On  both  sides  store  of  blood  is  lost, 

Nor  much  success  can  either  boast." — 

"  But  whence  thy  captives,  friend  ?  such  spoil 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil. 

Old  dost  thou  wax,  and  wars  grow  sharp ; 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp ! 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." — * 

VII. 

"No,  comrade  ;— No  such  fortune  mine. 
After  the  fight  these  sought  our  hue. 
That  aged  harper  and  the  girl. 
And,  having  audience  of  the  Earl, 

1  Bacchanalian  interjection,  borrowed  from  the  Dutch. 


Mar  bade  I  should  purvey  them  steed. 

And  bring  them  hitlierward  with  speed. 

Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm, 

For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm."— 

"  Hear  ye  his  boast  ?"  cried  John  of  Brent, 

Ever  to  strife  and  jangling  bent; 

"  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 

And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 

To  pay  the  forester  his  fee': 

I'll  have  my  share  howe'er  it  be. 

Despite  of  Moray,  Mar,  or  thee." 

Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood, 

And,  burning  in  his  vengeful  mood, 

Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife, 

Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger-knife ; 

But  Ellen  boldly  stepp'd  between, 

And  dropp'd  at  once  the  tartan  screen  :— 

So.  from  his  morning  cloud,  appears 

The  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 

The  savage  soldiery,  amazed. 

As  on  descended  angel  gazed ; 

Even  hardy  Brent,  abash'd  and  tamed, 

Stood  half  admiring,  half  ashamed. 

VIII. 

Boldly  she  spoke.—"  Soldiers,  attend ! 
My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend ; 
Cheer'd  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led, 
And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 
Not  from  the  valiant,  or  the  strong, 
Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong." — 
Aiiswer'd  De  Brent,  most  forward  still 
In  every  feat  or  good  or  ill, — 
"  I  shame  me  of  the  part  I  play'd : 
And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid  ! 
An  outlaw  1  by  forest  laws, 
And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause. 
Poor  Kose. — if  Hose  be  living  now,"— 
He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow. — 
"  Must  bear  such  age,  I  think,  as  thou. — 
Hear  ye,  my  mates ; — I  go  to  call 
The  Captain  of  our  watch  to  hall : 
There  lies  my  halherd  on  the  floor; 
And  he  that  steps  my  halberd  o'er, 
To  do  the  maid  injurious  part. 
My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart ! — 
Beware  loose  sj>eech,  or  jesting  rough  : 
Ye  all  know  John  de  Brent.    Enough." 

IX. 

Their  Captain  came,  a  gallant  young,— 

(Of  Tulhbardine's  house  he  sprung), 

.Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight ; 

Gay  was  his  mien,  his  humour  light, 

And,  though  by  courtesy  controll'd. 

Forward  his  speech,  his  bearing  bold. 

The  hish-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 

The  scanning  of  his  curious  look 

And  dauntless  eye ; — and  yet,  in  sooth, 

Young  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth ; 

But  Ellen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 

111  suited  to  the  garb  ami  scene, 

Might  lightly  bear  construction  strange, 

And  give  loose  f.«ncy  scope  to  range. 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fair  maid ! 

Come  ye  to  seek  a  champion's  aid. 

On  palfrey  white,  with  harper  hoar, 

Like  errant  ilamosel  of  yore  ? 

Does  thy  high  quest  a  knight  require, 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squire?" — 

Her-Jark  eye  flash'd  :— she  paused  and  sigh'd,- 

"  O  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride  ;— 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 


194 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  strife, 
A  supnliant  for  a  father's  life. 
I  crave  an  audience  of  the  King. 
KehoM,  to  back  my  suit,  a  ring. 
The  nival  pledge  of  grateful  claims. 
Given  by  the  Monarch  to  Fitz-James." 

X. 

The  signet-ring  young:  Lewis  took, 

With  deep  respect  and  alter'd  look  : 

And  said.—"  This  ring  our  duties  own ; 

And  pardon,  if  to  worth  unknown. 

In  semblance  mean  obscurely  veil'd, 

Lady,  in  aught  my  folly  fail'd. 

Soon  as  the  day  Hint's  wide  his  Rates, 

The  King  shall  know  what  suitor  waits. 

Please  you,  meanwhile,  in  fitting  bower 

Repose  you  till  his  waking  hour; 

Female  attendance  shall  obey 

Your  nest,  for  service  or  array. 

Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way." 

But.  ere  she  follow'd,  with  the  grace 

And  open  bounty  of  her  race. 

She  bade  her  slender  purse  l>e  shared 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

The  rest  with  thanks  their  guerdon  took; 

But.  Brent,  with  shy  and  awkward  look, 

On  the  reluctant  maiden's  hold 

Forced  bluntly  hack  the  proflfer'd  gold ; — 

"Forgive  a  ha'ughty  English  heart. 

And  O  forget  its  ruder  part ! 

The  vacant  purse  shall  be  my  share, 

Which  iu  my  barret-cap  I'll  bear, 

Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war, 

Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar." 

With  thanks— 'twas  all  she  could— the  maid 

His  rugged  courtesy  repaid. 

XI. 

When  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 
Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  lirent: — 
"  My  lady  safe.  O  let  your  grace 
Give  me'to  see  my  master's  face ! 
His  minstrel  I. — to  share  his  doom 
Bound  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 
Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires 
Waked  for  his  noble  house  their  lyres. 
Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 
But  prized  its  weal  above  their  own. 
With  the  Chiefs  birth  begins  our  care; 
Our  harp  must  soothe  the  infant  heir. 
Teach  the  youth  tales  of  light,  and  grace 
His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase ; 
In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep. 
We  cheer  his  board,  we  soothe  his  sleep 
Nor  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse — 
A  doleful  tribute  ! — o'er  his  hearse. 
Then  let  me  share  his  captive  lot; 
It  is  my  right — deny  it  not !" — 
'•  Little  we  reck,"  said  John  of  Brent, 
•'We  Southern  men,  of  long  descent ; 
Nor  wot.  we  how  a  name — a  word — 
Makes  clansmen  vassals  to  a  lord  : 
Vet  kind  my  noble  landlord's  part, — 
God  bless  the  house  of  Beaudesert! 
And,  but  I  loved  to  drive  the  deer. 
More  than  to  drive  the  labouring  steer, 
I  had  not  dwelt  an  outcast,  here. 
Tome,  good  old  Minstrel,  follow  me ; 
Thy  Lord  and  Chieftain  shalt  thou  see." 

XII. 

Then,  from  a  rusted  iron  hook, 
A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  look. 


Lighted  a  torch,  and  Allan  led 

Through  grated  arch  and  passage  dread. 

Portals  they  pass'd.  where,  deep  within, 

Spoke  prisoner's  moan,  and  fetters'  din  ; 

Through  rugged  vaul!s.  where,  loosely  stored, 

Lay  wheel,  and  axe.  and  headsman's  sword, 

And  many  an  hideous  engine  grim. 

For  wrenching  joint,  and  crashing  limb, 

By  artist  form'd,  who  deem'd  it  shame 

And  sin  to  give  their  work  a  name. 

They  halted  at  a  low-hrovv'd  porch, 

And' Brent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch. 

While  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  roll'd, 

And  made  the  bar  unhasp  its  hold. 

They  enter'd  :— 'twas  a  prison  room 

Of  stern  security  and  gloom, 

Yet  not  a  dungeon ;  for  the  day 

Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 

And  rude  and  antique  garniture 

Deck'd  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor; 

Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 

Deem'd  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 

"  Here,"  said  De  Brent,  "  thou  mayst  remain 

Till  the  Leech  visit  him  again. 

Strict  is  his  charge,  the  warders  tell. 

To  tend  the  noble  prisoner  well  " 

Retiring  then,  the  bolt  lie  knew, 

And  the  lock's  murmurs  growl'd  anew. 

Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowly  bed 

A  captive  feebly  raised  his  head  ; 

The  wondering  .Minstrel  look'd,  and  knew — 

Not  his  dear  lord,  but  Roderick  Dim  ! 

For,  come  from  where  Clan-Alpine  fought, 

They,  erring,  Ueem'd  the  Chief  he  sought. 

XIII. 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 
Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 
Deserted  by  her  gallant  band. 
Amid  the  breakers  lies  asirand, — 
So.  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dim ! 
And  oft  his  fever'd  limbs  he  threw 
In  toss  abrupt,  as  when  her  sides 
Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides, 
That  shake  her  frame  witli  ceaseless  beat, 
Yet  cannot  heave  her  from  her  seat ; — 
O !  how  unlike  her  course  at  sea  ! 
Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  lea  !— 
Soon  as  the  Minstrel  he  could  scan, 
"  What  of  thy  lady  ?— of  my  clan?— 
My  mother?— Doufflas?— tell  me  all? 
Have  they  been  ruin'd  in  my  fall  ? 
Ah,  yes!  or  wheretore  art  thou  here? 
Yet  speak. — speak  boldly.— do  not  fear." — 
(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew, 
Wiis  choked  with  grief  and  terror  too  )— 
"Who    fought  — who    fled?  — Old    man,    be 

brief;— 

Some  might— for  they  had  lost  their  Chief  — 
Who  basely  live  ? — w'ho  bravely  died  ?"— 
"O,  calm  thee.  Chief!'1  the  Minstrel  cried, 
'•  Ellen  is  safe  ;"— "  For  that,  thank  Heaver. !" — 
•'  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given  ;— 
The  Lady  Margaret,  too,  is  well ; 
And,  for  thy  clan. — on  field  or  fell, 
Has  never  harp  of  minstrel  told. 
Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold. 
Thy  stately  Pine  is  yet  unbent, 
Though  many  a  goodly  bough  is  rent." 

XIV. 

The  Chieftain  rear'd  his  form  on  high, 
And  fever's  fire  was  iu  his  eye; 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


195 


But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks 

Cheqiier'd'his  swarthy  brow  mid  cheeks. 

— -  Hark,  Minstrel !  1  have  heard  thee  play, 

With  measure  hold,  on  festal  day, 

In  yon  lone  isle,  .  .  .  again  where  ne'er 

Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear!  .  .  . 

That  stirring  air  that,  peals  on  high, 

O'er  Dermid's  raci;  our  victory. — 

Strike  it! '— and  I  lieu  (for  well  them  canst,) 

Free  from  thy  minstrel-spirit  glanced, 

Mm;?  me  the  pi«urs  of  the  fight. 

When  met.  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 

I'll  listen,  till  my  fancy  hears 

The  clang  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears  ! 

These  tral.es.  these  walls,  shall  vanish  then, 

For  the  fair  field  of  fislning  men, 

And  my  free  spirit  hurst  away. 

As  if  ii  soar'd  from  battle  fray." 

The  trembling  Bard  with  awe  ohey'd,— 

Slow  on  the  harp  his  hand  he  laid  ; 

But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight 

He  Witness 'd  from  the  mountain's  height, 

Wilh  what  old  Bertram  told  at  night, 

Awaken  d  the  full  power  of  sons, 

And  bore  him  in  career  along; — 

As  shallop  i.i'Ki  •  iM  on  river's  tide. 

That  slow  and  fearful  leaves  the  side, 

But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream. 

Unves  downward  jwiu  as  lightning's  beam. 

XV. 

BATTLE    Of    BEA.I,'    AN    DTJINE.1 

"  The  Minstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Benvenue, 
For.  ere  he  parted,  lie  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray — 
Where  shall  he  lind,  in  foreign  land, 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand ! 
There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  tern, 

Nor  ripple  oil  the  lake. 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne, 

The  deer  lias  sought  the  brake ; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still. 
So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder  cloud. 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shroud, 

I  irii  It-ili's  dislant  hill 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  sound 
That  mutters  deep  and  dread. 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measured  tread  ! 
Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  si  reams. 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lauce 

The  sun's  reiinui  beams? 
—  I  see  tlin  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  slar, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war. 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding;  far! 
To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife, 

Or  bard  of  martial  lay, 
'T  were  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life, 
One  glance  at  their  array ! 

XVI. 
"Their  light-arm'd  archers  far  and  near 

Survey 'd  the  tangled  ground, 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear, 

A  twilight  forest  frown'd, 

1  See  Appendil,  Nolf  3  W. 


Their  barbed  horsemen,  in  the  rear. 

The  stern  battalia  crown  d. 
No  cymbal  clash'd.  no  clarion  rang, 

Slill  were  the  pipe  and  drum; 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armour's  clang. 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb 
There  breal  tied  m  i  wind  their  cresi  s  to  shake, 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad  ; 
Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seem'd  to  quake, 

That  shadow'd  o'er  their  road 
Their  vaward  scouts  no  tidings  bring;, 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe, 
Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing. 

Save  when  they  stirr  d  the  roe  ; 
The  host  moves,  like  a  duep-sea  wave, 
Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 

High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow 
The  lake  is  pass'd.  and  now  they  gain 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain. 
Before  the  Trosarh's  rugged  jaws; 
And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 
While,  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen, 
Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

XVII. 

"  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 
Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell, 
As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  I  hat  fell, 
HHI|  peal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell ! 
Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven, 
Like  chalf  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

The  archerv  appear; 
For  life  !  for  life  !  their  plight  they  ply— 
And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high. 
And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 
Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 

Pursuers  and  pursued ; 
Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase, 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 

The  spearmen's  twilight  wood  ?  — 
'Down,    down,'    cried    Mar,    'your    lances 

down  ! 

Bear  hack  both  friend  and  foe !' — 
Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown, 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown. 

At  once  lay  levell'd  low  ; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side. 
The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide. — 
'  We'll  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

As  their  Tmchel  3  cows  the  game  ! 
They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer, 
We  'II  drive  them  back  as  tame.' — 

XVIII. 

"  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 
The  relics  of  the  archer  force. 
Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 
Right  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 
Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 

Each  targe  was  dark  below  ; 
And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 

They  huil'd  I  hem  on  the  foe. 
I  heard  the  lance's  shivering"  crash, 
As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash. 
I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang ! 
But  Moray  wheel'd  his  rearward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan-Alpine's  flank, 


196 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


— '  My  banner-man,  advance ! 
I  see.'  he  cried,  'their  column  shake. — 
Now,  gallants!  for  your  ladies' sake, 

Upon  them  with  the  lance  !' 
The  horsemen  dash'd  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom ; 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  tlieir  swords  are  out, 

They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 
Clan- Alpine's  best  are  Backward  borne — 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then ! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men ! 
And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 
Vamsh'd  the  Saxon's  dragging  spear, 

Vanish'd  the  mountain-sword. 
As  Bracklmu's  chasm,  so  black  and  steeo 

Receives  her  roaring  linn, 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

MICK  tuc  wild  whirlpool  in. 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass  : 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain, 
Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  tight  again. 

XIX. 

"  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din, 
That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within, 
—  Minstrel,  away,  the  work  of  fate 
Is  bearing  on :  its  issue  wait, 
Where  the  rude  Trosach's  dread  defile 
Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle. — 
Grey  Benvenue  1  soon  repass'd, 
Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 
The  sun  is  set ;  —  the  clouds  are  met, 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 
An  inky  view  of  vivid  blue 

To  the  deep  lake  has  given ; 
Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain-glen 
Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 
I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 
Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosach's  gorge, 
Mine  ear  hut  heard  the  sullen  sound, 
Which  like  an  earthquake  shook  the  ground, 
And  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  strife 
That  parts  not  but  witli  parting  life, 
Seeming,  to  minstrel  ear,  to  toll 
The  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 
Nearer  it  comes  —  the  dim-wood  glen 
The  mania!  flood  disgorged  agen, 

But  not  in  mingled  tide; 
The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North 
High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth 

And  overhang  its  side ; 
While  by  the  lake  below  appears 
The  dark'ning  cloud  of  Saxon  spears. 
At  weary  bay  each  slmtter'd  band. 
Eyeing  their  foemen.  siernly  stand : 
Their  banners  stream  like  tatter'd  sail, 
That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale, 
And  broken  arms  and  disarray 
Mark'd  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

XX. 

"Viewing  the  mountain's  ridge  askance, 
The  Saxon  stood  in  sullen  irance. 
Till  Moray  pointed  with  his  lance, 

And  cried  — '  Behold  yon  isle!  — 
See !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand, 
But  women  weak,  that  wring  the  hand : 
'Tis  there  of  yore  tlie  robber  band 
Their  booty  wont  to  pile ;  — 
My  pnrsu.  with  bonnet-pieces  store, 
To  him  wiil  swim  a  bow-shot  o'er. 
And  loose  a  shallop  from  the  shore. 


Lightly  we  '11  tame  the  war-wolf  then. 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  deu.' 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  spearman  sprung, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corslet  rung, 

He  plunged  him  in  the  wave  :  — 
All  saw  the  deed  —  the  purpose  knew, 
And  to  their  clamours  Benvenue 

A  mingled  echo  gave ; 
The  Saxons  shout,  their  mate  to  cheer, 
Tlie  helpless  females  scream  for  fear, 
And  yells  for  race  the  mountaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcry  riven, 
Pour'd  down  at  once  the  lowering  heaven; 
A  whirlwind  swept  Loch  Katrine's  breast, 
Her  billows  rear'd  their  snowy  crest. 
Well  for  the  swimmer  swell'd  they  high, 
To  mar  the  Highland  marksman's  eye ; 
For  round  him  shower'd,  'mid  rain  and  hail, 
The  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael. — 
In  vain  —  He  nears  the  isle  —  and  lo! 
His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  bow. 
—Just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  came. 
It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame;  — 
I  mark'd  Duncraggan's  widow'd  dame, 
Behind  an  oak  I  saw  her  stand, 
A  naked  dirk  gieam'd  m  her  hand : 
It  darken'd.  —  but,  amid  the  moan 
Of  waves,  1  heard  a  dving  groan : 
Another  flash  !  —  the  spearman  rloa's 
A  weltering  corse  beside  the  Ixiats, 
And  the  stern  matron  o'er  him  stood. 
Her  hand  and  dagger  streaming  blood. 

XXI. 

"  '  Revenge  !  revenge !'  the  Saxons  cried, 

The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  replied. 

Despite  the  elemental  rage, 

Again  they  hurried  to  engage ; 

But,  ere  they  closed  m  desperate  fight. 

Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  knight, 

Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag. 

Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-wliite  flag. 

Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 

Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 

While,  in  the  Monarch's  name,  afar 

An  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war, 

For  Bothwell's  lord,  and  Roderick  bold, 

Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold  " 

— But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand  ! — 

The  harp  escaped  the  Minstrel's  hand  ! — 

Oft  had  lie  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy 

How  Roderick  brook'd  his  minstrelsy: 

At  first,  the  Chieftain,  to  the  chime, 

With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time  ; 

That  motion  ceased. — yet  feeling  strong 

Varied  his  look  as  changed  the  song; 

At  length,  no  more  his  deafen'd  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear  , 

His  face  grows  sharp, — his  hands  are  clencli'd. 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart -strings  wrench 'd  ; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye 

Is  sternly  iix'd  on  vacancy ; 

Thus,  motionless,  and  moanless.  drew 

His  parting  breath,  stout  Koderick  Dhu! — 

Old  Allan-Bane  lookM  on  aghast, 

While  grim  and  still  his  spirit  pass'd : 

But  when  he  saw  that  life  was  fled. 

He  pour'd  his  walling  o'er  the  dead. 

XXII. 

I,  A.M  a  N  T. 

"  And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid. 
Thy  foeman's  dread,  thy  people's  aid. 
Breadalbane's  boast,  Clan-Alpine's  shade  ! 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE.                     197 

For  thee  shall  none  a  requiem  say  ? 

Or  mark  it  as  the  sunbeams  crawl, 

—  Kor  thee,  who  loved  the  minstrel's  lay,— 

Inch  after  inch,  along  the  wall. 

For  thee.  of  Bothwell's  house  the  stay, 

The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring. 

The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line, 

The  sable  rook  my  vespers  smir; 

E'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine, 

These  towers,  although  a  king's  they  be, 

I'll  wail  for  Alpine's  honour'd  Pine  ! 

Have  not  a  hall  of  joy  for  me. 

No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise. 

"  What  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill  ! 
What  shrieks  of  grief  shall  rend  yon  hill  ! 

And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes. 
Drive  the  fleet  deer  the  forest  through, 

What  tears  of  burning  rage  shall  thrill, 

And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew  ; 

When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  battles  done. 

A  blithesome  welcome  blithely  meet. 

Thy  fall  before  the  race  was  won, 

And  lay  my  trophies  at  her  feet. 

Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun  I 

While  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee,— 

There  breathes  not  clansmen  of  thy  line, 

That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me  !" 

But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine.  — 

O  woe  for  Alpine's  honour'd  Pine  I 

XXV. 

"  Sad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage  !  — 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage, 
The  prison'd  eagle  dies  for  rage. 
Brave  spirit,  do  not  scorn  my  strain  ! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again, 
Even  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain. 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine. 
And  mix  her  woe  and  tears  with  mine, 

The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said. 
The  list'ner  had  not  turn'd  her  head. 
It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear, 
When  light  a  footstep  struck  her  ear. 
And  Snowdoun's  graceful  knight  was  near. 
She  turn'd  the  hastier,  lest  again 
The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain.  — 
"  0  welcome,  brave  Fitz-James  !''  she  said  , 

To  wail  Clan-Alpine's  honour'd  Pine."  — 

"  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 
Pay  the  deep  debt"  "  O  say  not  so  ! 

To  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 

XXIII. 

Not  mine,  alas  !  the  boon  to  give, 

Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart, 
Remain'd  in  lordly  bower  apart. 

And  bid  thy  noble  father  live  ; 
I  can  hut  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid. 

Where  play'd  with  many-colour'd  gleams. 

With  Scotland's  king  thy  suit  to  aid. 

Through  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 
In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  full. 
And  lighten'd  up  a  tapestried  wall, 
And  for  her  use  a  menial  tram 

No  tyrant  he,  though  ire  and  pride 
May  lay  his  better  mood  aside. 
Come.  Kllen,  come  !  'tis  more  than  time, 
He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime." 

A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 

With  heating  heart,  and  bosom  wrung, 

The  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gny, 

As  to  a  brother's  arm  she  clung. 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  astray  ; 

Gently  he  dried  the  frilling  tear. 

Or,  if  she  look'd,  'twas  but  to  say. 

And  gently  whisper'd  hope  and  cheer; 

With  belter  omen  dawn'd  the  day 

Her  faltering  steps  half  led.  half  staid, 

In  that  lone  isle,  where  waved  on  high 

Through  gallery  fair,  and  high  arcade, 

The  dun-deer's  hide  for  canopy  : 

Till,  at,  his  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 

Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 

A  portal  arch  unfolded  wide. 

The  simple  meal  her  care  prepared. 

While  I.ufra,  crouching  by  her  side. 

XXVI. 

Her  station  claim'd  with  jealous  pride, 
And  Douglas,  bent  on  woodland  game, 
Spoke  of  the  chase  to  Malcolm  Grame, 
Whose  answer,  oft  at  random  made. 
The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betray'd.— 
Those  who  such  simple  joys  have  known. 
Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone. 
But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  her  head  ! 
The  window  seeks  with  cautious  tread. 
What  distant  music  has  the  power 
To  win  her  in  this  woful  hour? 
Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhungr 
Her  latticed  bower,  the  strain  was  sung 

Within  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light. 
A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright  ; 
It  glow'd  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight, 
As  when  the  setting  sun  has  given 
Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even. 
And  from  their  tissue,  fancy  frames 
Aerial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 
Still  by  Fitz-James  her  footing  staid 
A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made, 
Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised, 
And  fearful  round  the  presence  gazed  ; 
For  him  she  sought,  who  own'd  this  state, 
The  dreaded  prince  whose  will  was  fate. 

She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port, 

XXIV. 

Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court  ; 

LAY    OF   THK    IMPRISONED    HUNTSMAN. 

On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed. 
Then  turn'd  bewilder'd  and  amazed, 

"  My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood, 
My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 

For  all  stood  bare  ;  and,  in  the  room, 
Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plume. 

My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall. 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thrall. 
I  wish  I  were,  as  I  have  been. 

To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent  ; 
On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent  ; 
Midst  furs,  and  silks,  and  jewels  sheen, 

Hunting  the  hart  in  forest  green. 
With  bended  bow  and  bloodhound  free, 
For  that's  the  life  is  meet  for  me. 

He  stood,  in  simple  Lincoln  green, 
The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring. 
And  Snowdoun's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King  !  i 

I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time, 
From  yon  dull  steeple's  drowsy  chime, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

198 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXVII. 

As  wreath  of  snow,  on  mountain-breast, 
Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest, 
Poor  Ellen  glided  from  her  stay. 
And  at  the  Monarch's  feet  she  lay; 
No  word  her  choking  voice  commands. — 
She  show'd  the  ring,  she  clasp'd  her  hands. 

0  !  not  a  moment  could  he  brook. 

The  generous  prince,  that  suppliant  look! 

Gentlv  he  raised  her  :  and.  the  while. 

Check'd  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile; 

Graceful,  hut  grave,  her  brow  he  kiss'd, 

And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismiss'd  : — 

"  Yes.  Fair ;  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-James 

The  fealty  of  Scotland  claims. 

To  him  thy  woes,  thy  wishes,  bring; 

He  will  redeem  his  s:ignet  ring. 

Ask  nought  for  Douglas;  yester  even, 

His  prince  and  he  have  much  forgiven. 

Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue, 

I.  from  his  reliel  kinsmen,  wrong. 

We  wou!d  not,  to  Ihe  vulgar  crowd. 

Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamour  loud  ; 

Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  his  cause, 

Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 

1  stanch 'd  thy  father's  death-feud  stern. 
With  stout  De  Vaux  and  Grey  Giencairn; 
And  Bothwelrs  Lord  henceforth  we  own 
The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  Throne. 
But,  lovely  infidel,  how  now  ? 

What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow? 
Lord  James  of  Douglas,  lend  thine  aid  : 
Thou  must  confirm  this  doubting  maid." 

XXVIII. 

Then  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung. 
And  on  his  neck  his  daughter  hung. 
The  Monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour. 
The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  Power, — 
When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice, 
Arise,  sad  Virtue,  and  rejoice  ! 
Yet  won M  not  James  the  general  eye 
On  Nature's  raptures  long  should  pry; 
He  stepp'd  between — ''Nay,  Douglas,  nay, 
Steal  not  my  proselyte  away  ! 
The  riddle  'tis  my  right  to  read. 
That  brought,  this  happy  chance  to  speed. 
Yes.  Ellen,  when  disguised  I  stray 
In  life's  more  low  hut  happier  way. 
'Tis  under  name  which  veils  my  power, 
Nor  falsely  veils — for  Stirling's  tower 
Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims,' 
And  Normans  call  me  James  Kitz-James. 
Thus  watch  I  o'er  insulted  laws. 
Thus  learn  to  right  the  injured  cause." — 
Then,  in  a  tone  apart  and  low, — 
"  Ah,  lit'lr  traitress  !  none  must  know 
What  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought. 
What  vanity  full  dearly  bought, 
Join'd  to  Ihine  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drew 
My  speil-boiind  steps  to  Benvenoe. 
In  dangerous  hour,  and  all  but  gave 
Thy  Monarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive !" — 
Aloud  he  spoke— "Thou  still  dost  hold 
That  little  talisman  of  gold. 
Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz  James's  ring— 
What  seeks  "fair  Ellen  of  the  King?" 

XXIX. 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guess'd 
He  probed  the  weakness  of  her  breast ; 


1  See  Artwodix,  Nole  3  Z. 


But,  with  that  consciousness,  there  came 

A  lightening  of  her  fears  for  Graeme, 

And  more  she  deem'd  the  Monarch's  ire 

Kindled  'gainst  him.  who.  for  her  sire, 

Rebellions  broadsword  boldly  drew; 

And.  to  her  generous  feeling  true, 

She  craved  the  crane  of  Roderick  Dhu. 

"Forbear  thy  suit:— the  King  of  Kings 

Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings, 

1  know  his  heart.  1  know  his  hand. 

Have  shared  his  cheer,  and  proved  his  brand : — 

My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 

To  bid  Clan-Alpine's  Chieftain  live!— 

Hast  Ihou  no  other  boon  to  crave? 

No  other  captive  friend  to  save  ?" 

Blushing,  she  turn'd  her  from  the  King;, 

And  to  the  Douglas  gave  the  ring. 

As  if  she  wish'd  her  sue  to  speak 

The  suit  that  stam'd  her  glowing  cheek. — 

"  Nay.  then,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force. 

And  stubborn  justice  holds  her  course. — 

Malcolm,  come  forth  !" — And.  at  the  word. 

Down  kneel'd  the  Grame  to  Scotland's  Lord. 

"  For  thee,  rash  vouth,  no  suppliant  sues. 

From  thee  mav  Vengeance  claim  her  dues, 

Who,  nurtured  underneath  our  smile. 

Hast  paid  our  care  by  treacherous  wile. 

And  sought  amid  thy  faithful  clan, 

A  refuge  for  an  outlaw °d  man. 

Dishonouring  thus  thy  loyal  name. — 

Fetters  and  warder  for  the  Gneme  !" 

His  chain  of  gold  the  King  unstrung. 
The  links  o'er  Malcolm's  neck  he  flung,, 
Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  hand, 
And  laid  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand 


HARP  of  the  North,  farewell !   The  hills  grow 

dark. 

On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending ; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her 

spark. 

The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wend- 
ing. 

Resume  thy  wizard  elm  !  the  fountain  lending, 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy ; 

Thy  numbers  sweet  with  Nature's  vespers 

blending. 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea. 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and   hum   of 

housing  bee. 
Yet.  once  again,  farewell,  thou  Minstrel  harp ! 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway, 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp 

May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 
Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  life's  long 

way. 
Through  secret  woes  the  world  has  never 

known, 

When  on  the  weary  night  dawn'd  wearier  day 

And  bitterer  was  the  grief  devour'd  alone. 

That  I  o'erlive  such  woes.  Enchantress !  is 

thine  own. 
Hark  !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire. 

Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  has  waked  thy  string ! 
'Tis  now  a  seraph  hold,  with  touch  of  fire, 
'Tis  now  the  brush  of  fairy's  frolic  wing. 
Receding  now.  the  dying  numbers  ring 

Fainter  and  fainter  down  Ihe  rugged  dell. 
And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 
A  wandering  witch-noteofthedistant spell— 
And  now.  'tis  silent  all!  —  Enchantress,  fare 
thee  well ! 


APPENDIX  TO  THE   LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.     199 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

Ike  heights  of  Uftm  -  Per, 

Ami  roi/sed  thf  cnvun.  where,  '/is  toltl, 
A  giant  made  /us  den  of  old.— P.  160. 

Ua-var.  as  the  name  is  pronounced,  or  more 
properly  Uaip>>mnr,is  a  mountain  to  the  north- 
east, of  the  village  of  Callender  in  Meuteith, 
drriviiur  its  name,  which  signifies  the  great  den, 
or  cavern,  from  a  sort  of  retreat  among  the 
rocks  on  the  south  side.  said,  by  tradition,  to 
have  been  the  abode  of  a  riant.  In  latter 
times,  it  was  the  refuse  of  robbers  and  ban- 
ditti, who  have  been  only  extirpated  within  ; 
these  forty  or  fifly  years.  Strictly  sneakinx, 
this  stronghold  is  liot  a  cave,  as  the  name 
would  imply,  but  a  sort  of  small  enclosure,  or 
rec.ess.  surrounded  with  laree  rocks,  and  open  i 
above  head.  It  may  have  been  originally  tie-  j 
signed  as  a  toil  fcir  deeT,  who  might  get  in 
from  the  outside,  but  would  find  it  difficult  to  | 
return.  This  opinion  prevails  among  the  old 
sportsmen  and  deer-stalkers  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 


kind  proue  white  sometimes,  but  they  are  not 
of  the  kind  of  the  Greffiers  or  Bouxes,  which 
we  hatie  at  these  dayes."—  The  noble  Art  of 
Veiifrv.  or  Hunting,  trnHslalrd  and  collected  for 
tf'f  Use  of  all  Noblemen  and  Gentlemen.  Load. 
161L  4to,  p.  15. 


NOTE  B. 

Two  (tons  of  black  Saint  Huhfrl's  hrtrd, 
Unmatch'd  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed. 

P.  161. 

"The  hounds  which  we  rail  Saint  Hubert's 
hounds,  are  commonly  all  hlacke,  yet  neuer- ; 
theless,  the  race  is  so"  minded  at  these  days, ! 
that  we  find  them  of  all  colours.  These  are  , 
the  hounds  which  the  abbois  of  St.  Hubert! 
haue  always  kept  some  of  their  race  or  kind, 
in  honour  or  remembrance  of  the  saint,  which 
was  a  hunter  with  S.  Eustace.  Whereupon, 
we  mav  cmiceiue  that  (by  the  grace  of  God) 
all  good  huntsmen  shall  follow  them  into  pa-  • 
radise  To  return  vuto  my  former  purpose, 
this  kind  of  dogss  hath  bene  disperse.il  through 
the  counties  of  Henault,  Lorayne,  Flanders, 
and  Burgnyne.  They  are  mighty  of  body, 
neuerlheiess  their  ledges  are  low  and  short, 
likewise  they  are  not  swift,  although  they  be 
very  good  of  sent,  hunting  chaces  which  are 
farre  straggled,  fearing  neither  water  nor  cold, 
and  doe  more  conet  the  chaces  that  smell,  as 
foxes,  bore,  and  such  like,  than  other,  because 
they  find  themselves  neither  of  swiftness  nor 
courage  to  hunt  and  kill  the  chaces  that  are 
lighter  and  swifter.  The  bloodhounds  of  this 
colour  proue  good,  especially  those  that  are 
cole  blacke,  hut  t  made  no  great  account  to 
breed  on  them,  or  to  keepe  the  kind,  and  yet 
I  found  a  book  which,  a  hunter  did  dedicate  to 
a  prince  of  Lorayne,  which  seemed  to  loue 
hunting  much,  wherein  was  a  blason  which 
the  same  hunter  gaue  to  his  bloodhound, 
called  Souyllard,  which  was  white  : — 

SouylUrU  my  nirc.  a  bound  of  aiugutar  gr-icc.' 

Whereupon  we  lnay  presume  that  some  of  the 


NOTE  C. 

For  the  death-wound  and  flealh-Jinllon, 
Muster'd  his  breath,  his  mkmyard  drew. — P.  161. 

When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the  ancient 
hunter  had  the  perilous  task  of  going  in  upon, 
and  killing  or  disabling  the  desperate  nniiiml. 
At  certain  times  of  the  year  this  was  helil  par- 
ticularly dangerous,  a  wound  received  from  a 
stag's  horn  being  then  deemed  [wisotious,  and 
more  dangerous  than  one  from  the  tasks  of  a 
boar,  as  the  old  rhyme  testifies: — 

"  V  thou  bf  hart  with  hart,  it  brines  th«?  to  thy  bier. 
But  barber's  har.it  will  boar's  hurt  heal,  therefore  thou 
neural  not  fear." 

At  all  times,  however,  the  task  was  dangerous, 
and  to  be  adventured  upon  wisely  and  warily, 
either  by  Getting  behind  the  stag  while  he  was 
gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watching  an  op- 
portunity to  gallop  roundlv  in  upon  Mm.  and 
kill  him  with  the  sword.  See  many  directions 
to  this  purpose  in  the  Booke  of  Hunting,  chap. 
41.  Wilson  the  historian  has  recorded  a  pro- 
vidential escape  which  befell  him  in  this  ha- 
zardous sport,  while  a  youth  and  follower  of 
the  Earl  of  Kssex. 

"  Sir  Peter  Lee.  of  Lime,  in  Cheshire,  invited 
my  lord  one  summer  to  hunt  the  stagg.  And 
bavins  a  great  stags  in  chase,  and  many  gen- 
tlemen in  the  pursuit,  the  stagg  took  soyle. 
And  dirers,  whereof  I  was  one.  alighted,  and 
stood  with  swords  drawne,  to  have  a  cut  at 
him,  at  his  coming  out  of  the  water.  The 
staggs  there  being  wonderfully  fierce  and 
dangerous,  made  us  youths  more  eager  to  be 
at  him.  But  he  escaped  us  all.  And  it  was 
my  misfortune  to  be  hindered  of  my  coming 
nere  him,  the  way  being  sliperie,  by  a  falle; 
which  gave  occasion  to  some,  who  did  not 
know  mee.  to  speak  as  if  I  had  falne  for  feare. 
Which  being  told  mee,  I  left  the  stagg,  and 
followed  the  gentleman  who  [first]  spake  it. 
But  I  found  him  of  that  coid  temper,  that  it 
seems  his  words  made  an  escape  from  him :  as 
by  his  denial  and  repentance  it  appeared.  But 
this  made  mee  more  violent  in  the  pursuit  of 
the  stagg.  to  recover  my  reputation.  And  I 
happened  to  be  the  only  horseman  in,  when 
the  dogs  sett,  him  up  at  bay;  and  approaching 
near  him  on  horsebacke,  he  broke  through  the 
dogs,  and  run  at  mee,  and  tore  my  horse's  side 
with  his  homes,  close  by  my  thigh.  Then  1 
quitted  my  horse,  and  grew  more  cunning  (for 
the  doss  had  setle  him  up  againe),  stealing  be- 
hind him  with  my  sword,  and  cut  his  hum- 
strings;  and  then  got  upon  his  back,  and  cut 
his  throat e  ;  which,  as  I  was  doing,  the  com- 


200 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


pany  came  in,  and  blamed  my  rashness  for 
running  sucli  a  hazard." — Peck's  Desiderata 
Curiosa,  ii.  461. 


NOTE  D. 

And  now  to  issue  from  the  gltn, 
No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken, 
Unless  he  dimb,  with  footing  nice, 
A  far  projecting  precipice. — P.  1 62. 

Until  the  present  road  was  made  throueh 
the  romantic  pass  which  1  have  presumptu- 
ously attempted  to  describe  in  the  preceding 
stan/iis.  there  was  no  mode  of  issuing  out  of 
the  defile  caUed  the  Trosachs,  excepting  by  a 
sort  of  ladder,  composed  of  the  brunches  and 
roots  of  trees. 


NOTE  E. 

To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here. 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  ileer. — P.  162. 

The  clans  who  inhabited  the  romantic  re- 
gions in  I  he  neighbourhood  of  Loch  Katrine, 
were,  even  until  a  late  period,  much  addicted 
to  predatory  excursions  upon  their  Lowland 
neighbours.  "  III  former  times,  those  parts  of 
this  district,  which  are  situated  beyond  the 
Grampian  range,  were  rendered  almost  inac- 
cessible by  strong  harriers  of  rocks,  and  moun- 
tains, and  lakes.  It  was  a  border  country,  and. 
though  on  the  very  verge  of  the  low  country. 
it  was  almost  totally  sequestered  from  the 
world,  and,  as  it  were,  insulated  with  respect 
to  society.  'Tis  well  known  that  in  the  High- 
lands, it  was.  in  former  times,  accounted  not 
only  lawful,  but  honourable,  among  hostile 
tribes,  to  commit  depredations  on  one  another; 
and  these  habits  of  the  age  were  perhaps 
strengthened  in  this  district,  by  the  circum- 
stances which  have  been  mentioned.  It  bor- 
dered on  a  country,  the  inhabitants  of  which, 
while  they  were  richer,  were  less  warlike  than 
they,  and  widely  differenced  by  language  and 
manners." — Graham's  Sketches  of  Scenery  in 
Perthshire.  Edin.  1806.  p.  97.  The  reader  will 
therefore  be  pleased  to  remember,  that  the 
scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  a  time, 

"  When  looming  faulcis,  or  sweeping  of  a  glen. 
Had  still  buen  held  the  deed  of  gallant  men.  ** 


NOTE  F. 

A  grey-hair'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent, 
Was  on  the  vision' 'd  future  bent. — P.  163. 

If  force  of  evidence  could  authorise  us  to 
believe  facts  inconsistent  with  the  general 
laws  of  nature,  enough  might  be  produced  in 
favour  of  the  existence  of  the  Second-sight. 
It  is  called  in  Gaelic  Taishitarauoh,  from  Taish, 
an  unreal  or  shadowy  appearance  ;  and  those 
possessed  of  the  faculty  are  called  Taishatrin. 
which  may  be  aptly  translated  visionaries. 
Martin,  a  steady  believer  in  the  second-sight, 
gives  the  following  account  of  it : — 

"  The  second-sight  is  a  singular  faculty,  of 
seeing  an  otherwise  Invisible  object,  without 


any  previous  means  used  by  the  person  that 
used  it  for  that  end  :  the  vision  makes  such  a 
lively  impression  upon  the  seers,  that  they 
neither  see,  nor  think  of  anything  else,  except 
the  vision,  as  long  as  it  continues;  and  then 
they  appear  pensive  or  jovial,  according  to  the 
object  tliat  was  represented  to  them. 

"  At  the  sight  of  a  vision,  the  eyelids  of  the 
person  are  erected,  and  the  eyes  continue 
staring  until  the  object  vanish.  This  is  ob- 
vious to  others  who  are  by,  when  the  persons 
happen  to  see  a  vision,  and  occurred  more  than 
once  to  my  own  observation,  and  to  others 
that  were  with  me. 

"There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  ac- 
quaintance observed,  that  when  he  sees  a 
vision,  the  inner  part  of  his  eyelids  turns  so 
far  upwards,  that,  after  the  object  disappears. 
he  must  draw  them  down  with  his  fingers, 
and  sometimes  employ  oihers  to  draw  them 
down,  which  he  finds  to  be  the  much  easier 
way. 

"This  faculty  of  the  second-sight  does  not 
lineally  descend  in  a  family,  as  some  imagine, 
for  1  know  several  parents  who  are  endowed 
with  it.  but  their  children  not,  and  vice  versa  ; 
neither  is  it  acquired  by  any  previous  compact. 
And,  after  a  strict  enquiry,  1  could  never  learn 
that  this  faculty  was  communicable  any  way 
whatsoever. 

"The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time, 
nor  place  of  a  vision,  before  it  appears;  and 
the  same  object  is  often  seen  by  different  per- 
sons living  at  a  considerable  distance  from  one 
another.  The  true  way  of  judging  as  to  the 
time  and  circumstance  of  an  object,  is  by  ob- 
servation ;  for  several  persons  of  judgment, 
without  this  faculty,  are  more  capable  to  judge 
of  the  design  of  a  vision,  than  a  novice  that  is 
a  seer.  If  an  object  appear  in  the  day  or 
night,  it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  or  later  ac- 
cordingly. 

"If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  the  morning 
(which  is  not  frequent),  it  will  be  accomplished 
in  a  few  hours  afterwards.  If  at  noon,  it  will 
commonly  be  accomplished  that  very  day.  If 
in  the  evening,  perhaps  that  night ;  if  after 
candles  be  lighted,  it  will  be  accomplished 
that  night:  the  later  always  in  accomplish- 
ment, by  weeks,  months,  and  sometimes 
years,  according  to  the  time  of  night  the  vision 
is  seen. 

'•  When  a  shroud  is  perceived  about  one,  it 
is  a  sure  prognostic  of  death ;  the  lime  is 
judged  according  to  the  height  of  it  about  the 

Serson  ;  for  if  it  is  seen  above  the  middle, 
eath  is  not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of  a 
year,  and  perhaps  some  months  longer ;  and 
as  it  is  frequently  seen  to  ascend  higher  to- 
wards the  head,  death  is  concluded  to  be  at 
hand  within  a  few  daySj  if  not  hours,  as  daily 
experience  confirms.  £xamp!es  of  this  kind 
were  shown  me,  when  the  persons  of  whom 
the  observations  were  then  made,  enjoyed  per- 
fect health. 

"One  instance  was  lately  foretold  by  a  seer, 
that  was  a  novice,  concerning  the  death  of  one 
of  my  acquaintance ;  this  was  communicated 
to  a  few  only,  and  with  great  confidence ;  I 
being  one  of  the  number,  did  not  in  the  least 
regard  it,  until  the  death  of  the  person,  about 
the  time  foretold,  did  confirm  me  of  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  prediction.  This  novice  men- 
tioned above,  is  now  a  skilful  seer,  as  appears 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  201 


from  many  late  instances ;  he  lives  in  the  pa- 
rish of  St.  Mary's,  the  most  northern  in  M<ie. 

"  If  a  woman  is  seen  standing  at  a  man's  left 
hand,  it  is  a  presage  that  she  will  he  his  wife, 
whether  they  be  married  to  others,  or  unmar- 
ried at  the  time  of  the  apparition. 

"If  two  or  three  women  are  seen  at  once 
near  a  man's  left  hand,  she  that  is  next  him 
will  undoubtedly  be  his  wife  first,  and  so  on, 
whether  all  three,  or  the  man,  be  single  or 
married  at  the  time  of  the  vision  or  not;  of 
which  there  are  several  late  instances  among 
those  of  my  acquaintance.  It  is  an  ordinary 
tiling  for  them  to  see  a  man  that  is  to  come  to 
the  house  shortly  after :  and  if  he  is  not  of  the 
seer's  acquaintance,  yet  he  gives  such  a  lively 
description  of  his  stature,  complexion,  habit, 
&c.  that  upon  his  arrival  he  answers  the  cha- 
racter given  him  in  all  respects. 

"  If  the  person  so  appearing  be  one  of  the 
seer's  acquaintance,  he  will  tell  his  name,  as 
well  as  other  particulars ;  and  lie  can  tell  by 
his  countenance  whether  he  comes  in  a  good 
or  bad  humour. 

"I  have  been  seen  thus  myself  by  seers  of 
both  sexes,  at  some  hundred  miles'  distance ; 
some  that  saw  me  in  this  manner  had  never 
seen  me  personally,  and  it  happened  according 
to  their  vision,  without  any  previous  design  of 
mine  to  go  lo  those  places,  my  coming  there 
being  purely  accidental. 

"  It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gar- 
dens, and  trees,  in  places  void  of  all  three; 
and  this  in  progress  of  time  uses  to  be.  accom- 
plished :  as  at  Mogsliot,  in  the  Isle  of  Skie, 
where  there  were  but  a  few  sorry  cowhouses, 
liiati-iii  d  with  straw,  yet  in  a  very  few  years 
after,  the  vision,  which  appeared  often,  was 
accomplished,  by  the  building  of  several  good 
houses  on  the  very  spot  represented  by  tlie 
seers,  and  by  the  planting  of  orchards  there. 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  fall  upon  one's  arm 
or  breast,  is  a  forerunner  of  a  dead  child  to  be 
seen  in  the  arms  of  those  persons ;  of  which 
there  are  several  fresh  instances. 

"  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the  time  of  one's 
sitting  in  it,  is  a  presage  of  that  person's  death 
soon  alter. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  ob- 
tained the  second-sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the 
night-time  without  doors,  and  he  bo  near  afire, 
he  presently  falls  into  a  swoon. 

"  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd 
of  people,  having  a  corpse  which  they  carry 
along  with  them  ;  and  after  such  visions,  the 
seers  come  in  sweating,  and  describe  the  peo- 
ple that  appeared :  if  there  be  any  of  their 
acquaintance  among  'em,  they  give  an  account 
of  their  names,  as  also  of  the  bearers,  but  they 
know  nothing  concerning  the  corpse. 

"All  those  who  have  the  second-sight  do 
not  always  see  these  visions  at  once,  though 
they  be  together  at  the  time.  But  if  one  wlio 
has  this  faculty,  designedly  touch  his  fellow- 
seer  at  the  instant  of  a  vision's  appearing, 
then  the  second  sees  it  as  well  as  the  first; 
and  this  is  sometimes  discerned  by  those  that 
are  near  them  on  such  occasions."  —  Martin's 
Description  of  the  Western  Islands,  1716,  Svo,  p. 
300,  et  seq. 

To  these  particulars  innumerable  examples 
might  be  added,  all  attested  by  grave  and  cre- 
dible authors.  But,  in  despite  of  evidence 
which  neither  Bacon,  Boyle,  nor  Johnson  were 


able  to  resist,  the  Taisch,  with  all  its  visionary 
properties,  seems  to  be  now  universally  aban- 
doned to  the  use  of  poetry.  The  exquisitely 
beautiful  poem  of  Lochiel  will  at  once  occur 
to  the  recollection  of  every  reader. 


NOTE  G. 

Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour. 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower. — P.  161. 

The  Celtic  chieftains,  whose  lives  were  con- 
tinually exposed  to  peril,  had  usually,  in  the 
most  retired  spot  of  their  domains,  some  place 
of  retreat  for  the  hour  of  necessity,  which,  as 
circumstances  would  admit,  was  a  tower,  a 
cavern,  or  a  rustic  hut,  in  a  strong  and  se- 
cluded situation.  One  of  these  last  gave  re- 
fuge to  the  unfortunate  Charles  Edward,  in 
his  perilous  wanderings  after  the  battle  of 
Culloden. 

"  It  was  situated  in  the  face  of  a  very  rough, 
high,  and  rocky  mountain,  called  Letternilichk, 
still  a  part  of  Benalder,  full  of  great  stones 
and  crevices,  and  some  scattered  wood  inter- 
spersed. The  habitation  called  the  Cage,  in 
the  face  of  that  mountain,  was  within  a  small 
thick  bush  of  wood.  There  were  first  some 
rows  of  trees  laid  down,  in  order  to  level  the 
floor  for  a  habitation ;  and  as  the  place  wiis 
steep,  this  raised  the  lower  side  to  an  equal 
height  with  the  other  :  and  these  trees,  in  the 
way  of  joists  or  planks,  were  levelled  with 
earth  and  gravel.  There  were  betwixt  the 
trees,  growing  naturally  on  their  own  roots, 
some  stakes  fixed  in  the  earth,  which,  with 
the  trees,  were  interwoven  with  ropes,  made 
of  heath  and  birch  twigs,  up  to  the  top  of  the 
Cage,  it  being  of  a  round  or  rather  oval  shape; 
and  the  whole  thatched  and  covered  over 
with  fog.  The  whole  fabric  hung,  as  it  were, 
by  a  large  tree,  which  reclined  from  the  one 
end,  all  along  the  roof,  to  the  other,  and  which 
gave  it  the  name  of  the  Cage ;  and  by  chance 
there  happened  to  be  two  stones  at  a  small 
distance  from  one  another,  in  the  side  next 
the  precipice,  resembling  the  pillars  of  a  chim- 
ney, where  the  fire  was  placed.  The  smoke 
had  its  vent  out  here,  all  along  the  fall  of  the 
rock,  which  was  so  much  of  the  same  colour, 
that  one  could  discover  no  difference  in  the 
clearest  day."— Home's  History  of  the  Rebellion, 
Loud.  1802,  4to,  p.  381. 


NOTE  H. 

My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 
Of  Ferragus  or  Ascabart.  — P.  164. 
These  two  sons  of  Anak  flourished  in  ro- 
mantic fable.    The  first  is  well  known  to  the 
admirers  of  Ariosto,  by  the  name  of  Ferrau. 
He  was  an  antagonist  of  Orlando,  and  was  at 
length  slain  by  him  in  single  combat.    There 
is  a  romance  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.,  in  which 
Ferragus  is  thus  described  :  — 

"On  a  day  come  tiding 

Unto  Charla  the  King, 
Al  of  a  doughti  knight 


202                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Of  Babiloun  the  souilan 
Thider  him  sende  Ran, 

NOTE  K. 

With  King  Charts  to  flght. 

-1-1'!      ft 

£o  hard  be  was  to  fond  1 
'!       1  un  dint  of  r>rond 

FilCd  up  the  symphony  between.  —  P.  164. 

No  grened  him,  aplight. 
He  h  idde  twcr.ti  mrn  strength* 

"They''  (meaninErthe  Hishlanders)  "deli?lit 

Au.i  forli  fet  of  lencthe. 

much   in   musicke,  hut  chiefly  in  harps  and 

Thilke  paiinni  hede,3 

clairschoes  of  their  own  fttshinn.    The  strinss 

And  fonr  feet  iu  the  face, 
Y-meteii  3  in  ibe  place. 

of  the  clairschoes  are  made  of  brass  wire,  ami 

And  flneen  iu  brede  4 

the  strings  of  the  hnrps,  of  sinews;  which 

strings  they  strike  either  with  their  navies. 

His  hrow,  as  hri-tltf  wore  ;  6 

Krowins  Ions,  or  else  with  an  instrument  ap- 

He that  it  seighe  it  sede 
He  Inked  lotheliehe, 

pointed  for  that  use.     They  take  great  plea- 

And wan  swart  C  as  any  niche. 

sure  to  decke  their  harps  and  clairschoes  with 

silver  and   precious  stones;   the  poore  ones 

RumiiHct  of  Chfrltmaine,  1.  461-464. 

that  cannot    attayne   hereunto,  decke  them 

Auchinledt  MS.,  folio  365. 

with  christall.    Tiievsin?  verses  prettily  com- 

Ascapart, or  Ascahart,  makes  a  verv  mate- 
ri:il  figure  in  the  History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton, 
by  whom  he  was  conquered.     His  effigies  may 
!>e  seen  guarding  one  side  of  a  gate  at  Sotith- 
.impton,  while  the  other  is  occupied  by  Sir 
Bevis  himself.    The  dimensions  of  Ascahart 
were  little  inferior  to  those  of  Ferragus,  if  the 
following  description  be  correct  :  — 

pound,  contaynin?  (for  the  most  part)  prayses 
of  valiant,  men      There  is  not  almost  any  other 
argument,  whereof  their  rhymes  intreat.   '1  hey 
speak  the  ancient  French  languaje  altered  a 
little."1*  —  "T!ie  harp  and  clairschoes  are  now 
only  heard  of  in  the  Highlands  in  ancient  soni?. 
At  what  period  these  instruments  ceased  to  he  ; 
used,  is  not  on  record;  and  tradition  is  silent 
on  this  head.     But,  as  Irish  harriers  occasion- 

"Thev mt-tter/with  a  eeannt. 

ally  visited  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles 

\Vilh  a  lothfliche  semblatint. 

till'  latelv.  the  harp  mislit  have  been  extant  so 

Rome?  Ihretti  tote  long. 

lute  as  the  middle  of  the  last  century.    Thus 

His  herd  wan  not  gret  and  rowe  :  6 

far  \ve  know,  that  from  remote  times  down  to 

A  .pare  of  a  fol  betweene  is9  browe  ; 

the  present,  harpers  were  received  as  wel- 

Hi» clob  was,  to  yeue  10  a  strok, 
A  lite  bodi  of  an  oak.  11 

come  pnests,  particularly  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland  ;  and  so  late  as  the  latter  end  of  the 

"  Ben**  hadde  of  him  wonder  gret. 

sixteenth  century,  as  appears  by  the  above 

And  afkede  him  what  a  he!,  12 

quotation,  t  he  harp  was  in  common  use  amon? 

Were  are  rneche  14  ase  was  he. 

the  natives  of  the  Western  isles.     How  it  hap- 

• Me  name,'  a  sedr,  15  '  i>  A«copard, 

pened  that  the  noisy  and  unharmonmus  hag- 

pipe  banished  the  soft  and  expressive  harp,  we 

For  Co  brine  this  quene  ayen. 

cannot  say;  hut  certain  it  is.  that  the  hagpipe 

And  the  Beues  her  of-Blen.  10 

is  now  the  only  instrument  that  obtains  tmi- 

And  was  i-driae  ont  of  me  18  tonn 

versally  in  the  Highland  districts.  "  —  Campbell's 

Al  for  that  ich  was  so  lite.  19 

Journey  through  North  Britain.     Land.  1808 

4to.  I.  175. 

Jch  was  so  lite  and  so  merueh,  20 
Eneri  man  me  clepede  dwerugh,  21 

Mr.  Gunn.  of  Edinburgh,  has  lately  published 
a  curious   Essay   upon  the   Harp  and   Harp 

I  wax<mor22  irh"umle"rstonde. 

Music  of  the   Highlands  of  Scotland.     That 

And  stranger  than  other  tene  ;  33 

the  instrument  was  once  in  common  use  there, 

And  that  »chel  on  us  be  sent.'  " 
Sir  Brtit  of  Hamptn,  1.  35M. 
A*chi*Jec*  US.,  fol.  169. 

is  most   certain.     Cleliand  numbers  an   ac- 
quaintance with  it  among  the  few  accomplish- 
ments which  his  satire  allows  to  the  High- 

landers :  — 

"  In  nothing  they  're  accounted  sharp. 

Except  in  bagpipe  or  in  harp." 

NOTE  I. 

Though  all  tmask'd  his  birth  and  name.  —  P.  164. 

The  Highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality  to 

NOTE  L. 

a  punctilious  excess,  are  said  to  have  consi- 

dered it  as  churlish,  to  ask  a  stranger  his 

Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  oref. 

name  or  lineage,  before  he  had  taken  refresh- 

P. 166. 

ment.     Feuds  were  so  frequent  among  them, 
that  a  contrary  rule  would  in  many  cases  have 
produced  the  discovery  of  some  circumstance, 
which  might  have  excluded  the  guest  from  the 
benefit  of  the  assistance  he  stood  in  need  of. 

That  Highland  chieftains,  to  a  late  period, 
retained  in  their  service  the  bard,  as  a  family 
officer,  admits  of  very  easy  proof.    The  author 
of  the  Letters  from  the  North  of  Scotland,  an 
officer  of  engineers,  quartered   at   Inverness 

1  Found,  proved.  —3  Had.  —3  Measured.—  4  Breadth.— 
5  Were.-6  Black.—  7  Folly.—  6  Roneh.-»  Hi«  —  It)  (five. 
11  The  stem  of  a  lil'le  oak  tree.—  13  He  hight,  was  called. 

about  1720,  who  certainly  cannot  be  deemed  a 
favourable  witness,  gives  the   following  ac- 
count of  the  office,  and  of  a  bard  whom  he 

13  If  —  UUrrat  —18  He  said  —  IS  SUv  --17  His  —16  My. 

heard  exercise  his  talent  of  recitation  :  —  "The 

19  Liltle.  —  30  Lean.  —  31  Dwarf.  —  23  Greater,  taller.  — 

bard   is  skilled  in  the  genealogy  of  all  the 

33  Ten. 
;       24  Vide  "  Certavne  Matters  concerning   the  Realme  of 

Highland  families,  sometimes  preceptor  to  the 

Scotland,  fee.  as  'they  were  Aniio  Domini  1597.     Load. 

young  laird,  celebrates  in  Irish  verse  the  ori- 

1603."    410. 

ginal  of  the  tribe,  the  famous  warlike  actions 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  203 


of  the  successive  heads,  and  sings  his  own 
ly ricks  as  ail  opiate  to  the  chief  when  indis- 
posed for  sleep;  but.  poels  are  not  equally 
esteemed  :md  honoured  in  all  countries.  I 
happened  to  he  a  witness  of  the  dishonour 
dune  to  the  muse  at  the  house  of  one  of  the 
chiefs,  where  two  of  these  hards  were  set  at  a 
pood  distance,  at  the  lower  end  of  a  Ions  tahle, 
with  a  parcel  of  Highlanden  of  no  extraordi- 
nary appearance,  over  a  cup  of  ale.  Poor  in- 
spiration! They  were  not  asked  to  drink  a 
glass  of  wine  at  our  tahle,  though  the  whole 
company  consisted  only  of  the  yreat  man,  one 
of  h;s  near  relations,  and  myself.  After  some 
little  time,  the  chief  ordered  one  of  them  to 
sins;  me  a  Highland  song.  The  hard  readily 
obeyed,  and  with  a  hoarse  voice,  and  in  a  tune 
of  few  various  notes,  began,  as  I  was  told,  one 
of  his  own  lyrifks:  and  when  he  had  pro- 
ceeded to  the  fourth  or  fifth  stanza,  I  per- 
ceived, by  the  names  of  several  persons,  glens, 
and  mountains,  which  I  had  known  or  heard 
of  before,  that  it  was  an  account  of  some  clan 
battle.  But  in  his  going  on.  the  chief  (who 
piques  himself  upon  his  school-learning),  at 
some  particular  passage,  hid  him  cease,  and 
cried  out,  'There's  nothing  like  that  in  Virgil 
or  Homer.'  I  bowed,  and  told  him  I  believed 
so.  This  you  may  believe  was  very  edifying 
and  delightful."— Letters,  ii.  167. 


NOTE  M. 

The  Graeme.  —  P.  166. 

The  ancient  and  powerful  family  of  Graham 
(which,  for  metrical  reasons,  is  here  spelt  after 
the  Scottish  pronunciation)  held  extensive 
possessions  in  the  counties  of  Dumbarton  and 
Stirling.  Few  families  can  boast  of  more  his- 
toricul  renown,  having  claim  to  three  of  the 
most  remarkable  diameters  in  the  Scottish 
annals  Sir  John  the  Gneme.  the  faithful  and 
undaunted  partaker  of  the  labours  and  patri- 
otic warfare  of  Wallace,  fell  in  the  unfortunate 
field  of  Kalkirk,  in  1298  The  celebrated  Mar- 
quis of  Montrose,  in  whom  De  Ketz  saw  real- 
ized his  abstract  idea  of  the  heroes  of  anti- 
quity, was  the  second  of  these  worthies.  And, 
notwithstanding  the  seventy  of  his  temper, 
and  the  rigour  with  which  he  executed  the 
oppressive  mandates  of  the  princes  whom  he 
served.  I  do  not,  hesitate  to  name  as  a  third, 
John  Graeme  of  Claverhouse,  Viscount  of  Dun- 
dee, whose  heroic  death  in  the  arms  of  victory 
may  be  allowed  to  cancel  the  memory  of  his 
cruelty  to  the  non-conformists,  during  the 
reigns  of  Charles  II.  and  James  II. 


character,  announced  future  events  by  its 
spontaneous  sound.  "  But  labouring  once  in 
these  mechanic  arts  for  a  devout  matrone  that 
had  sett  him  on  work,  his  violl,  that  hung  by 
him  on  the  wall,  of  iis  own  accord,  without 
anie  man's  helpe,  distinctly  sounded  this  an- 
thime  :—G  indent  in  calis  animee  sanctorum  qut 
Christi  vestigia  sunt  secuti ;  et  qma  i>ro  eius 
amore  sitnjumem  svum  fuderunt.  tdro  cum 
Cknslo  tiawlmt  cEti-rnum.  Whereat  all  the 
companie  being  much  astonished,  turned  their 
eyes  from  beholding  him  working,  to  looke  on 
that,  strange  accident.'1  *  *  *  "  Not  long  afier, 
manie  of  the  court  that  hitherunto  had  borne 
a  kind  of  fayned  friendship  towards  him.  began 
.  now  greatly  to  envie  at  his  progress  ami  rising 
in  soodnes.  using  manie  crooked,  backbiting 
;  meanes  to  diffame  his  venues  with  the  black 
I  m.-iskes  of  hypocrisie  And  the  better  to  au- 
i  thorize  their  caiumnie,  they  brought  in  this 
!  that  happened  in  the  violl,  affirming  it  to  have 
i  been  done  by  art  magick.  What  more  ?  This 
;  wicked  rumour  encreased  dayly,  till  the  king 
and  others  of  the  nobilitie  taking  hould  there- 
of, Dunstan  grew  odious  in  their  sight.  There- 
;  fore  he  resolued  to  leaue  the  court  and  go  to 
Elphegus.  surnamed  the  Bituld,  then  Bishop 
:  of  Winchester,  who  was  his  cozen.  Which 
his  enemies  understanding,  they  lavd  wayt  for 
him  in  the  way.  and  hailing  throw'ne  him  off 
his  horse,  beate  him.  and  dragged  him  in  the 
durt  in  the  most  miserable  manner,  meaning 
to  have  slaine  him,  had  not  a  companie  of 
mastiue  dogges  that  came  unlookt  uppon  them 
defended  and  redeemed  him  from  their  cruel- 
tie  When  with  sorrow  he  was  ashamed  to 
see  dogges  more  humane  than  they.  And 
giuing  thankes  to  Almightie  God,  he  sensibly 
againe  perceiued  that  the  tunes  of  his  violl 
hail  giueu  him  a  warning  of  future  accidents." 
—  Flower  of  the  Lives  of  the  most  rtnowneil 
Saincts  of  England.  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  by 
the  R  Father  Hicrome  Porter.  Doway,  1632, 
4to.  tome  i  p  438. 

The  same  supernatural  circumstance  is  al- 
luded to  by  the  anonymous  author  of  "Grim, 
the  Collier  of  Croydon." 

11  [Duntlan't  harp  fount/*  on  the  wall  ] 
"  Foral.     Hark,  hark,  ray  lord»,  thr  holy  abtwt'8  harp 
Sounds  by  ilKlf  m  hanging  on  the  wall ! 
"  Dmr.an.     UuhallowM  man,  Ihat   »rorn'«t  the  «acred 


NOTE  N. 

This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  stmay'd. 
P.  167. 

I  am  not  prepared  to  show  that  Saint  Modan 
was  a  performer  on  the  harp  It  was.  how- 
ever, no  iinsain'ly  accomplishment :  for  Saint 
Dunstan  certainly  did  play  upon  that  instru- 
ment, winch  retaining,  as  was  natural,  a  por- 
tion of  the  sanctity  attached  to  its  master's 


Hark,  how  the  t 
Sounds  hcavenl' 
To  u-atify  Dunsi 
And  prove  Ihy  a 


H  hand, 


NOTE  0. 

Ere  Doualnsses,  to  ruin  driven. 

Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven  — P.  167. 

The  downfall  of  the  Douglasses  of  the  house 
of  Angus  during  the  reign  of  James  V.  is  the 
event  alluded  to  in  the  text.  The  Earl  of 
Angus,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  married 
I  he  queen  dowager,  and  availed  himself  of 
the  right  which  he  thus  acquired,  as  well  as 
of  his  expensive  power,  to  retain  the  king  in  a 
sort  or  lutelage,  which  approached  very  near 
lo captivity.  Several  open  attempts  were  made 
to  rescue  James  from  this  thraldom,  with 
which  he  was  well  known  to  be  deeply  dis- 


204 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


gusted  ;  but  the  valour  of  the  Douglasses  and    ardescente  tra,  mendacii  probro  lacessitus,  ob- 
their  allies  gave  them  the  victory  in  every  isc&numosculvmlibenusrttorquibat ;  Bolhvrlms 


mttu  tor- 
rlus  forlis- 


hanc  contumetiam  taatus  Mil.  sed  inaentum 
irarum  molem  animo  conctpit.  Utrmque  postri- 
die.  Edinburgi  cimventum.  tolidfm  nnmera  comi- 
libus  armatis,  prcesidn  causa,  et  acriter  pugna- 
tum  esl ;  cceteris  amtcis  et  clitntibu 
penttbiis,  out  vi  abslerntis.  ijise  Slut 
sime  dimicat ;  tandem  excvsso  uladio  a  Bothvelio, 
Scythica  fentate  transjoditur,  sine  rujusquam 
misericordia ;  hobuit  ilaque  quern  debiat  exitum. 
Diynus  erat  Stuartus  qui  pateretur ;  Bothvelita 
QUI  faceret.  Vulgus  sanguinem  sanguii 
cabit,  et  horum  cruore  innocitorum 
egregie  parentalum. " — Johnstoni  Historic  Rervm 
Britannicarum,  ab  anno  1572  ad  annum  1628. 
Amslelodami,  1655,  fol.  p.  135. 


:  prcedi- 
nwbus 


conflict.  At  length  the  king,  while  residing  at 
Falkland,  contrived  to  escape  by  night  out  of 
his  own  court  and  palace,  and  rode  full  speed 
to  Stirling  (  sstle.  where  the  governor,  who 
was  of  the  opposite  faction,  joyfully  received 
him.  Being  thus  at  liberty,  James  speedily 
summoned  around  him  such  peers  as  he  knew 
to  be  most  inimical  to  the  domination  of  An- 
gus— and  laid  his  complaint  before  them,  says 
Pitscottie. "  with  great  lamentations  ;  showing 
to  them  how  he  was  holden  in  subjection,  tliir 
years  bygone,  by  the  Earl  of  Angus  and  his 
km  and  friends,  who  oppressed  the  whole 
country  and  spoiled  it,  under  the  pretence 
of  justice  and  his  authority:  and  had  slain 
many  of  his  lieges,  kinsmen,  and  friends,  be- 
cause they  would  have  had  it  mended  at  their 
hands,  and  put  him  at  liberty,  as  he  ought  to 
have  been,  at  the  counsel  of  his  whole  lords, 
and  not  have  been  subjected  and  corrected 
with  no  particular  men,  by  the  rest  of  his  no- 
bles. Therefore,  said  he,  I  desire,  my  lords, 
that  I  may  be  satisfied  of  the  said  earl,  his 
kin,  and  friends;  for  I  avow  that  Scotland 
shall  not  hold  us  both  while  [i.  e.  till]  I  be  re- 
venged on  him  and  his. 

•'  1'he  lords,  hearing  the  king's  complaint 
and  lamentation,  and  also  the  great  rage,  fury, 
and  malice  that  he  bore  toward  the  Earl  of 
Angus,  his  kin  and  friends,  they  concluded  all, 
and  thought  it  best  that  he  should  be  sum- 
moned to  underly  the  law;  if  he  found  no 
caution,  nor  yet  compear  himself,  that  he 
should  be  put  to  the  horn,  with  all  his  kin  and 
fnends,  so  many  as  were  contained  in  the 
letters.  And  farther,  the  lords  ordained,  by 
advice  of  his  majesty,  that  his  brother  and 
friends  should  be  summoned  to  find  caution  to 
uuderly  the  law  within  a  certain  day.  or  else 
be  put  to  the  horn.  But  the  earl  appeared 
not,  nor  none  for  him  ;  and  so  he  was  put  to 
the  horn,  with  all  his  kin  and  friends  :  so  many 
as  were  contained  in  the  summons  that  com- 
peared  not  were  banished,  and  holden  traitors 
to  the  king." 

NOTE  P. 

In  Holy-Rood  a  Knight  he  ileie. — P.  167. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  occur- 
rence in  the  Court  of  Scotland ;  nay,  the  pre- 
sence of  the  sovereign  himself  scarcely  re- 
strained the  ferocious  and  inveterate  feuds 
which  were  the  perpetual  source  of  bloodshed 
among  the  Scottish  nobility.  The  following 
instance  of  the  murder  of  Sir  William  Stuart 

of  Ochiltree.  called  The  Bloody,  by  the  cele-i  from  a  cell  or  chapel,  dedicated  to  Saint  Ma- 
brated  Francis,  Earl  of  Bothwell,  may  be  pro-   ronock, or  llarnock. or  Maronnan,  about  whose 
duced  among  many;  hut  as  the  offence  given 
in  the  royal  court  will  hardly  bear  a  vernacu- 
lar translation,  I  shall  leave  the  story  in  John- 
stone's  Latin,  referring  for  farther  particulars 
to  the  naked  simplicity  of  Birrell's  Diary,  30th 
July  1588 

"  Murs  improbi  hominis  non  tarn  ipsa  immerita, 
qunm  pesstmo  exemplo  in  publiaim.  fade  perpe- 
trata.  Gulielmus  Stuartus  AUcillriiis,  Arani 
frater,  natura  ac  moribus,  cujus  saepius  memim, 
vult/o  propter  si  tan  sanjmms  sanguinarius 
dictus.  a  Bothvetio,  in  Sanctee  Crucis  Rrgia,  ex- 


NOTE  Q. 

The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  dfer, 
Disoicrid  by  every  noble  peer. — P.  167. 
The  exile  state  of  this  powerful  race  is  not 
exaggerated  in  this  and  subsequent  passages. 
The  hatred  of  James  against  the  race  of 
Douglas  was  so  inveterate,  that  numerous  as 
their  allies  were,  and  disregarded  as  the  regal 
authority  had  usually  been  in  similar  cases, 
their  nearest  friends,  even  in  the  most  remote 
parts  of  Scotland,  durst  not  entertain  them, 
unless  under  the  strictest  and  closest,  disguise. 
James  Douglas,  son  of  the  banished  Karl  of 
Angus,  afterwards  well  known  by  the  title  of 
Karl  of  .Morton,  lurked,  during  the  exile  of  his 
fair.ily,  in  the  north  of  Scotland,  under  the 
assumed  name  of  James  Innes,  otherwise 
James  the  Grieve  (i.  e.  Reve  or  Bailiff).  "  And 
as  he  bore  the  name,"  says  Godscroft,  "  so  did 
he  also  execute  the  office  of  a  grieve  or  over- 
seer of  the  lands  and  rents,  the  corn  and  cattle 
of  him  with  whom  he  lived."  From  the  habits 
of  frugality  and  observation  which  he  acquired 
in  his  humble  situation,  the  historian  traces 
that  intimate  acquaintance  with  popular  cha- 
racter which  enabled  him  to  rise  so  high  in  the 
state,  and  that  honourable  economy  by  which 
lie  repaired  and  established  the  shattered 
estates  of  Angus  and  Morion  — History  of  the 
House  of  Douglas,  Edinburgh,  1743,  vol.  ii.  p. 
160 


NOTE  R. 

-Maronnan's  cfU.—P.  168. 


The  parish  of  Kilmaronock,  at  the  eastern 
extremity  of  Loch  Lomond,  derives  its  name 


sanctity  very  little  is  now  remembered.  There 
is  a  fountain  devoted  to  him  in  the  same  pa- 
rish; but  its  virtues,  like  the  merits  of  its 
patron,  have  fallen  into  oblivion. 

NOTE  S. 

Bracklinn's  thundering  twite. — P.  168. 

This  is  a  beautiful  cascade  made  by  amoun- 


tain  stream  called  the  Keltie,  at  a  place  called 


n-  I 

i  .1  i 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.   205 


the  Bridge  of  Brackliun.  about  a  mile  from  tlie 
village  of  Caliender  in  Menteith.  Above  a 
chasm,  where  the  brook  precipitates  itself 
from  a  height  of  at  least  tifly  feet,  there  is 
thrown,  for  the  convenience  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, a  rustic  footbridge,  of  about  three  feet 
in  breadth,  and  without  ledges,  which  is 
scarcely  to  be  crossed  by  a  stranger  without 
awe  and  apprehension. 


NOTE  T. 

For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore.— P.  168. 

Archibald,  the  third  Earl  of  Douglas,  was  so 
unfortunate  in  all  his  enterprises,  that  he  ac- 
quired the  epithet  of  Tineman,  because  he 
lined,  or  lost,  his  followers  in  every  battle 
which  he  fought.  He  was  vanquished,  as  every 
reader  must  remember,  in  the  bloody  battle 
of  Homildon-hill,  near  Wooler,  where  he  him- 
self lost  an  eye,  and  was  made  prisoner  by 
Hotspur.  He  was  no  less  unfortunate  when 
allied  with  Percy,  being  wounded  and  taken 
at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury.  He  was  so  un- 
successful in  an  attempt  to  besiege  Roxburgh 
Castle,  that  it  was  called  the  Foul  Raid,  or 
disgraceful  expedition.  His  ill  fortune  left 
him  indeed  at  the  battle  of  Beauge.  in  France ; 
but  it  was  only  to  return  with  double  em- 
phasis at  the  subsequent  action  of  Vernoil,  the 
las'-  and  most  unlucky  of  his  encounters,  in 
which  he  fell,  with  the  flower  of  the  Scottish 
chivalry,  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  in  France, 
and  about  two  thousand  common  soldiers, 
A.  D.  1424. 


NOTE  U. 

Did,  self-unscabbardcd,  foreshow 
The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe. — P.  1G8. 

The  ancient  warriors,  whose  hope  and  con- 
fidence rested  chiefly  in  their  blades,  were 
accustomed  to  deduce  omens  from  them,  espe- 
cially from  such  as  were  supposed  to  have 
been  fabricated  by  enchanted  skill,  of  which 
we  have  various  instances  in  the  romances 
and  legends  of  the  time.  The  wonderful  sword 
S/tofnung,  wielded  by  the  celebrated  Hrolf 
Kraka,  was  of  this  description.  It  was  depo- 
sited in  the  tomb  of  the  monarch  at  his  death, 
and  taken  from  thence  by  Skeego,  a  celebrated 
pirate,  who  bestowed  it  upon  his  son-in-law. 
Kormak,  with  the  following  curious  direc- 
tions : — " '  The  manner  of  using  it  will  appear 
strange  to  you.  A  small  hag  is  attached  to  it, 
which  take  heed  not  to  violate.  Let  not  the 
rays  of  the  sun  touch  the  upper  part  of  the 
handle,  nor  unsheathe  it.  unless  thou  art  ready 
for  battle.  But  when  Ihou  comest  to  the  place 
of  fight,  go  aside  from  the  rest,  grasp  and  ex- 
tend the  sword,  and  breathe  upon  it.  Then  a 
small  worm  will  creep  out  of  the  handle; 
lower  the  handle,  that  he  may  more  easily  re- 
turn into  it.'  Kormak,  after  having  received 
the  sword,  returned  home  to  his  mother.  He 
showed  the  sword,  and  attempted  to  draw  it, 
as  unnecessarily  as  ineffectually,  for  he  could 
not  pluck  it  out  of  the  sheath  His  mother, 
Dalla,  exclaimed, '  Do  not  despise  the  counsel 
given  to  thee,  my  son.'  Knnnak,  however, 

18 


repeating  his  efforts,  pressed  down  the  handle 
with  his  feet,  and  tore  off  the  bag,  when 
Skofnung  emitted  a  hollow  groan  :  but  still  he 
could  not  unsheathe  the  sword.  Kormak  then 
went  out  with  Bessus,  whom  he  had  chal- 
lenged to  fight  with  him,  and  drew  apart  at 
the  place  of  combat.  He  sat  down  upon  the 
ground,  and  ungirding  the  sword,  which  he 
bore  above  his  vestments,  did  not  remember 
to  shield  the  hilt  from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  In 
vain  he  endeavoured  to  draw  it,  till  he  placed 
his  foot  against  the  hilt ;  then  the  worm  issued 
from  it.  But  Kormak  did  not  rightly  handle 
the  weapon,  in  consequence  whereof  good 
fortune  deserted  it.  As  he  unsheathed  Skof- 
nung, it  emitted  a  hollow  murmur." — Bartho- 
lini  tie  Causis  Contempta  a  Dams  adhuc  Gen- 
lilthus  Mortis,  Liliri  Tres.  Hofnia,  1689,  4to, 
p.  574. 

To  the  history  of  this  sentient  and  prescient 
weapon,  I  beg  leave  to  add,  from  memory,  the 
following  legend,  for  which  I  cannot  produce 
any  better  authority.  A  young  nobleman,  of 
high  hopes  and  fortune,  chanced  to  lose  his 
way  in  the  town  which  he  inhabited,  the  capi- 
tal, if  I  mistake  not.  of  a  German  province. 
He  had  accidentally  involved  himself  among 
the  narrow  and  winding  streets  of  a  suburb, 
inhabited  by  the  lowest  order  of  the  people, 
and  an  approaching  thunder-shower  deter- 
mined him  to  ask  a  short  refuge  in  the  most 
decent  habitation  that  was  near  him.  He 
knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a 
tall  man,  of  a  grisly  and  ferocious  aspect,  and 
sordid  dress.  Tho  stranger  was  readily  ushered 
to  a  chamber,  where  swords,  scourges,  and 
machines,  which  seemed  to  be  implements  of 
torture,  were  suspended  on  the  wall.  One  of 
these  swords  dropped  from  its  scabbard,  as 
the  nobleman,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
crossed  the  threshold.  His  host  immediately 
stared  at  him  with  such  a  marked  expression, 
that  the  young  man  could  not  help  demanding 
his  name  and  business,  and  the  meaning  of 
his  looking  at  him  so  fixedly.  "I  am,"  an- 
swered the  man,  "  the  public  executioner  of 
this  city ;  and  the  incident  you  have  observed 
is  a  sure  augury  that  I  shall,  in  discharge  of 
my  duty,  one  day  cut  off  your  head  with  the 
weapon  which  has  just  now  spontaneously 
unsheathed  itself."  The  nobleman  lost  no 
time  in  leaving  his  place  of  refuge ;  but,  en- 
gaging in  some  of  the  plots  of  the  period,  was 
shortly  after  decapitated  by  that  very  man  and 
instrument. 

Lord  Lovat  is  said,  by  the  author  of  the  Let- 
ters from  Scotland,  to  have  affirmed  that  a 
number  of  swords  that  huug  up  in  the  hall  of 
the  mansion-house,  leaped  of  themselves  out 
of  the  scabbard  at  the  instant  he  was  born. 
The  story  passed  current  among  his  clan.  but. 
like  that  of  the  story  1  have  just  quoted,  proved 
an  unfortunate  omen.— Letters  from  Scotland, 
vol.  ii.  p.  211. 


NOTE  V. 

Those  thrilling  sounds  that  call  the  minht 
Of  old  Clan- Alpine  to  the  fight.— P.  168. 

The  connoisseurs  in  pipe-music  affect  to  dis- 
cover in  a  well-composed  pibroch,  the  imitative 
sounds  of  march,  conflict,  flight,  pursuit,  and 


206 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


all  the  '•  current  of  a  he;uly  fight."  To  this 
opinion  l>r.  Beattie  lias  given  his  suffrage,  in 
the  following  elegant  passage  : — ••  A  pibroch  is 
a  species  of  tune,  peculiar,  I  think,  to  the 
Highlands  and  Western  Isles  of  Scotland.  It 
is  performed  on  a  bagpipe,  and  differs  totally 
from  all  other  music.  Us  rhythm  is  so  irregu- 
lar, and  its  notes,  especially  in  the  quick  move- 
ment, so  mixed  and  huddled  together,  that  a 
stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  reconcile  his  ear 
to  it.  so  as  to  perceive  its  modulation.  Some 
of  these  pibrochs.  being  intended  to  represent 
a  battle,  begin  with  a  grave  motion  resembling 
a  march :  then  gradually  quicken  into  the 
onset;  run  off  with  noisy  contusion,  and  tur- 
bulent rapidity,  to  imitate  the  conflict  and  pur- 
suit: then  swell  into  a  few  flourishes  of  tri- 
umphant joy :  and  perhaps  close  with  the  wild 
and  slow  waitings  of  a  funeral  procession." — 
Essay  on  Laughter  and  Ludicrous  Composition, 
chap.  ill.  Mote. 

NOTE  W. 

Rodfrigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe! — P.  169. 
Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname, 
which  were  chiefly  used  in  the  intercourse 
with  the  Lowlands,  every  Highland  chief  had 
an  epithet  expressive  of  his  patriarchal  dignity 
as  head  of  the  clan,  and  which  was  common 
to  all  his  predecessors  and  successors,  as  Pha- 
raoh to  the  khigs  of  Egypt,  or  Arsaces  to  those 
of  Parthia.  This  name  was  usually  a  palro- 
iiymic,  expressive  of  his  descent  from  the 
founder  of  the  family.  Thus  the  Duke  of 
Arayle  is  called  MacC'allum  More,  or  the  son 
of  Colin  the  Great.  Sometimes,  however,  it  is 
derived  from  armorial  distinctions,  or  the 
memory  of  some  great  feat :  thus  Lord  Sea- 
forth.  as  chief  of  the  Mackenzies.  or  Clan- 
Kennet.  liears  the  epithet  of  Caber-fae,  or 
Ruck's  Head,  as  representative  of  Colin  Fi'z- 
gerald,  founder  of  the  family,  who  saved  the 
Scottish  king  when  endangered  by  a  stag. 
But  besides  this  title,  which  belonged  to  his 
office  and  dismty,  the  chieftain  had  usually 
another  peculiar  to  himself,  which  distin- 
guished him  from  the  chieftains  of  the  same 
race.  This  was  sometimes  derived  from  com- 
plexion, as  dhu  or  roy ;  sometimes  from  size, 
as  be<i  or  more.;  at  other  times  from  some 
peculiar  exploit,  or  from  some  peculiarity  of 
habit  or  appearance.  The  line  of  the  text 
therefore  signifies, 

BUck  Roderick,  the  deMeodiuil  of  Alpine. 
The  son:  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation 
of  the  jorrrons.  or  boat  songs,  of  the  High- 
landers, which  were  usually  composed  in 
honour  of  a  favourite  chief  They  are  so 
adapted  as  to  keep  time  with  the  sweep  of  the 
oars,  and  it  is  easy  tndistmguish  between  those 
intended  to  be  sung  to  the  oars  of  a  galley, 
where  the  stroke  is  lengthened  and  doubled. 
as  it  were,  and  those  which  were  timed  to  the 
rowers  of  an  ordinary  boat. 

NOTE  X. 

The  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side. 

—P.  169. 

The  Lennox,  as  the  district  is  called,  which 
encircles  the  lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lomond, 


as  peculiarly  exposed  to  the  incursions  of 
the  mountaineers,  who  inhabited  the  inacces- 
sible fastnesses  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake, 
and  the  neighlHmring district  of  Loch  Kairine. 
These  were  often  marked  by  circumstances 
of  great  ferocity,  of  winch  the  noted  conflict 
of  Glen-fruin  is  a  celebrated  instance.  This 
was  a  clan  battle,  in  which  the  Maegregors, 
headed  by  A  Master  Macaregor.  chief  of  the 
clan,  encountered  the  sept  of  Colquhoiins. 
commanded  by  Sir  Himiphrv  Colquhoun  of 
Luss.  It  is  on  all  hands  allowed  that  Ihe 
action  was  desperately  fought,  and  that  the 
Colquhouns  were  defeated  with  great  slaugh- 
ter, leaving  two  hundred  of  their  name  dead 
upon  the  field.  But  popular  tradition  has 
added  other  horrors  to  the  tale.  It  is  said, 
that  Sir  Humphry  Colquhoun.  who  was  on 
horseback,  escaped  to  the  castle  of  Benechra. 
or  Banochar.  and  was  next  day  dragged  out 
and  murdered  by  the  victorioiis'Mangregors  in 
cold  blood.  Buchanan  of  Auchmar.  however, 
speaks  of  the  slaughter  as  a  subsequent  event, 
and  as  perpetrated  hy  the  Macfarlanes.  Again, 
it  is  reported  that  the  .Margregors  murdered  a 
number  of  youths,  whom  report  of  the  intended 
battle  had  brought  to  be  spectators,  and  whom 
the  Colquhouns.  anxious  for  their  safety,  had 
shut  up  in  a  barn  to  be  out  of  danger.  One 
account  of  the  Macgregors  denies  the  circum- 
stance entirely:  another  ascribes  it  to  the 
savage  and  bloodthirsty  disposition  of  a  single 
individual,  the  bastard  brother  of  the  Laird  of 
Macgregor,  who  amused  himself  with  this 
second  massacre  of  the  innocents,  in  express 
disobedience  to  the  chief,  by  whom  he  was 
left  their  euardian  during  the  pursuit  of  ihe 
Colquhouns.  It  is  added,  that  Macgregor  bit- 
terly lamented  this  atrocious  action,  and  pro- 
phesied the  ruin  which  it  must  bring  upon 
their  ancient  clan.  The  following  account  of 
the  conflict,  which  is  indeed  drawn  up  by  a 
friend  of  the  Clan-Greeor.  is  altogether  silent 
on  the  murder  of  the  youths.  "  In  the  spring 
of  the  vear  1602.  there  happened  great  dissen- 
sions and  troubles  between  the  laird  of  Lti.-s, 
chief  of  the  Colquhouns.  and  Alexander,  laird 
of  Macgregor.  The  original  of  these  quarrels 
proceeded  from  injuries  and  provocations  mu- 
tually given  and  received,  not  long  before. 
Macgregor,  however,  wanting  to  have  them 
ended  in  friendly  conferences,  marched  at  the 
head  of  two  hundred  of  his  clan  to  Leven, 
which  borders  on  Lnss,  his  country,  with  a 
view  of  settling  matters  by  the  mediation  of 
friends :  hut  Luss  had  no  such  intentions,  arid 
projected  his  measures  with  a  different  view ; 
for  lie  privately  drew  together  a  body  of  300 
horse  and  500  foot,  composed  partly  of  his  own 
clan  and  their  followers,  and  partly  of  the 
Buchanans,  his  neighbours,  and  resolved  to 
cut  off  Macgregor  and  his  party  to  a  man,  in 
case  the  issue  of  the  conference  did  not  an- 
swer his  inclination  But  matters  fell  other- 
wise than  he  expected  :  and  though  Maogregor 
had  previous  information  of  his  insidious  de- 
sign, yet  dissembling  his  resentment,  he  kept 
the  appointment,  and  parted  good  frieuus  iu 
appearance. 

"  No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Lnss.  think- 
ing to  surprise  him  and  his  party  in  full  se- 
curity, and  without  any  dread  or  apprehension 
of  Ins  treachery,  followed  with  all  speed,  and 
came  up  with  him  at  a  place  called  Gieufroon. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.     207 


Macgregor,  upon  the  alarm,  divided  his  men 
into  two  parties,  the  greatest  part  whereof  he 
commanded  himself,  and  the  other  he  com- 
mitted to  the  rare  of  his  brother  John,  who, 
by  his  orders,  led  them  about  another  w:iy, 
aud  attacked  the  Colquhouns  in  flank.  Here  j 
it  was  fought  with  great  bravery  on  both  sides  | 
for  a  considerable  time  ;  and.  notwithstanding 
the  vast  disproportion  of  numbers,  Macgregor, 
in  the  end,  obtained  an  absolute  victory.  So 
great  was  the  rout,  that  200  of  the  Colquhouns 
were  left  dead  upon  the  spot,  most  of  the 
leading  men  were  killed,  and  a  multitude  of 
prisoners  taken.  But  what  seemed  most  sur- 
prising and  incredible  in  this  defeat,  was,  that 
none  of  the  Macgregors  were  missing,  except 
John,  the  laird's  brother,  and  one  common 
fellow,  though  indeed  many  of  them  were 
wounded."— Professor  Ross's  History  of  tlie 
Family  of  Sutherland,  1631. 

The  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Glen-fruin 
were  very  calamitous  to  the  family  of  Mac- 
gregor. who  had  already  been  considered  as 
an  unruly  clan.  The  widows  of  the  slain  Col- 
quhouns, sixty,  it  is  said,  in  number,  appeared 
in  doleful  procession  before  the  king  at  Stirling, 
each  riding  upon  a  white  palfrey,  and  bearing 
in  her  hand  the  bloody  shirt  of  her  husband 
displayed  upon  a  pike.  James  VI.  was  so 
much  moved  by  the  complaints  of  this  "choir 
of  mourning  dames,"  that  he  let  loose  his 
vengeance  against  the  Macgregors,  without 
either  bounds  or  moderation.  The  very  name 
of  the  clan  was  proscribed,  and  those  by  whom 
it  had  been  borne  were  given  up  to  sword  and 
fire,  and  absolutely  hunted  down  by  blood- 
hounds like  wild  "beasts.  Areyle  and  the 
Campbells,  on  the  one  hand,  Mont  rose,  with 
the  Grahames  and  Buchanans,  on  the  other, 
are  said  to  have  been  the  chief  instruments  in 
suppressing  this  devoted  clan.  The  Laird  of 
Macgregor  surrendered  to  the  former,  on  con- 
dition that  he  would  take  him  out  of  Scottish 
ground.  But,  to  nse  Birrel's  expression,  he 
kept  "a  Highlandman's  promise;"  and,  al- 
though he  fulfilled  his  word  to  the  letter,  by 
carrying  him  as  far  as  Berwick,  he  afterwards 
brought  him  back  to  Edinburgh,  where  he 
was  executed  with  eighteen  of  his  clan." — 
Birrel's  Diary.  2d  Oct.  1603.  The  Clan-Gregor 
being  thus  driven  to  ulter  despair,  seem  to 
have  renounced  the  laws  from  the  benefit  of 
which  they  were  excluded,  and  their  depreda- 
tions produced  new  acts  of  council,  confirming 
the  seventy  of  their  proscription,  which  had 
only  the  effect  of  rendering  them  still  more 
united  and  desperate.  It  is  a  most  extraordi- 
nary proof  of  the  ardent  and  invincible  spirit 
of  clanship,  that,  notwithstanding  the  repeated 
proscriptions  providently  ordained  by  the  legis- 
lature, "  for  the  timeous  pret'fnting  the  disorders 
and  oppression  that  may  fall  out  by  the  said 
name  aud  clan  of  Macgregors,  and  their  fol- 
lowers," they  were  in  1715  and  1745,  a  potent 
clan,  and  continue  to  subsist  as  a  distinct  and 
numerous  race. 

NOTE  Y. 


-  The  King's  vindictive  pride 


Boasts  to  have  lamed  the  Border-side. — P.  170. 
In  1529,  James  V.   made  a  convention  at 
Edinburgh  for  the  purpose  of  considering  the 


best  mode  of  quelling  the  Border  robbers,  who, 
during  the  license  of  his  minority,  and  the 
troubles  which  followed,  had  committed  many 
exorbitances.  Accordingly,  he  assembled  a 
flying  army  of  ten  thousand  men.  consisting 
of  his  principal  nobility  and  their  followers, 
who  were  directed  to  bring  their  hawks  and 
dogs  with  them,  iha!  the  monarch  might  re- 
fresh himself  wiih  sport  during  the  intervals 
of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he 
swept  through  Kttrick  Forest,  where  he  hanged 
over  the  gate  of  his  own  castle.  Piers  Cock- 
burn  of  Henderland,  who  had  prepared,  ac- 
cording to  tradition,  a  feast  for  his  reception. 
He  caused  Adam  Scott  of  Tushielaw  also  to 
be  executed,  who  was  distinguished  by  the  title 
of  King  of  the  Border.  But  the  most  noted 
victim  of  justice,  during  that  expedition,  was 
John  Armstrong  of  Gilnockie,'  famous  in 
Scottish  song,  who,  confiding  in  his  own  sup- 
posed innocence,  met  the  King  with  a  retinue 
of  thirty-six  persons,  all  of  whom  were  hanged 
at  Carlenrig.  near  the  source  of  the  Teviot. 
The  effect  of  this  severity  was  such,  that,  as 
the  vulgar  expressed  it.  ••  the  rush-bush  kept 
the  cow,"  and,  "thereafter  was  great  peace 
and  rest  a  long  time,  wherethrough  the  King 
had  great  profit;  for  he  had  ten  thousand 
sheep  going  in  the  Ettrick  Forest  in  keeping 
by  Andrew  Bell,  who  made  the  King  as  good 
count  of  them  as  they  had  gone  in  the  bounds 
of  l'i(e."—Pttscottie's  History,  p.  153. 

NOTE  Z. 

What  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 

By  fate  of  Border  chivalry.  —  P.  171. 

James  was  in  fact  equally  attentive  to  re- 

strain rapine  and  t'eudal  oppression  in  every 

part  of  his  dominions.     "  The  king  past  to  the 

Isles,  and  there  held  justice  courts,  and  pun- 

ished both  thief  and  traitor  according  to  their 

demerit.    And  also  he  caused  great  men  to 

show  their  holdings,  wherethrough  he  found 

many  of  the  said  lands  in  non-entry:  the  which 

he  confiscate  and   brought  home  to  his  own 

use,   and   afterwards    annexed   them   to  the 

crown,  as  ye  shall  hear.    Syne  brought  many 

of  the  great  men  of  the  Isles  captive  with  him, 

'  ' 


I  cannot  rehearse  at  this  time.  Some  of  them 
he  put  in  ward  and  some  in  court,  and  some 
he  took  pledges  for  good  rule  in  time  coming. 
So  he  brought  the  Isles,  both  north  and  south, 
in  good  rule  and  peace;  wherefore  he  had 
great  profit,  service,  and  obedience  of  people  a 
long  time  thereafter;  and  as  long  as  he  had 
the  heads  of  the  country  in  subjection,  they 
lived  in  great  peace  and  rest,  and  there  was 
great  riches  and  policy  by  the  king's  justice," 
—  Pitscottie,  p.  152. 

NOTE  2  A. 

Rfst  safe  till  morning  ;  pity  'tuxre 
Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air.  —  P.  172. 
Hardihood  was  in  every  respect  *o  essential 
to  the  character  of  a   Highlander,  that  the 


1  See  Border  Miintn-lsy,  vol.  1.  p.  302. 


208 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


reproach  of  effeminacy  was  the  most  bitter 
which  could  be  thrown  upon  him.  Yet  it  was 
sometimes  hazarded  on  what  \ve  misht  pre- 
sume to  think  slight  grounds.  It  is  reported 
of  old  Sir  Ewen  Cameron  of  Locliiel,  when 
upwards  of  seventy,  that  he  was  surprised  by 
night  on  a  hunting  or  military  expedition.  He 
wrapped  him  in  his  plaid,  and  lay  contentedly 
down  upon  the  snow,  with  which  the  ground 
happened  to  be  covered.  Among  his  attend- 
ants, who  were  preparing  to  take  their  rest  in 
the  same  manner,  he  observed  that  one  of  his 
grandsons,  for  his  better  accommodation,  had 
rolled  a  large  snow-ball,  and  placed  it  below 
his  head.  The  wrath  of  the  ancient  chief  was 
awakened  by  a  symptom  of  what  he  conceived 
to  be  degenerate,  luxury — "Out  upon  thee," 
said  he.  kicking  the  frozen  holster  from  the  head 
which  it  supported ;  "  art  thou  so  effeminate  as 
to  need  a  pillow  ?"  The  officer  of  engineers, 
whose  curious  letters  from  the  Highlands  have 
been  more  than  once  quoted,  tells  a  similar 
story  of  Macdonald  of  Keppoch,  and  subjoins  the 
following  remarks  : — "  This  and  many  other 
stories  are  romantick ;  but  there  is  one  thing, 
that  at  first  thought  might  seem  very  romantick, 
of  which  1  have  been  credibly  assured,  that 
when  the  Highlanders  are  constrained  to  lie 
among  the  hills,  in  cold  drv  windy  weather, 
they  sometimes  soak  the  plaid  in  some  river  or 
burn  («'.  e.  brook),  and  then,  holding  up  a  corner 
of  it  a  little  above  their  heads,  they  turn  them- 
selves round  and  round,  till  they  are  enveloped 
by  the  whole  mantle.  They  then  lay  them- 
selves down  on  the  heath,  upon  the  leeward 
side  of  some  hill,  where  the  wet  and  the 
wnrmth  of  their  bodies  make  a  steam  like  that 
of  a  boiling  kettle.  The  wet.  they  say,  keeps 
them  warm  by  thickenins  the  stuff,  arid  keep- 
ing the  wind  from  penetrating.  I  must  confess 
I  should  have  been  apt  to  question  this  fact, 
had  I  not  frequently  seen  them  wet  from 
morning  to  night,  and  even  at  the  beginning 
of  the  rain,  not  so  much  as  stir  a  few  yards  to 
shelter,  but  continue  in  it  without  necessity, 
till  they  were,  as  we  say,  wet  through  and 
through.  And  that  is  soon  effected  by  the 
looseness  and  sponginess  of  the  plaidmg ;  but 
the  bonnet  is  frequently  taken  off  and  wrung 
like  a  dish-clout,  and  then  put  on  again  They 
have  been  accustomed  from  their  infancy  to 
be  often  wet,  and  to  take  the  water  like 
spaniels,  and  this  is  become  a  second  nature, 
and  can  scarcely  be  called  a  hardship  to  them, 
insomuch  that  I  used  to  say,  tliey  seemed  to 
be  of  the  duck  kind,  and  to  love  water  as  well. 
Though  I  never  saw  this  preparation  for  sleep 
in  windy  weather,  yet,  setting  out  early  in  a 
morning  from  one  of  the  huts,  1  have  seen  the 
marks  of  their  lodging,  where  the  ground  has 
been  free  from  rime  or  snow,  which  remained 
all  round  the  spot  where  they  had  lain.1' — 
Letters  from  Scotland,  Lend.  1754,  8vo,  ii.  p.  108. 


NOTE  2  B. 

Jus  henchman  came.— P.  172. 

"This  officer  is  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  is  to 
be  ready,  upon  all  occasions,  to  venture  his 
life  in  defence  of  his  master ;  and  at  drinking- 
bouts  he  stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his  hauncl 


rom  whence  his  title  is  derived,  and  watches 
he  conversation,  to  see  if  any  one  offends  his 
patron.  An  English  officer  being  in  company 
with  a  certain  chieftain,  and  several  other 
lishland  gentlemen,  near  Killichmen,  had  an 
argument  with  the  great  man  ;  and  both  being 
well  warmed  with  usky,'  at  last  the  dispute 
grew  very  hot.  A  youth  who  was  henchman, 
lot  understanding  one  word  of  English,  ima- 
eined  his  chief  was  insulted,  and  thereupon 
drew  his  pistol  from  his  side,  and  snapped  it 
•it  the  officer's  head :  but  the  pistol  missed 
ire,  otherwise  it  is  more  than  probable  he 
night  have  suffered  death  from  the  hand  of 
hat  little  vermin.  But  it  is  very  disagreeable 
.o  an  Englishman  over  a  bottle,  with  the  High- 
landers, to  see  every  one  of  them  have  his 
gilly,  that  is,  his  servant,  standing  behind  him 
all  the  while,  let  what  will  be  the  subject  of 
conversation."— Letters  from  Scotland,  u.  159. 


NOTE  2  C. 

And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  lOte  a  meteor, 
round.— P.  173. 

When  a  chieftain  designed  to  summon  his 
clan,  upon  any  sudden  or  important  emergency, 
lie  slew  a  goat,  and  making  a  cross  of  any  light 
wood,  seared  its  extremities  in  the  fire,  and 
extinguished  them  in  the  blood  of  the  animal. 
This  was  called  the  Fiery  Cross,  also  Crean 
Tariyh.  or  the  Cross  of  Shame,  because  diso- 
bedience to  what  the  symbol  implied,  inferred 
infamy.  It  was  delivered  to  a  swift  and  trusty 
messenger,  who  ran  full  speed  with  it  to  the  next 
hamlet,  where  he  presented  it  to  the  principal 
person,  with  a  single  word,  implying  the  place 
of  rendezvous.  He  who  received  the  symbol 
was  bound  to  send  it  forward,  with  equal  dis- 
patch, to  the  next  village :  and  thus  it  passed 
with  incredible  celerity  through  all  the  district 
which  owed  alleginnce  to  the  chief,  and  also 
among  his  allies  and  neighbours,  if  Hie  danger 
was  common  to  them.  At  sight  of  the  Fiery 
Cross,  every  man,  from  sixteen  years  old  to 
sixty,  capable  of  bearing  arms,  was  obliged 
instantly  to  repair,  in  his  best  arms  and  accou- 
trements, to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  He  who 
failed  to  appear  suffered  the  extremities  of  fire 
and  sword,  which  were  emblematically  de- 
nounced to  the  disobedient  by  the  bloody  and 
burnt  marks  upon  this  warlike  signal.  During 
the  civil  war  of  1745-6,  the  Fiery  Cross  often 
made  its  circuit:  and  upon  one  occasion  it 
passed  through  the  whole  district  of  Breadal- 
bane,  a  tract  of  thirty-two  miles,  in  three 
hours.  The  late  Alexander  Stewart,  Esq.  of 
Invernahyle,  described  to  me  his  having  sent 
round  the  Fiery  Cross  through  the  district  of 
Appine,  during  the  same  commotion.  The 
coast  was  threatened  by  a  descent  from  two 
English  frigates,  and  the  flower  of  the  young 
men  were  with  the  army  of  Prince  Charles 
Edward,  then  in  England;  yet  the  summons 
was  so  effectual,  that  even  old  age  and  child- 
hood obeyed  it ;  and  a  force  was  collected  in 
a  few  hours,  so  numerous  and  so  enthusiastic, 
that  all  attempt  at  the  intended  diversion  upon 
the  country  of  the  absent  warriors  was  in  pru- 
dence abandoned,  as  desperate. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OP  THE  LAKE.  209 


This  practice,  like  some  others,  is  common 
to  tlie  Highlanders  with  the  ancient  Scandi- 
navians, as  will  appear  by  the  following  ex- 
tract t'roni  Olaus  Magnus: — 

"  When  the  enemy  is  upon  the  s»a-coast.  or 
witliin  the  limits  of  northern  kiugdomes.  then 
presently,  by  the  command  of  the  principal 
governoiirs.  with  the  counsel  and  consent  of 
the  old  soldiers,  who  are  notably  skilled  in 
such  like  business,  a  staff  of  three  hands 
length,  in  the  common  sight  of  them  all,  is 
carried,  by  the  speedy  running  of  some  active 
young  man.  unto  that  village  or  city  with  this 
Command. — that  on  the  third,  fourth,  or  eighth 
day.  one,  two.  or  three,  or  else  every  man  in 
particular,  from  fifteen  years  old,  shall  come 
with  his  arms,  and  expenses  for  ten  or  twenty 
days,  upon  pain  that  his  or  their  houses  shall 
be  burnt  (which  is  intimated  by  the  burning 
of  the  siaff ).  or  else  the  master  to  he  hanged 
(winch  is  signified  by  the  cord  tied  to  it),  to 
appear  speedily  on  such  a  bank,  or  field,  or 
valley,  to  hear  the,  cause  he  is  called,  and  to 
hear  orders  from  the  said  provincial  governonrs 
what  he  shall  do.  Wherefore  that  messenger, 
swifter  than  any  post  or  waggon,  having  done 
his  commission,  comes  slowly  back  again, 
bringing  a  token  with  him  that  he  hath  done 
all  legally,  and  every  moment  one  or  another 
runs  to  every  village,  and  tells  those  places 
what  they  must  do."  ....  "The  messengers, 
therefore,  of  the  footmen,  that  are  to  give 
warning  to  the  people  to  meet  for  the  battail, 
run  fiercely  and  swifily  ;  for  no  snow,  no  rain, 
nor  heat  can  stop  them,  nor  night  hold  them  ; 
but  they  will  soon  run  the  race  they  undertake. 
The  first  messenger  tells  it  to  the  next  village, 
and  that  to  the  next;  and  so  the  hubbub  runs 
all  over  till  they  all  know  it.  in  that  stift  or  ter- 
ritory, where,  when  and  wherefore  they  must 
meet." — Olaus  Mitgnus'  History  of  the  Goths, 
euglished  by  J.  S.  Loud.  1658, book  iv.  chap.  3, 4. 


this  to  them,  that  t  here  were  some  who.  having 
celebrated  mass  for  ten  years,  were  still  unable 
to  read  the  sacramental  service.  We  have 
also  understood  there  are  persons  among  them 
who,  although  not  ordained,  do  take  upon 
them  the  offices  of  priesthood:  and.  in  con- 
tempt of  God.  celebrate  the  divine  and  saored 
rites,  and  administer  the  sacraments,  not  only 
in  sacred  and  dedicated  places,  but  in  those 
which  are  profane  and  interdicted,  and  most 
wretchedly  ruinous;  they  themselves  being 
attired  in  ragged,  torn,  and  most  filthy  vest- 
ments, altogether  unfit  to  be  used  in  divine, 
or  even  in  temporal  offices.  The  which  said 
chaplains  do  administer  sacraments  and  sacra- 
mental rights  to  the  aforesaid  manifest  and 
infamous  thieves,  robbers,  depredatore,  re- 
ceivers of  stolen  goods,  and  plunderers,  and 
that  without  rest  it  ution.  or  intention  to  restore, 
as  evinced  by  the  act;  and  do  also  openly 
admit  them  to  the  rites  of  ecclesiastical  sepul- 
chre, without  exacting  security  for  restitution, 
although  they  are  prohibited  from  doing  so  by 
the  sacred  canons,  as  well  as  by  the  institutes 
of  the  saims  and  fathers.  All  which  infers 
the  heavy  peril  of  their  own  souls,  and  is  a 
pernicious  example  to  the  other  believers  in 
Christ,  as  well  as  no  slight,  but  an  aggravated 
injury,  to  the  numbers  despoiled  and  plundered 
of  their  goods,  gear,  herds,  and  chattels."! 

To  this  lively  and  picturesque  description  of 
the  confessors  and  churchmen  of  predatory 
tribes,  there  may  be  added  some  curious  par- 
ticulars respeciing  the  priests  attached  to  the 
several  septs  of  native  Irish,  during  the  reign 
of  Queen  Elizabeth.  These  friars  had  indeed 
to  plead,  that  the  incursions,  which  they  not 
only  pardoned,  but  even  encouraged,  were 
made  upon  those  hostile  to  them,  as  well  in 
religion  as  from  national  antipathy;  but  by 
Protestant  writers  they  are  uniformly  alleged 
to  be  the  chief  instruments  of  Irish  insurrec- 
tion, I  he  very  well-spring  of  all  rebellion  to- 
wards the  English  government.  Lithgow,  the 
Scoitish  traveller,  declares  the  Irish  wood- 
kerne,  or  predatory  tribes,  to  be  but  the  hounds 
of  their  hunting  priests,  who  directed  their  in- 
cursions by  their  pleasure,  partly  for  suste- 
nance, partly  to  gratify  animosity,  partly  to 
foment  general  division,  and  also  for  the  better 
security  and  easier  domination  of  the  friars.* 
Derrick,  the  liveliness  and  minuteness  of 
whose  descriptions  may  frequently  apologize 
for  his  doggerel  verses,  after  describing  an 
Irish  feast,  and  the  encouragement  given,  by 
the  songs  of  the  bards,  to  its  termination  in 
an  incursion  upon  the  parts  of  the  country 
more  immediately  under  the  dominion  of  the 
English,  records  the  no  less  powerful  argu- 
ments used  by  the  friar  to  excite  their  ani- 
mosity : — 

and  ranrour  of  their  harte, 
The  frier,  of  his  oonnsells  vile, 

to  rein-He*  doth  imparte, 
Affirming  that  it  is 

an  almose  i!.:i-iie  to  God, 

•  Ei.g'.ish  subjectes  taste 


NOTE  2D. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face.— P   173. 

The  state  of  religion  in  the  middle  ages 
afforded  considerable  facilities  for  those  whose 
mods  of  life  excluded  them  from  regular  wor- 
ship, to  secure,  nevertheless,  the  ghos'ly  as- 
sistance of  confessors,  peifectly  willing  to 
adapt  the  nature  of  their  doctrine  to  the  ne- 
cessities and  peculiar  circumstances  of  their 
flock.  Kobin  Hood,  it  is  well  known,  had  his 
celebrated  domestic  chaplain,  Friar  Tuck. 
And  thiil  same  curtal  friar  was  probably 
matched  in  manners  and  appearance  by  the 
ghosi  ly  fathers  of  the  Tynedale  robbers,  who 
are  thus  described  in  an  excommunication  ful- 
minated against  their  patrons  by  Kichard  Fox, 
Bishop  of  Durham,  tempore  Hennci  VIII 
'•  We  have  further  understood,  that  there  are 
many  chaplains  in  the  said  territories  of  Tyne- 
dale and  Kedesdale.  who  are  public  and  open 
ma'ntainers  of  concubinage,  irregular,  sus- 
pended, excommunicated,  and  interdicted  per-  tbt.  lrish  rebel] 
sons,  and  withal  so  utterly  ignorant  of  letters,  To  »poiie,  to  kin.  to  bun 
that  it  has  been  found  by  those  who  objected 

1  Th*  Munition  against  the  Bobbers  of  Tyuedale  and    in  th*  Appendix  to  the  Introduction  to  the  Border  Min- 
Redesdale,  with  whirh  I  wa«  favoured  by  my  friend,  Mr.    strelsy.  No.  VII.  Tol.  i.  p.  274. 
tjurleen  of  Maimforth,  may  be  found  in  the  original  Latin,       2  Lithgotv's  Travels,  first  edition,  p.  431 


210 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


He  tflbahol.etal.-j 
the  while  he  tournes  to  black ; 

he  workes  a  knavisiie  knacke." 

The  wreckful  invasion  of  a  part  of  the 
English  pale  is  then  described  with  some 
spirit;  the  burning  of  houses,  driving  off  cattle, 
and  all  pertaining  to  such  predatory  inroads, 
are  illustrated  by  a  rude  cut.  The  defeat  of 
the  Irish,  by  a  party  of  English  soldiers  from 
the  next  garrison,  is  then  commemorated,  and 
in  like  manner  adorned  with  an  engraving,  in 
which  the  friar  is  exhibited  mourning  over  the 
slain  chieftain ;  or,  as  the  rubric  expresses  it, 

"TL«  .'tier  then,  that  treacherous  knave;  will)  ough  ough- 


The  matter  is  handled  at  great  length  in  the 
text,  of  which  the  following  verses  are  more 
than  sufficient  sample : 

«  The  frier  seyng  thin, 

laments  that  lucklesse  parte, 
And  cuneth  to  the  pitte  at  hell 

the  death  man's  stnrdie  hearte; 
Yet  for  to  qnight  them  with 

the  Trier  taketh  paine, 
For  all  the  synnc«  that  ere  he  did 

And  therefore  Krta  hi«  booke, 

the  candrll  and  the  bell ; 
But  thinke  yon  that  inch  apintie  toies 

bring  damued  souls  from  hell  ? 

infernal!  thiugs'lo  knowe  , 
But  I  belevc  till  later  daie, 
thei  rise  not  from  belowe. 

to  tliin  relicll.oui  rout, 

Dorlh  make  them  lead  «uehe  lire*, 
Withoat  revenge  for  their  derarteo. 

Thus  frier*  are  the  cause. 

the  fountain,  and  the  spring, 
Of  hurleburle.  in  Ihi.  laiide, 

of  eche  anhappie  thing. 
Thei  cause  them  to  rebell 

againtt  I  heir  soveraigne  qnene. 
And  through  rebellion  often  lymes, 

their  lires  do  r.inish  clene. 
So  as  by  friers  meanes, 

The  Irishe  karne  doe  often  lose 
the  life,  wito  hedde  aud  limme."! 

As  the  Irish  tribes,  and  those  of  the  Scottish 
Highlands,  are  much  more  intimately  allied,  by 
language,  manners,  dress,  and  customs,  than 
the  antiquaries  of  either  country  have  been 
willing  to  admit,  [  flatter  myself  I  have  here 
produced  a  strong  warrant  for  the  character 
sketched  in  the  text.  The  following  picture, 
though  of  a  different  kind,  serves  to  establish 
the  existence  of  ascetic  religionists,  to  a  com- 
paratively late  period,  in  the  Highlands  and 
Western  Isles.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  sim- 
plicity in  the  description,  for  which,  as  for 
much  similar  information,  I  am  obliged  to  Dr. 
John  Martin,  who  visilecl  the  Hebrides  at  the 
suggestion  of  Sir  Hubert  Sibbald,  a  Scottish 
antiquarian  of  eminence,  and  early  in  the 
eighteenth  century  published  a  description  of 

which  the  plates  have  been  also  inserted,  fro 


them,  which  procured  him  admission  into  the 
Royal  &  ciety.  He  died  in  London  about  1719 
His  woik  is  a  strange  mixture  of  learning, 
observation,  and  gross  credulity. 
"I  remember,"  says  this  author.  "I  have 
een  an  old  lay-capuchin  here  (in  the  island 
>f  Benbecula),  called  in  their  language  Brahir- 
borht,  that  is.  Poor  brother ;  which  is  literally 
IB  :  for  he  answers  this  character,  having 
nothing  but  what  is  given  him :  he  holds  him- 
self fully  satisfied  with  food  and  rayment.  and 
lives  in  as  great  simplicity  as  any  of  his  order ; 
his  diet  is  very  mean,  and  he  drinks  only  fair 
water;  his  habit  is  no  less  mortifying  than 
that  of  his  brethren  elsewhere  :  he  wears  a 
short  coat,  which  conies  no  farther  than  his 
middle,  with  narrow  sleeves  like  a  waistcoat : 
he  wears  a  plad  above  it,  girt  about  the  middle, 
which  reaches  to  his  knee :  the  plad  is  fast- 
ened on  his  breast  with  a  wooden  pin.  his  neck 
hare,  and  his  feet  often  so  too ;  he  wears  a  hat 
for  ornament,  and  the  string  about  it  is  a  hit 
of  a  fisher's  line,  made  of  horse-hair.  This 
plad  he  wears  instead  of  a  gown  worn  by 
those  of  his  order  in  other  countries.  I  told 
him  he  wanted  the  flaxen  girdle  that  men  of 
his  order  usually  wear :  he  answered  me,  that 
he  v.ore  a  leathern  one,  which  was  the  same 
thing.  Upon  the  matter,  if  he  is  spoke  to 
when  at  meat,  he  answers  again ;  which  is 
contrary  to  the  custom  of  his  order.  This 
poor  man  frequently  diverts  himself  with  an- 
gling of  trouts;  he  lies  upon  straw,  and  has 
no  bell  (as  others  have)  to  call  him  to  his  de- 
votions, hut  only  his  conscience,  as  he  told 
me."  —  Martin's  LescripliOH  of  the  Western 
,  p.  82. 


NOTE  2E. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. — P.  173. 

The  legend  which  follows  is  not  of  the  au- 
thor's invention.  It  is  possible  he  may  differ 
from  modern  critics,  in  supposing  that  the 
records  of  human  superstition,  if  peculiar  to, 
and  characteristic  of.  the  country  in  which  the 
scene  is  laid,  are  a  legitimate  subject  of  po- 
etry. He  gives,  however,  a  ready  assent  to  the 
narrower  proposition  which  condemns  all  at- 
tempts of  an  irregular  and  disordered  fancy  to 
excite  terror,  by  accumulating  a  train  of  fan- 
tastic and  incoherent  horrors,  whether  bor- 
rowed from  all  countries,  and  patched  upon  a 
narrative  belonging  to  one  which  knew  them 
not.  or  derived  from  the  author's  own  imagi- 
nation Tit  the  present  case,  therefore,  I  ap- 
peal to  the  record  which  I  have  transcribed, 
with  the  variation  of  a  very  few  words,  from 
the  geographical  collections"  made  by  the  Laird 
of  Macfarlane.  1  know  not  whether  it  be  ne- 
cessary to  remark,  that  the  miscellaneous  con- 
course of  youths  and  maidens  on  the  nicht  and 
on  the  spot  where  the  miracle  is  said  to  have 
taken  place,  might,  even  in  a  cre:lulous  age. 
have  somewhat  diminished  the  wonder  which 
accompanied  the  conception  of  Gilli-Doir- 
Magrevollich. 

"  There  is  hot  two  myles  from  Inverloghie, 


ary.    See  Son 


ol.  i.  pp.  fell, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  211 


the  church  of  Kilmalee,  in  Lochyeld.  In  an- 
cient tyraes  there  was  ane  church  builded 
upon  ane  hill,  which  was  above  this  church, 
which  doeth  now  stand  in  this  toune ;  and  an- 
cient men  doeth  say,  that  there  was  a  battell 
foughten  on  ane  litle  hill  not  the  tenth  part  of 
a  myle  from  this  church,  be  certame  men 
which  they  did  not  know  what  they  were. 
And  long  tynie  thereafter,  certaine  herds  of 
that  toune,  and  of  the  next  toune,  called  Un- 
natt.both  wenches  and  youthes,  did  on  a  tyine 
conveen  with  others  on  that  hill :  and  the  day 
being  somewhat  cold,  did  gather  the  bones  of 
Hie  dead  men  that  were  slayne  long  tyme  be- 
fore in  that  place,  and  did  make  a  tire  to  warm 
them.  At  last  they  did  all  remove  from  the 
fire,  except  one  maid  or  wench,  which  was 
verie  cold,  and  she  did  remaine  there  for  a 
space.  She  being  quyetlie  her  alone,  without 
anie  other  companie,  took  up  her  cloaths 
above  her  knees,  or  thereby,  to  warm  her;  a 
wind  did  come  and  casle  the  ashes  upon  her, 
and  she  was  conceived  of  ane  man-chyld. 
Severall  tymes  thereafter  she  was  verie  sick, 
and  at  last  she  was  knowne  to  be  with  chyld. 
And  then  her  parents  did  ask  at  her  the  mat- 
ter heiroff,  which  the  wench  could  not  weel 
answer  winch  way  to  satisfie  them.  At  last 
she  resolved  them  with  ane  answer.  As  for- 
tune fell  upon  her  concerning  this  marvellous 
miracle,  the  chyld  being  borne,  his  name  was 
called  Gili-Doir-MaahrevotUch.  that  is  to  say, 
the  Black  Child,  Son  to  tht  Bones.  So  called, 
his  grandfather  sent  him  to  school,  and  so  he 
was  a  siood  schqllar,  and  godlie.  He  did  build 
this  church  which  doeth  now  stand  in  Loch- 
yeld, called  Kilmalie." — Macfarlam,  ut  supra, 
ii.  183. 


NOTE  2  F. 

\Ytt  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 
The.  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear. — P.  173. 

The  snood,  or  riband,  with  which  a  Scottish 
lass  braided  her  hair,  had  an  emblematical 
signification,  and  applied  to  her  maiden  cha- 
racter. It  was  exchanged  for  the  curch,  toy,  or 
cnif,  when  she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the 
matron  state.  But  if  the  damsel  was  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  lose  pretensions  to  the  name  of 
maiden,  without  gaining  a  right  to  that  of  nia- 
tron,  she  was  neither  permitted  to  use  the 
snood,  nor  advanced  to  the  graver  dignity  of 
the  curch.  In  old  Scottish  songs  there  occur 
many  sly  allusions  to  such  misfortune ;  as  in 
the  old  words  to  the  popular  tune  of  "  Ower 
the  muir  amang  the  heather." 

The  lassie  lost  her  silken  snood, 
Thai  gard  her  greet  till  she  was  wearie." 


NOTE  2G. 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  vrild. 

Such  as  might  suit  the  siiectre's  child.— P.  174. 

In  adopting  the  legend  concerning  the  birth 
of  the  Founder  of  the  Church  of  Kilmalie,  the 
author  has  endeavoured  to  trace  the  effects 
which  such  a  belief  was  likely  to  produce,  in 


a  barbarous  age,  on  I  he  persons  to  whom  it 
related.  It  seems  likely  that  he  must  have 
become  a  fanatic  or  an  impostor,  or  that  mix- 
ture of  both  which  forms  a  more  frequent  cha- 
racter than  either  of  them,  as  existing  sepa- 
rately. In  truth,  mad  persons  are  frequently 
more  anxious  to  impress  upon  others  a  faith  in 
their  visions,  than  they  are  themselves  con- 
firmed in  their  reality ;  as,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  is  difficult  for  the  most  cool-headed  impostor 
long  to  personate  an  enthusiast,  without  in 
some  degree  believing  what  he  is  so  eager  to 
have  believed.  It  was  a  natural  attribute  of 
such  a  character  as  the  supposed  hermit,  that 
he  should  credit  the  numerous  superstitions 
with  which  the  minds  of  ordinary  Highlanders 
are  almost  always  imbued.  A  few  of  these 
are  slightly  alluded  to  in  this  stanza.  The 
River  Demon,  or  River-horse,  for  it  is  that 
form  which  he  commonly  assumes,  is  the 
Kelpy  of  the  Lowlands,  an  evil  and  malicious 
spirit,  delighting  to  forbode  and  to  witness  ca- 
lamity. He  frequents  most  Highland  lakes 
and  rivers;  and  one  of  Ins  most  memorable 
exploits  was  performed  upon  the  banks  of  Loch 
Vennachar,  in  the  very  district  which  forms 
the  scene  of  our  action  :  it  consisted  in  the  de- 
struction of  a  funeral  procession  with  all  its 
attendants.  The  "noontide  hag,"  called  in 
Gaelic  Glas-lich,  a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic  fe- 
male figure,  is  supposed  in  particular  to  haunt 
the  district  of  Kuoidart.  A  goblin,  dressed  in 
antique  armour,  and  having  one  hand  covered 
with  blood,  called  from  that  circumstance, 
Lham-deary,  or  Red-hand,  is  a  tenant  oi  the 
forests  of  Glenmore  and  Rpthiemurcus.  Other 
spirits  of  the  desert,  all  frightful  in  shape  and 
malignant  in  disposition,  are  believed  to  fre- 
quent different  mountains  and  glens  of  the 
Highlands,  where  any  unusual  appearance, 
produced  by  mist,  or  the  strange  lights  that 
are  sometimes  thrown  upon  particular  objects, 
never  fails  to  present  an  apparition  to  the 
imagination  of  the  solitary  and  melancholy 
mountaineer. 


NOTE  2  H. 

The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream. — P.  174. 

Most  great  families  in  the  Highlands  were 
supposed  to  have  a  tutelar,  or  rather  a  do- 
mestic spirit,  attached  to  them,  who  took  an 
interest  in  their  prosperity,  and  intimated,  by 
its  wailings,  any  approaching  disaster.  That 
of  Grant  of  Grant  was  called  May  Moullach, 
and  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  girl,  who  had 
her  arm  covered  with  hair.  Grant  of  Rothie- 
murcus  had  an  attendant  called  Boda^h-an- 
dttn,  or  the  Ghost  of  the  Hill ;  and  many  other 
examples  might  be  mentioned  The  Ban- 
Schie  implies  a  female  Fairy,  whose  lamenta- 
tions were  often  supposed  to  precede  the 
death  of  a  chieftain  of  particular  families. 
When  she  is  visible,  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  old 
woman,  with  a  blue  mantle  and  streaming 
hair.  A  superstition  of  the  same  kind  is,  I  be- 
lieve, universally  received  by  the  inferior 
ranks  of  the  native  Irish. 

The  death  of  the  head  of  a  Highland  family 
is  also  sometimes  supposed  to  be  announced 
by  a  chain  of  lights  of  different  colours,  called 
Dr'eug,  or  death  of  the  Druid.  The  direction 


212 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


which  it  takes,  marks  the  plane  of  the  funeral 
[See  the  Essay  on  Fairy  Superstitions  in  the 
Border  Minstrelsy  ] 


NOTE  21. 

Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 
Ofcharomg  tired i.  careering  fast 
Alfma  Beimarrow's  shingly  sidf. 
Where  mortal  horsemen  ne'er  might  ride, 

P.  174. 

A  prestige  of  the  kind  allnded  to  in  'he  text. 
is  still  believed  to  announce  death  to  the  an-  ; 
cient  Highland  family  of  M'Lean  of  Lochbuy.  : 
The  spirit  of  an  ancestor  slain  in  hattle  is  , 
heard  to  gallop  along  a  stony  bank,  and  then  j 
to  ride  thrice  around  the  tamily  residence,  j 
ringing  his  fairy  bridle,  and  thns  intimating  the 
approaching  calamity.  How  easily  the  eye.  as  j 
well  as  the  ear,  may  be  deceived  upon  such 
occasions,  is  evident  from  the  stories  of  armies 
in  the  air,  and  other  spectral  phenomena  with  ! 
which  history  abounds.  Such  an  apparition  is 
said  to  have  been  witnessed  upon  the  side  of 
Southfell  mountain,  between  Penrith  and  Kes- 
wick.  upon  the  23d  June  1744.  by  two  persons, 
William  Lancaster  of  Blakehills.  rind  Daniel 
Stncket.  his  servant,  whose  attestation  to  the 
feet,  with  a  full  account  of  the  apparition, 
dated  the  21st  July  1745,  is  printed  in  Clarke's 
Survey  of  the  Lakes.  The  apparition  con- 
sisted of  several  troops  of  horse  moving  in 
resiilar  order,  with  a  steady  rapid  motion, 
making  a  curved  sweep  around  the  fell,  and 
seeming  to  the  spectators  to  disappear  over 
the  ridge  of  the  mountain.  Many  persons 
witnesseil  this  phenomenon,  and  observed  the 
last,  or  last  but  one.  of  the  supposed  troop, 
occasionally  leave  his  rank,  and  pass  at  a  gal- 
lop to  the  front,  when  he  resumed  the  same 
steady  pace.  This  curious  appearance,  mak- 
ing the  necessary  allowance  for  imagination, 
may  he  perhaps  sufficiently  accounted  for  by 
optical  deception  —Survey  of  the  Lukts,  p.  25. 

Supernatural  intimation*  of  approaching  fate 
are  not.  I  believe,  confined  to  Highland  fami- 
lies Howel  mentions  having  seen,  at  a  lapi- 
dary's, in  1632.  a  monumental  stone,  prepared 
for  four  persons  of  the  name  of  Oxeiihatn.  he- 
fore  the  death  of  each  of  whom,  the  inscrip- 
tion stated  a  white  bird  to  have  nppeared  and 
fluttered  around  the  bed  while  the  patient  was 
in  the  last  agony. — FamiUar  I/Hers,  edit.  1726, 
247.  Glanville  mentions  one  family,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  received  this  solemn  sign  by 
music,  the  sound  of  which  floated  from  the 
family  residence,  and  seemed  to  die  in  a 
neighbouring  wood  ;  another,  that  of  Captain 
Wood  of  Bampton,  to  whom  the  signal  was 
given  by  knocking.  But  the  most  remarkable 
instance  of  the  kind  occurs  in  the  MS.  Me- 
moirs of  Lady  Fanshaw,  so  exemplary  for  her 
conjugal  affection  Her  husband.  Sir  Richard, 
and  she.  chanced  during  their  abode  in  Ire- 
land, to  visit  a  friend  the  head  of  a  sept,  who 
resided  in  his  ancient  baronial  castle,  sur- 
rounded with  a  moat.  At  midnight  she  was 
awakened  hv  a  ghastly  and  supernatural 
scream,  and.  looking  out  of  bed,  beheld,  by  the 
moonlight,  a  female  face  and  part  of  the  form, 
hovering  at  the  window.  The  distance  from 


the  ground,  as  well  as  the  circumstance  of  the 
moat,  excluded  the  possibility  that  what  she 
beheld  was  of  this  world.  The  face  was  that 
of  a  yonng  and  rather  handsome  woman,  but 
pale;  and  the  hair,  which  was  reddish,  was 
loose  and  dishevelled.  The  dress,  which  Lady 
Fanshaw's  terror  did  not  prevent  her  remark- 
ing accurately,  was  that  of  ihe  ancient  Irish. 
This  apparition  continued  to  exhibit  itself  for 
some  time,  and  then  vanished  with  two 
shrieks. similar  to  that  which  had  first  excited 
tady  Fanshaw's  attention.  In  the  morning, 
with  infinite  terror,  she  communicated  to  her 
host  what  she  had  witnessed,  and  found  him 
prepared  not  only  to  credit  hut  to  account  for 
the  apparition.  ••  A  near  relation  of  my  fami- 
ly." said  he.  "expired  last  n  eht  in  this  castle. 
We  disguised  our  certain  expectation  of  the 
event  from  yon.  lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud 
over  the  cheerful  reception  which  was  due 
you.  Now,  before  such  an  event  happens  in 
this  family  and  castle,  the  female  spectre 
whom  you  have  seen  always  is  visible  She 
is  believed  to  be  the  spirit  of  a  woman  of  in- 
ferior rank,  whom  one  of  my  ancestors  de- 
graded himself  by  marrying,  and  whom  after- 
wards, to  expiate  the  dishonour  done  his 
family,  he  caused  to  be  drowned  in  the  castle 
moat." 


NOTE  2K. 

Whose  parents  in  Inch-  Coil/inch  wane 
Their  shadows  o'er  C/an-Alpine's  grave. 

P.  174. 

Jnch-CaiUiach.  the  Isle  of  Nuns,  or  of  Old 
Women,  is  K  most  beautiful  island  at  the  lower 
extremity  of  Loch  Lomond.  The  church  be- 
longing to  the  former  nunnery  was  long  used 
as  the  place  of  worship  for  the  parish  of  Bu- 
chanan, hut  scarce  any  vestiges  of  it  now  re- 
main. The  burial-ground  continues  to  be 
used,  and  contains  the  family  places  of  sepul- 
ture of  several  neighbouring  clans.  The 
monnmen's  of  the  lairds  of  Macgregor,  and  of 
other  families,  claiming  a  descent  from  the  old 
Scottish  King  Alpine,  are  most  remarkable. 
The  Highlanders  are  as  zealous  of  their  rights 
of  sepulture, as  may  be  expected  from  a  people 
whose  whole  laws  and  government,  it'clanship 
can  he  called  so,  turned  upon  the  single  prin- 
ciple of  family  descent.  "  May  his  ashes  he 
scattered  on  the  water,"  was  one  of  the  deepest 
and  most  solemn  imprecations  which  they 
used  against  an.  enemy.  [See  a  detailed  de- 
scription of  the  funeral  ceremonies  of  a  High- 
land chieftain  in  the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 
Wuverlry  Novels,  vol.  43,  chaps,  z.  and  zl. 
Edit.  1834.] 


NOTE  2  L. 


•  the  dim  deer's  hide 


On  fleeter  fool  was  never  tied. — P.  175. 

The  present  brogtie  of  the  Highlanders  is 
made  of  half-dried  leather,  with  holes  to  ad- 
mit and  let  out  the  water:  for  walking  the 
moors  dry  shod  is  a  matter  altogether  out  of 
the  question.  The  ancient  buskin  was  still 
ruder,  being  made  of  undressed  deer's  hide, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  213 


with  the  hair  outwards;  a  circumstance  which 
procured  the  Highlanders  the  weli-known 
epithet  of  Rfd-sliauks.  The  process  is  very 
accurately  described  by  one  Elder  (himself  a 
Highlander)  in  the  project  for  a  union  between 
England  and  Scotland,  addressed  to  Henry 
VIII.  -  We  go  a  hunting,  and  utter  that  we 
have  slain  red-deer,  we  May  oft"  the  skm  by- 
and-by.  and  setting;  of  our  bare-foot  on  the  in- 
side thereof,  for  wmit  of  cunning  shoemakers, 
by  your  grace's  pardon,  we  play  the  cobblers, 
compassing;  and  measuring;  so  much  thereof  as 
shall  reach  up  to  our  ankles,  pricking  the 
upper  part  thereof  with  holes,  that  the  water 
may  repass  where  it  enters,  and  stretching;  it 
up  wall  a  strong;  thong;  of  the  same  above  our 
said  ankles.  So.  and  please  your  noble  grace, 
we  make  our  shoes.  Therefore,  we  using 
such  manner  of  shoes,  the  rough  hairy  side 
outwards,  in  your  grace's  dominions  of  Eng- 
land.  we  he  called  Roiuih,toi>ted  Scots." — Pm- 
kerton's  History,  vol.  li.  p  397. 


NOTE  2M. 

The  diurnal  coronach.— P.  175. 
The  Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  like  the 
Ulalatus  of  the  Komans,  and  the  Utuloo  of  the 
Irish,  was  a  wild  expression  of  lamentation, 
poured  forth  by  the  mourners  over  the  body 
of  a  departed  friend.  When  the  words  of  it. 
were  articulate,  they  expressed  the  praises  of 
the  deceased,  and  the  loss  the  clan  would 
sustain  by  his  death  The  following  is  a  la- 
mentation of  this  kind,  literally  translated 
from  the  Gaelic,  to  some  of  the  ideas  of  which 
the  text  stands  indebted.  The  tune  is  so  popu- 
lar, that  it  has  since  become  the  war-march, 
or  Gathering  of  the  clan. 
Coronach  on  Sir  Lnitchlan,  Chief  of  Maclean. 

"  Which  of  all  the  8er,achies 
Can  trace  thy  line  from  the  root  up  to  Paradise, 
But  Macvuinh,  II,,-  son  of  Fergun  1 
Ha  sooner  had  thine  ancient  stalely  tree 


••  Tis  no  base  weed—no  planted  tree, 

Nor  a  needling  of  lust  Autumn  ; 

Nor  a  sapling  planted  at  Britain;  1 

Wide,  wide  around  were  spread  its  lofty  branches— 

But  the  topmost  bough  is  lowly  laid  ! 

Thou  hast  forsaken  UK  before  Sawalue.  3 
"Thy  dwclline  is  the  winter  hoime  ;— 

Loud,  sad,  sail,  and  mighty  is  thy  death*BOn{ 

Oh  !  courteous  champion  of  Montrose  ! 

Oh  !  stately  warrior  of  the  Celt!,-  Islea  ! 

Tliou  shall  buckle  thy  harness  011  no  more '." 

The  coronach  has  for  some  years  past  been 
superseded  at  funerals  by  the  use  of  the  bag- 
pipe; and  that  also  is,  like  many  other  High- 
land peculiarities,  fulling  into  disuse,  unless  in 
remote  districts. 


NOTE  2N. 

i  saw  thf  Cross  of  Firt, 
It  glanced  tike  lightning  up  Strath-Ire.  —  P.  176. 
Inspection  of  the  provincial  map  of  Perth- 
shire. or  any  large  map  of  Scotland,  will  trace 


the  progress  of  the  signal  through  the  small 
district  of  lakes  and  mountains,  which,  in 
exercise  of  my  poetical  privilege,  I  have  sub- 
jected to  the  am  horny  of  my  imaginary  chief- 
tain, and  winch,  at  the  period  of  my  romance, 
was  really  occupied  by  a  clan  who  claimed  a 
descent,  from  Alpine;  a  clan  the  most  unfor- 
tunate, and  most  persecuted,  but  neither  the 
least  distinguished,  least  powerful,  nor  least 
brave,  of  the  tribes  of  the  Guel. 

Bhaxhion  an  Dun-StaiobhinUh 
'Stag  a  cheil  duchas  fast  ris." 

The  first  stage  of  the  Fiery  Cross  is  to  Dtm- 
craggan.  a  place  near  the  Bngg  of  Turk,  where 
a  short  stream  divides  Loch  Achniy  from  Loch 
Vennachar.  From  thence,  it  passes  towards 
Callender.  and  then,  turning  to  the  left  up  the 
pass  of  Leny,  is  consigned  to  Norman  at  the 
chapel  of  Saint  Kride,  which  stood  on  a  small 
and  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle  of  the  valley, 
called  Strath- Ire.  Tombea  and  Arnandave, 
or  Ardmandave,  are  names  of  places  in  the 
vicinity.  The  alarm  is  then  supposed  to  pass 
along  the  lake  of  Luhnaig,  and  through  the 
various  glens  in  the  district  of  Balquidder,  in- 
cluding the  neighbouring  tracts  of  Glenlinlas 
and  Strathgartiiev. 


NOTE  2  0. 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes. 
Balqwdtlrr,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze.— P.  177. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  southern 
reader,  that  the  heath  on  the  Scottish  moor- 
lands is  often  set  fire  to,  that  the  sheep  may 
have  the  advantage  of  the  young  herbage 
produced,  in  room  of  the  tough  old  heather 
plants.  This  custom  (execrated  hysportsmen) 
produces  occasionally  the  most  beautiful  noc- 
turnal appearances,  similar  almost  to  the  dis- 
charge of  a  volcano.  This  similie  is  not  new 
to  poetry.  The  charge  of  a  warrior,  in  the 
fine  ballad  of  Hardyknule,  is  said  to  be  "like 
fire  to  heather  set." 


NOTE  2  P. 

Na  oath,  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand 

No  law,  but  Raderic.  Dim's  command, — P.  177. 

The  deep  and  implicit  respect  paid  by  the 
Highland  clansmen  to  their  chief,  rendered 
this  both  a  common  and  a  solemn  oath  In 
other  respects  they  were  like  .most  savage 
nations,  capricious  in  their  ideas  concerning 
the  obligatory  power  of  oaths.  One  solemn 
mode  of  swearing  was  by  kissing  the  dirk, 
imprecating  upon  themselves  death  bv  that, 
or  a  similar  weapon,  if  they  broke  their  vow. 
But  for  oaths  in  the  usual  form,  they  are  said 
to  have  had  little  respect.  As  for  the  reve- 
rence due  to  the  chief,  it  mav  be  guessed  from 
the  following  odd  example  of  a  Highland  point 
of  honour: — 

"The  clan  whereto  the  above-mentioned 
tribe  belongs,  is  the  only  one  I  have  heard  of, 


r  Whitsunday. 


214 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


which  is  without  a  chief ;  that  is,  being:  divided 
into  families,  under  several  chieftains,  without 
any  particular  patriarch  of  the  whole  name. 
Aiid  this  18  a  great  reproach,  as  may  appear 
from  an  affair  that  fell  out  at  my  table,  in  the 
Highlands,  between  one  of  that  name  and  a 
Cameron.  The  provocation  given  by  the  latter 
was — '  Name  your  chief." — The  return  of  it  at 
once  was, — '  You  are  a  fool.'  They  went  out 
next  morning,  but  having  early  notice  of  it,  I 
sent  a  small  party  of  soldiers  after  them, 
which,  in  all  probability,  prevented  some  bar- 
barous mischief  that  might  have  ensued  :  for 
the  chiefless  Highlander,  who  is  himself  a 
petty  chieftain,  was  going  to  the  place  ap- 
pointed with  a  small  sword  and  pistol,  where- 
as the  Cameron  (an  old  man)  look  with  him 
only  his  broadsword,  according  to  the  agree- 
ment. 

"When  all  was  over,  and  I  had,  at  least 
seemingly,  reconciled  them,  1  was  told  the 
words,  of  which  I  seemed  to  think  but  slightl- 
ly,  were,  to  one  of  the  clan,  the  greatest  of  all 
provocations."  — Letters  from  Scutlaml,  vol.  ii. 
p.  22L 

NOTE  2  Q. 

a  law  and  lonely  cell. 

By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongve, 

has  Coir-nan- Unskin  been  sung.— P.  177. 

This  is  a  very  steep  and  most  romantic 
hollow  in  the  mountain  of  Benvenue,  over- 
hanging the  south-east ern  extremity  of  Loch 
Katrine.  It  is  surrounded  with  stupendous 
rocks,  and  overshadowed  with  birch-trees, 
mingled  with  oaks,  the  spontaneous  produc- 
tion of  the  mountain,  even  where  its  cliffs 
appear  denuded  of  soil.  A  dale  in  so  wild  a 
situation,  and  amid  a  people  whose  genius 
bordered  on  the  romantic,  did  not  remain  with- 
out appropriate  deities.  The  name  literally 
implies  the  Corri.  or  Den,  of  the  Wild  or  Shage'y 
men.  Perhaps  this,  as  conjectured  by  Mr.  Alex- 
ander Campbell. '  may  have  originally  only 
implied  its  being  the  haunt  of  a  ferocious  ban- 
ditti. But  tradition  has  ascribed  to  the  Urisk, 
who  gives  name  to  the  cavern,  a  figure  be- 
tween a  goat  and  a  man  ;  in  short,  however 
much  the  classical  reader  may  be  startled, 
precisely  that  of  the  Grecian  Satyr.  The  Urisk 
seems  not  to  have  inherited,  with  the  form,  the 
petulance  of  the  sylvan  deity  of  the  classics : 
ins  occupation,  on  the  contrary,  resembled 
those  of  Milton's  Lubbar  Fiend,  or  of  the 
Scottish  Brownie,  though  he  differed  from 
both  in  name  and  appearance.  •'  The  Urisks," 
says  Dr.  Graham,  '•  were  a  set  of  lubberly  su- 
pernalurals,  who,  like  the  Brownies,  could  he 
gained  over  by  kind  attention,  to  perform  the 
drudgery  of  the  farm,  and  it  was  believed 
that  many  of  the  families  in  the  Highlands 
had  one  of  the  order  attached  to  it.  They 
were  supposed  to  be  dispersed  over  the  High- 
lands, each  in  his  own  wild  recess,  hut  the 
solemn  stated  meetings  of  the  order  were  re- 
gularly held  in  this  Cave  of  Benvenne.  This 
current  superstition,  no  doubt,  alludes  to  some 
circumstance  in  the  ancient  history  of  this 
country." — Scenery  on  the  Southern  Confines  of 
Perthshire,  p.  19,  It* 6—  It  must  be  owned  that 


the  Ccir.  or  Den,  does  not,  in  its  present  state, 
meet  our  ideas  of  a  subterraneous  grotto,  or 
cave,  being  only  a  small  and  narrow  navi'v. 
among  huge  fragments  of  rocks  rudely  piled 
together.  But  such  :i  scene  is  liable  to  con- 
vulsions of  nature,  which  a  Lowlauder  cannot 
estimate,  and  which  may  have  choked  up 
what  was  originally  a  cavern.  At  least  the 
name  and  tradition  warrant  the  author  of  a 
fictitious  tale  to  assert  its  having  been  such  at 
the  remote  period  in  which  this  scene  is  laid. 


NOTE  2R. 

The  wild  pass  of  Beal-nam-bo.— P.  178. 
Bealach-nam-bo,  or  the  pass  of  cattle,  is  a 
most  magnificent  glade,  overturns  with  ased 
birch-trees,  a  little  higher  up  the  mountain 
i  than  the  Coir-nan-L'riskin,  treated  of  in  a 
|  former  note.  The  whole  composes  the  most 
j  sublime  piece  of  scenery  that  imagination  can 
conceive. 

NOTE  2  S. 

A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sutord. 
Alone  attended  on  his  lord  —P.  178 

A  Highland  chief,  being  as  absolute  in  his 
patriarchal  authority  as  any  prince,  had  a 
corresponding  number  of  officers  attached  to 
his  person.  He  had  his  body-guards,  called 
Luvch/tac/i.  picked  from  his  clan  for  strength, 
activity,  and  entire  devotion  to  his  person. 
These,  according  to  their  deserts,  were  sure 
to  share  abundantly  in  the  rude  profusion  of 
his  hospitality.  It  is  recorded,  for  example,  by 
tradition,  that  Allan  MacLean,  chief  of  that 
clan,  happened  upon  a  time  to  hear  one  of 
these  favourite  retainers  observe  to  his  com- 
rade, that  their  chief  grew  old — "  Whence  do 
you  infer  that  7"  replied  the  other. — •'  When 
was  it,"  rejoined  the  first,  "  that  a  soldier  of 
Allan's  was  obliged,  as  I  am  now,  not  only  to 
eat  the  flesh  from  the  bone,  but  even  to  lear 
off  the  inner  skin,  or  filament  7"  The  hint 
was  quite  sufficient,  and  Maclean  next  morn- 
ing, to  relieve  his  followers  from  such  dire 
necessity,  undertook  an  inroad  on  the  main- 
land, the  ravage  of  which  altogether  effaced 
the  memory  of  his  former  expeditious  for  the 
like  purpose. 

Our  officer  of  Engineers,  so  often  quoted, 
has  given  us  a  distinct  list  of  the  domestic 
officers  who.  independent  of  Luichttach.  or 
oardes  dr.  corps,  belonged  to  the  establishment 
of  a  Highland  Chief.  These  are,  1.  7V  hench- 
man. See  these  Notes,  p.  208.  2.  The  Bard. 
See  p.  202.  3.  Btadier.  or  spokesman.  4.  GiUie- 
more,  or  sword-bearer,  alluded  to  in  the  text. 
5  Gillie-cnsfkie.  who  carried  the  chiet'.  if  on 
foot,  over  the  fords.  6.  Gilbe-comstraiiie,  who 
leads  the  chief's  horse.  7.  GiVie-'l'ntshnnn- 
nnsh.  the  baggage  man.  8.  The  piper.  9.  The 
piper's  gillie  or  attendant,  who  carries  the 
bagpipe.2  Although  ilus  appeared,  naturally 
enough,  very  ridiculous  to  an  Ensrlish  officer, 
who  considered  the  master  of  such  a  retinue 
as  no  more  than  an  English  gentleman  of 
5001.  a-year,  yet  in  the  circumstances  of  the 

»  Letter*  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  15. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.     215 


chief,  whose  strength  and  importance  con- 
sisted in  the  number  and  attachment  of  his 
followers,  it  was  of  the  last  consequence,  in 
point  of  policy,  to  have  in  his  gift  subordinate 
offices,  which  called  immediately  round  his 
person  those  who  were  most  devoted  to  lnm. 
and,  being;  of  value  in  their  estimation,  were 
also  the  means  of  rewarding  them. 


NOTE  2T. 

The  Taghairm  caWd ;  by  which,  afar. 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  tear. — P.  179. 

The  Highlanders,  like  all  rude  people,  had 
various  superstitious  modes  of  inquiring  into 
futurity  One  of  the  most  noted  was  the 
Taq'iairm,  mentioned  in  the  text.  A  person 
was  wrapped  up  in  the  skin  of  a  newly-slain 
bullock,  and  deposited  beside  a  waterfall,  or 
at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  or  in  some  o'her 
strange,  wild,  and  unusual  situation,  where 
the  scenery  around  him  suggested  nothing  but 
objects  of  horror.  In  this  situation,  he  revolved 
iu  his  mind  the  question  proposed  ;  and  what- 
ever was  impressed  upon  him  by  his  exalted 
imagination,  passed  for  the  inspiration  of  the 
disembodied  spirits,  who  haunt  the  desolate 
recesses  In  some  of  these  Hebrides,  they  at- 
tributed the.  same  oracular  power  to  a  large 
black  stone  by  the  sea-shore,  which  they  ap- 
proached with  certain  solemnities,  and  consi- 
dered the  first  fancy  which  came  into  their 
own  minds,  after  they  did  so.  to  be  the  un- 
doubted dictate  of  the  tutelar  deity  of  the 
stone,  and.  as  such,  to  be,  if  possible,  punc- 
tually complied  with.  Martin  has  recorded 
the  following  curious  modes  of  Highland  au- 
gury, in  which  the  Taghainn.  and  its  effects 
upon  the  person  who  was  subjected' to  it,  may 
serve  to  illustrate  the  text. 

"It  was  an  ordinary  thing  among  the  over- 
curious  to  consult  an  invisible  oracle,  concern- 
ing the  fate  of  families  and  battles,  &c.  This 
was  performed  three  different  ways:  the  first 
was  by  a  company  of  men,  one  of  whom,  being 
detached  by  lot,  was  afterwards  carried  to  a 
river,  which  was  the  boundary  between  two 
villages;  four  of  the  company  laid  hold  on 
him,  and.  having  shut  his  eyes,  they  took  him 
by  the  legs  and  arms,  and  then,  tossing  him  to 
and  again,  struck  his  hips  with  force  against 
the  bank.  One  of  them  cried  out.  What  is  it 
you  have  got  here  ?  another  answers,  A  log  of 
birch  wood.  The  other  cries  again.  Let  his 
invisible  friends  appear  from  all  quarters,  and 
let  them  relieve  him  by  giving  an  answer  to 
our  present  demands:  and  in  a  few  minutes 
after,  a  number  of  little  crealures  came  from 
the  sea.  who  answered  the  question,  and  dis- 
appeared suddenly.  The  man  was  then  set  at 
liberty,  and  they  all  returned  home,  to  take 
their  measures  according  to  the  prediction  of 
their  false  prophets ;  hut  the  poor  deluded 
f.iols  were  abused,  for  their  answer  was  still 
ambiguous.  This  WMS  always  practised  in  the 
night,  and  may  literally  be  culled  the  works 
of  darkness. 

"  I  had  an  account  from  the  most  intelligent 
and  judicious  men  iu  the  Isle  of  Skie,  that 
about  sixty-two  years  ago,  the  oracle  was  thus 
consulted  only  once,  and  that  was  in  the  pa- 


rish of  Kilmartin,  on  the  east  side,  by  a  wick- 
ed and  mischievous  race  of  people,  who  are 
now  extinguished,  both  root  and  branch. 

'•The  second  way  of  consulting  the  oracle 
was  by  a  party  of  men,  who  first  retired  to  so- 
litary places,  remote  from  any  house,  and  there 
they  singled  out  one  of  their  number,  and 
wrapt  him  in  a  big  cow's  hide,  which  they 
folded  about  him  ;  his  whole  body  was  covered 
with  it,  except  his  head,  and  so  left  in  this  pos- 
ture all  night,  until  his  invisible  friends  re- 
lieved him,  by  giving  a  proper  answer  to  the 
question  in  hand  ;  which  he  received,  as  he 
fancied,  from  several  persons  that  he  found 
about  him  all  that  time.  His  consorts  returned 
to  him  at  the  break  of  day,  and  then  he  com- 
municated his  news  to  them ;  which  often 
proved  fatal  to  those  concerned  in  such  un- 
warrantable enquiries. 

"  There  was  a  third  way  of  consulting,  which 
was  a  confirmation  of  the  second  above  men- 
tioned. The  same  company  who  put  the  man 
into  the  hide,  took  a  live  cat,  and  put  him  on 
a  spit;  one  of  the  number  was  employed  to 
turn  the  spit,  and  one  of  his  consorts  enquired 
of  him.  What  are  you  doing?  he  answered,  I 
roast  this  cat,  until  his  friends  answer  the 
question  ;  which  must  be  the  same  that  was 
proposed  by  the  man  shut  up  in  the  hide.  And 
afterwards,  a  very  big  calj  conies,  attended 
by  a  number  of  lesser  cats,  desiring  to  relieve 
the  cat  turned  upon  the  spit,  and  then  answers 
the  question.  If  this  answer  proved  the  same 
that  was  given  to  the  man  in  the  hide,  then  it 
was  taken  as  a  confirmation  of  the  other,  whjch, 
in  this  case,  was  believed  infallible. 

"Mr.  Alexander  Cooper,  present  minister  of 
North- Vist,  told  me.  that  one  John  Krach,  in 
the  Isle  of  Lewis,  assured  him,  it  was  his  fate 
to  have  been  led  by  Ins  curiosity  with  some 
who  consulted  this  oracle,  and  that  he  was  a 
night  within  the  hide,  as  above  mentioned; 
during  which  time  he  felt  and  heard  such  ter- 
rible things,  that  he  could  not  express  them; 
the  impression  it  made  on  him  was  such  as 
could  never  go  off,  and  he  said,  for  a  thousand 
worlds  he  would  never  again  be  concenied  in 
the  like  performance,  for  this  had  disordered 
him  to  a  high  degree.  He  confessed  it  inge- 
nuously, and  with  an  air  of  great  remorse,  and 
seemed  to  be  very  penitent  under  a  just  sense 
of  so  great  a  crime :  he  declared  this  about 
five  years  since,  and  is  still  living  in  the  Lewis 
for  any  thing  I  know."—  Description  of  the 
Western  Isles,  p.  110.  See  also  Ptmiant's  Scot- 
tish. Tour,  vol.  ii.  p.  361. 


NOTE  2U. 

The  choicest  of  the  prey  VK  had, 

When  swept  our  merry-men  GaUangad  — P.  180. 

1  know  not  if  it  be  worth  observing,  that 
this  passage  is  taken  almost  literally  from  the 
mouth  of  an  old  Highland  Kern  or  Ketteran, 
as  they  were  called.  He  used  to  narrate  the 
merry  doings  of  the  good  old  time  when  he 
was  follower  of  Rob  Roy  MacGregor.  This 


1  The  reader  may  have  met  with  the 
)f  the  Until,"  in  Lord  LitU.  ton's  Utler 
iu  the  Highland*  a»  a  nursery  tale. 


216 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


leader,  on  one  occasion,  thought  proper  to 
make  a  descent  upon  I  lie  lower  part  of  the 
Loch  Loinouil  district,  and  summoned  all  the 
heritors  and  farmers  to  meet  at  the  Kirk  of 
Dryinen,  to  pay  him  black-mail,  i.  e.  tribute  for 
forbearance  and  protection.  As  this  invitation 
was  supported  by  a  band  of  thirty  or  forty  stout 
fellows,  only  one  gentleman,  an  ancestor,  if  I 
mistake  not,  of  the  present  Mr.  Grahame  of 
Gartmore,  ventured  to  decline  compliance. 
Rob  Hoy  instantly  swept  his  land  of  all  he 
could  drive  away,  anil  among  the  spoil  was  a 
bull  of  the  old  Scottish  wild  breed,  whose  fe- 
rocity occasioned  great  plague  to  the  Kette- 
rans.  ••  But  ere  we  had  reached  the  Row  of 
Dennan,"  said  the  old  man.  "a  child  might 
have  scratched  his  ears."  '  The  circumstance 
is  a  minute  one,  but  it  paints  the  times  when 
the  poor  beeve  was  compelled 

With  goading  pikemen  hollowing  al  hi»  heels, 
is  e'er  tile  bravtat  antler  of  tile  woods." 


NOTE  2  V. 

That  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 

Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.—'?.  180. 

There  is  a  rock  so  named  in  the  Forest  of 
Glenfinlas,  by  which  a  tumultuary  cataract 
takes  its  course.  This  wild  [>lace  is  said  in 
former  tunes  to  have  afforded  refuge  to  an 
outlaw,  who  was  supplied  wilh  provisions  by 
a  woman,  who  lowered  them  down  from  the 
brink  of  the  precipice  above.  His  water  he 
procured  for  himself,  by  letting  down  a  flazon 
tied  to  a  string,  into  the  black  pool  beneath 
the  fall. 


NOTE  2W. 


That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke. 

His  morstl  claims  with  sulltn  croak  ?—P.  180. 

Broke  —  Quartered.  —  Every  thing  belonging 
to  the  chase  was  matter  of  solemnity  among 
our  ancestors;  hut  nolliing  was  more  so  than 
the  mode  of  cutting  up,  or,  as  it  was  techni- 
cally called,  breaking,  the  slaughtered  stag 
The  forester  had  his  allotted  portion;  the 
hounds  had  a  certain  allowance ;  and,  to 
make  the  division  as  general  as  possible,  the 
very  birds  had  their  share  also.  "There  is  a 
little  gristle,"  says  Tuberville,  "which  is  upon 
the  spoone  of  the  brisket,  which  we  call  the 
raven's  bone  :  and  I  have  seen  in  some  places 
a  raven  so  wont  and  accustomed  to  it,  that  she 
would  never  fail  to  croak  and  cry  for  it  all  the 
time  you  were  in  breaking  up  of'tbe  deer,  and 
would  not  depart  till  she  had  it."  In  the  very 
ancient  metrical  romance  of  SirTristrem,  that 
peerless  knight,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the 
very  deviser  of  all  rules  of  chase,  did  not  omit 
the  ceremony : — 

*  The  raaen  he  yaue  his  vines 
Sat  on  the  foufchad  tre." 

Sir  Tritfrfl*. 


The  raven  might  also  challenge  his  rights 
by  the  Book  of  .St.  Albans  ;  for  thus  says  Dame 
Juliana  Berners : — 


1  This  anecdote  wa 
IKribod  to  Oregor  M 
Ma,  or  Black-knre,  a 


Jonson,  in  "The  Sad  Shepherd,"  gives  a 
more  poetical  account  of  the  same  cere- 
mony : — 

Df'lh  cleave  the  brisket  bone,  upon  the  spoon 
Of  which  a  little  gristle  grows— you  call  it— 
Jtooin  Hoorf  —  Tlie  raven's  bone. 

On  a  sere  bough,  a  grown,  greet  bird,  and  hoarae. 
Who,  alt  the  while  the  deer  was  breaking  np, 


NOTE  2X. 

Which  spills  the  foremost  fofman  s  life. 
That  party  conquers  in  the  strife.— P.  180. 

Though  this  be  in  the  text  described  as  a 
response  of  the  Taghairm.  or  Oracle  of  the 
Hide,  it  was  of  itself  an  augury  frequently  at- 
lended  to.  The  fate  of  the  battle  was  often 
anticipated  in  the  imagination  of  the  combat- 
ants, by  observing  which  party  first  sheu1  blood. 
It  is  said  that  the  Highlanders  under  Montrose 
were  so  deeply  imbued  with  this  notion,  that, 
on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Tippermoor, 
they  murdered  a  defenceless  herdsman,  whom 
they  found  in  the  fields,  merely  to  secure  an 
advantage  of  so  much  consequence  to  their 
party. 


•      NOTE  2Y. 

Alice  Brand— P.  181. 

This  little  fairy  tale  is  founded  upon  a  very 
curious  Danish  ballad,  which  occurs  in  the 
Koempe  Viser,  a  collection  of  heroic  sonis.  first 
published  in  1591.  and  reprinted  in  1695.  in- 
scribed by  Anders  Sofrensen.  the  collector  and 
editor,  to  Sophia  Queen  of  Denmark.  I  have 
been  favoured  with  a  literal  translation  of  the 
original,  by  my  learned  friend  Mr.  Robert  Ja- 
mieson,  whose  deep  knowledge  of  Scandina- 
vian antiquities  will,  I  hope,  one  day  be  dis- 
g laved  in  illustration  of  the  history  of  Scottish 
allad  and  Song,  for  which  no  man  possesses 
more  ample  materials.  The  story  will  remind 
the  renders  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy  of  the 
tale  of  Young  Tamlane.  But  this  is  only  a  so- 
litary and  not  very  marked  instance  of  coinci- 
dence, whereas  several  of  the  other  ballads  in 
the  same  collection  find  exact  counterparts  in 
the  Kcempe  Viser.  Which  may  have  been  the 
originals,  will  be  a  question  for  future  anti- 
quaries. Mr.  Jamieson,  to  secure  the  power 
of  literal  translation,  has  adopted  the  old  Scot- 
tish idiom,  which  approaches  so  near  to  that 
ofthe  Danish,  as  almost  to  give  word  forword, 
as  well  as  line  for  line,  and  indeed  in  many 
verses  the  orthography  alone  is  altered.  As 


editions,  inaccurately    been  assured,  not  addicted  to  his  predatory  i 
cfrregor  of  Glrngyle,  called  Olilune    Kalf  la  Tiiird  Edilum. 
relation  of  Rob  Roy,  but,  as  I  have  ' 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  217 


Wester  Haf,  mentioned  m  the  first  stanzas  of 
the  ballad,  means  the  West  Sea,  in  opposition 
to  the  Baltic,  or  East  Sea,  Mr.  Jamieson  in- 
clines to  he  of  opinion,  that  the  scene  of  the 
disenchantment  is  laid  in  one  of  the  Orkney, 
or  Hebride  Islands.  To  each  verse  in  the  ori- 
ginal is  added  a  burden,  having  a  kind  of 
meaning  of  its  own.  but  not  applicable,  at  least 
not  uniformly  applicable,  to  the  sense  of  the 
s!anza  to  winch  it  is  subjoined:  this  is  very 
common  both  in  Danish  and  Scottish  song. 


THE  ELFIN  GRAY. 

TRANSLATED  KROM  THE  DANISH  KyEMPE  VISEK. 
p.  143.,  AND  FIRST  PUBLISHED  IN  1691. 

Der  linger  en  void  i  Vester  Haf, 
Der  (utter  en  bonde  at  bygye  : 
Handforer  did  baade  hog  og  hand, 
Oa  ugter  der  om  vinteren  at  ligge. 
(De  vilde  diur  og  diurene  udi  skofven.) 


1. 

There  liggs  a  wold  in  Wester  Haf, 
There  a  husbande  means  to  bigg. 

And  thither  he  carries  baith  hawk  and  hound, 
There  meaning  the  winter  to  ligg. 

( The  wild  deer  and  does  i'  the  shaw  out.) 

2. 
He  taks  wi'  him  baith  hound  and  cock, 

The  langer  he  means  to  stay, 
The  wild  deer  in  the  shaws  that  are 

^fay  sairly  rue  the  day. 
( The  wild  deer,  <fc. ) 

3. 
He's  hew'd  the  beech,  and  he's  fell'd  the  aik, 

Sae  has  he  the  poplar  gray; 
And  grim  in  mood  was  the  grewsome  elf, 

That  be  sae  bald  he  may. 

4. 
He  hew'd  him  kipples.  he  hew'd  him  hawks, 

Wi'  mickle  moil  and  haste  ; 
Syne  speer'd  the  Elf  i'  the  knock  that  bade, 

"  Wha's  hacking  here  sae  fast  ?" 

5. 
Syne  up  and  spak  the  weiest  Elf, 

Crean'd  as  an  immert  sma : 
"It's  here  is  come  a  Christian  man; — 

I'll  fley  him  or  he  pa." 

6. 
It's  up  syne  started  the  firsten  Elf, 

And  glower'd  about  sae  grim  : 
"  It's  we'll  awa'  to  the  husbaiide's  house, 

And  hald  a  court  on  him. 

7. 
"  Here  hews  he  down  baith  skugg  and  shaw, 

And  works  us  skaith  and  scorn  : 
Ills  huswife  he  sail  gie  to  me : — 

They's  rue  the  day  they  were  born  !" 

1  Ttlit  tinguhr  quntrnn  mints  thus  in  the  original:— 
"  Hi.ndcn  hnnd  gior  i  ijaarden  : 

Ifiordrn  lude  i  sit  horn; 
Oemen  ukrigrr,  og  hanen  galer. 
Som  bonden  hafde  gifvet  sit  horn  " 


The  Elfen  a'  i'  the  knock  thdt  were 

Gaed  dancing  in  a  string ; 
They  nighed  near  the  hushande's  house , 

Sae  lang  their  tails  did  hing. 

9. 
The  hound  he  yowls  i'  the  yard, 

The  herd  too'ts  in  his  horn  ; 
The  earn  scraighs.  and  the  cock  craws, 

As  the  husbande  has  gi'en  him  his  corn.1 

10. 
The  Elfen  were  five  score  and  seven, 

Sae  laidly  and  sae  grim  ; 
And  they  the  hushande's  guests  maun  be, 

To  eat  and  drink  wi'  him. 

11. 
The  husbande,  out  o'  Villenshaw, 

At  his  winnock  the  Elves  can  see  ; 
"  Help  me,  now.  Jesu.  Mary's  son ; 

Thir  Elves  they  mint  at  me !" 

12. 
In  every  nook  a  cross  he  coost, 

In  his  chalmer  maist  ava; 
The  Elfen  a'  were  fley'd  thereat, 

And  flew  to  the  wild-wood  shaw. 

13. 
And  some  flew  east,  and  some  flew  west, 

And  some  to  the  norwart  flew; 
And  some  they  flew  to  the  deep  dale  down, 

There  still  they  are,  I  trow." 

H. 
It  was  then  the  weiest  Elf, 

In  at  the  door  braids  he ; 
Agast  was  the  husbande,  for  that  Elf 

For  cross  nor  sign  wad  flee. 

15. 
The  huswife  she  was  a  canny  wife. 

She  set  the  Elf  at  the  board  ; 
She  set  before  him  baith  ale  and  meat, 

Wi'  mony  a  weel-waled  word. 

16. 
"  Hear  thou,  Gudeman  o'  Villenshaw, 

What  now  1  say  to  thee ; 
Wha  bade  thee  bigg  within  our  bounds, 

Without  the  leave  o'  me  ? 

17. 
"  But  an  thou  in  our  bounds  will  bigg:, 

And  bide,  as  well  as  may  he, 
Then  thou  thy  dearest  huswife  niauu 

To  me  for  a  lemman  gie." 

18, 
Up  spak  the  luckless  husbande  then, 

As  God  the  grace  him  gae ; 
"  Kline  she  is  to  me  sae  dear, 

Her  thou  may  nae-gate  hae." 

19. 
Till  the  Elf  he  answer'd  as  he  couth  : 

"  Let  but  my  huswife  be, 
And  tak  whate'er.  o'  gude  or  gear, 

Is  mine,  awa  wi'  thee." — 


5  floye 


218 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


20. 
••  Then  I'll  thy  Eline  tuk  and  thee, 

Aueath  ray  feet  to  tread : 
And  hide  thy  proud  and  white  monie 

Aiieath  my  dwallmg  stead." 

21. 
The  husbande  and  his  househald  a' 

In  sary  rede  they  join : 
"  Far  better  that  she  be  now  forfairn, 

Aor  that  we  a'  should  tyue." 

22. 
Up.  will  of  rede,  the  husbande  stood, 

Wi*  heart  fu'  sad  and  sair ; 
And  he  has  L-ien  his  huswife  Eline 

Wj'  the  young  Elfe  to  fare. 

23. 
Then  Myth  grew  he,  and  sprang  about : 

He  took  her  in  his  arm  : 
The  rud  it  left  her  comely  cheek  ; 

Her  heart  was  clem'd  wi'  harm. 

21. 
A  waefu'  woman  then  she  was  ane, 

And  the  moody  tears  loot  fa' : 
"  God  rew  on  me,  unseely  wife, 

How  hard  a  weird  I  fa' ! 

25. 
"  My  fay  I  plight  to  the  fairest  wight 

That  m<tn  on  mold  mat  see  ; — 
Maun  I  now  mell  wi'  a  laidly  El, 

His  light  leminau  to  be  ?'' 

26. 
He  minted  ance— he  minted  twice, 

Wae  wax'd  her  heart  that  syth  : 
Syne  the  laidliest  fiend  he  grew  that  e'er 

To  mortal  ee  did  kyth. 

27. 
When  he  the  thirden  time  can  mint 

To  Mary's  son  she  pray'd, 
And  the  laidly  Elf  was  clean  awa, 

And  a  fair  knight  in  his  stead. 

28. 
This  fell  under  a  linden  green, 

Thai,  again  his  shape  he  found ; 
0'  wae  and  care  was  the  word  nae  mair, 

A'  were  sae  glad  that  slound. 

29. 
"0  dearest  Eline.  hear  thou  this, 

And  thou  my  wife  sail  be. 
Anil  a'  the  gotid  in  merry  England 

Sae  freely  I'll  gi'e  thee ! 

30. 
"  Whan  I  was  hut  a  little  wee  bairn. 

My  mither  died  me  fra ; 
My  stepmither  sent  me  awa'  fra  her; 

"I  turn'd  till  an  Elfin  Gray 

31. 
"To  thy  hushande  I  a  sift  will  gie, 

Wj'  mickle  slate  and  eear, 
As  mends  for  Eline  his  huswife: — 

Thou's  be  my  heartis  dear." — 


32. 
"Thou  nobil  knyght,  we  thank  now  God 

That  has  freed  us  frae  skaith  ; 
Sae  wed  thou  thee  a  maiden  free, 

And  joy  attend  ye  baith  ! 

33. 

"  Sin'  I  to  thee  nae  maik  can  be 

My  dochter  may  be  thine ; 
And  thy  gud  will  right  to  fulfill, 

Lat  this  be  our  propine." — 

34. 
"  I  thank  thee.  Eline,  thou  wise  woman ; 

My  praise  thy  worth  sail  ha'e ; 
And  thy  love  gin  I  fail  to  win, 

Thou  here  at  name  sail  stay." 

as. 

The  hushande  biggit  now  on  his  oe, 
And  nae  ane  wrought  him  wrang ; 

His  dochter  wore  crown  in  Engeland, 
And  happy  lived  and  laug. 

36. 
Now  Eline,  the  husbande's  huswife,  has 

Cour'd  a'  her  grief  and  harms ; 
She's  mither  to  a  noble  queen 

That  sleeps  in  a  kmgis  arms 

GLOSSARY. 
St.  1.  Wold,  a  woody  fastness. 

Husbande,  from  the  Dan.  nos,  with,  and 
bonde,  a  villain,  or  bondsman,  who  was 
a  cultivator  of  the  ground,  and  could 
not  quit  the  estate  to  which  he  was 
attached,  without  the  permission  of 
his  lord.  This  is  the  sense  of  the 
word,  in  the  old  Scottish  records.  In 
the  Scottish  "Burghe  Laws,"  trans- 
lated from  the  Reg.  Mnjcst.  (Auchm- 
Icrk  MS.  in  the  Adv.  Lib.)  it  is  used 
indiscriminately  with  the  Dan.  and 
Swed.  bonde. 

Bigg,  build. 

Ligg.  lie. 

Daes,  does. 

2.  Shaw,  wood. 
Sairly.  sorely. 

3.  Aik.  oak. 
Gracsome,  terrible. 
Bald.  bold. 

4.  Kipplfi  (couples),  beams  joined   at  the 

top,  for  supporting  a  roof,  in  building. 
Baiolft.  balks ;  cross  beams. 
Moil,  laborious  industry. 
ftyrer'd,  asked. 
Knock,  hillock. 

5.  Weifst,  smallest. 

Crean'd,  shrunk,  diminish 'd;  from  the 
Gaelic,  crian.  very  small. 

Immert,  emmet ;  ant 

Christian,  used  in  the  Danish  ballads. 
&c.  in  contradistinction  to  demoniac,  as 
it  is  in  England  in  contradistinction  lo 
brute;  in  which  sense,  a  person  of  the 
lower  class  in  England,  would  call  a 
Jea  or  a  Turk  a  Christian. 

Flry,  frighten 

6.  Glouxr'd.  stared. 
Hald,  hold 

7.  ShiM.  shade. 
Skaith,  harm. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  219 


8.  Niuhed.  approached. 

9.  Yow/s,  howls. 

Toots.— in  the  Dan  tude  is  applied  both 
to  the  howling  of  a  dog,  and  the  sound 
of  a  liorn. 

Scraighs,  screams. 

10.  Lauity,  loathly  ;  disgustingly  ugly. 
Grim,  fierce. 

11.  Wmnork,  window. 
Mint,  ami  at. 

12-  Coast,  cast. 

Chalmer,  chamber. 
Maist.  most. 
Ava.,  of  all. 

13.  Norwart,  northward. 
Trow,  believe. 

14.  Hrnids.  strnles  quicklv  forward. 
Wad,  would. 

15.  Canny,  adroit. 
Alinig.  many. 

Wf  el- waled,  well  chosen. 

17.  An.  if. 
ftiile,  abide. 
Ifmman,  mistress. 

18.  Nae-pnte,  nowise. 

19.  Couth,  could,  knew  how  to. 
Lot  be,  let  alone 

(fiule,  aoods ;  properly. 

20.  Anenlh,  beneath. 
Dwa/lino-slead,  dwelling-place. 

21.  Sary.  sorrowful. 

Rede,  counsel ;  consultation 
for f aim,  forlorn  ;  lost ;  gone. 
Tyne,  (verb  nent. )  be  lost.:  perish. 

22.  Will  of  rede.,  bewildered  in  thought;  in 

the  Danish  original  ••  vildraattaye ;" 
Lat.  "inops  consilii ;"  Gr.  Jhnfttf. 
This  expression  is  left  among  the  dfsi- 
dr.rata  in  the  Glossary  to  Ritson's 
Romances,  and  has  never  been  ex- 
plained. It  is  obsolete  in  the  Danish 
as  well  as  in  English. 
Fare,  go. 

23.  Riul,  red  of  the  cheek. 

Clrm'd.  in  the  Danish  \lemt;  (which  in 
the  nortti  of  England  is  still  in  use,  as 
the  word  starved  is  with  us;  brought 
to  a  dying  state.  It  is  used  by  our  old 
comedians. 

Harm,  grief;  as  in  the  original,  and  in 
the  old  Teutonic,  English,  and  Scot- 
tish poetry 

24.  Waefu'.  woeful 

Moody,  strongly  and  wilfully  possionate. 

Reno,  take  ruth  ;  pity. 

Unseely.  unhappy ;  unblest. 

Weird,  fate. 

Fa,  (Is!  Dan.  and  Swed  )  taKe;  get: 
acquire ;  procure ;  have  for  my  lol  — 
This  Gothic  verb  answers,  in  its  direct 
and  secondary  significations,  exactly 
to  the  Latin  capto;  and  Allan  Ramsay 
was  right,  in  his  definition  of  it.  It  is 
quite  a  different  word  from  fa',  an  ab- 
breviation of  'Jail,  or  befall ;  and  is  the 
principal  root  in  fangen,  to  fang,  take, 
or  lay  hold  of. 

1  "  Under  oe."— The  original  expression  has  been  pre- 
nreH    here  and    cliwwhere,   because    no  other  couH    be 

standard  Danish  ballad  phrase ;  and  as  sach,  it  is  hoped, 
ill  be  allowed  to  pass. 


25.  Fay,  faith. 

Mold,  mould ;  earth. 

Mat,  mote ;  might. 

Maun,  must. 

Mtll,  mix. 

El,  an  elf.  This  term,  in  the  Welsh, 
signifies  what  has  in  itself  the  pouter  of 
motion ;  a  moving  principle ;  an  intelli- 
gence ;  a  spirit ;  an  am/el.  In  the  He- 
brew it  bears  the  same  import. 

26.  Minted,  attempted ;   meant;  showed   a 

mind,  or  intention  to.  The  original 
is : — 

'•  Hand  mindle  hende  forst — og  anden  gang  ;— 
Hun  giordis  i  hiortet  sa  vee  : 
End  blef  hand  deu  'ledisle  deif-vel 
Maud  kunde  med  oyen  see. 
Der  hand  vilde  minde  den  tredie  gang,"  &c. 
Syth.  tide :  lime. 
Kyth,  appear. 

28.  Stouttd,  hour:  time;  moment. 

29.  Merry  (old   Tent.   mere),  famous ;    re- 

nowned ;  answering,  in  its  etymolo- 
gical meaning,  exactly  to  the  Latin 
maclus.  Hence  merry-men,  as  the  ad- 
dress of  a  chief  to  his  followers; 
meaning,  not  men  of  mirth,  but  of  re- 
nown. The  term  is  found  in  its  ori- 
ginal sense  in  the  Gael,  mara,  and  the 
Welsh  mawr,  great;  and  in  the  oldest 
Teut.  Romances,  mar,  mer,  and  mere, 
have  sometimes  the  same  Mgnincatiou. 

31.  Mends,  amends;  recompense. 

33.  Mnik.  match:  peer;  equal. 
Propine,  pledge ;  gift. 

35.  oe,  an  island  of  tiie  second  magnitude ; 

an  island  of  ihe  first  magnitude  being 
called  a  iand,  and  one 'of  the  third 
magnitude  a  fiolin. 

36.  Cour'd,  recover'd. 


THE  GHAIST'S  WARNING. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH  K.EMPE  VISER, 
p.  721. 

By  the  permission  of  Mr.  Jamifson,  this  ballad 
is  adiledfrom  the  same  curious  Collection.  It 
contains  some  passages  of  great  pathos. 

Svcrat  Dyring  hand  rider  sig  op  under  oe, 

( Vare.jeg  selver  tiny) 
Der  fceste  hand  sig  saa  ven  en  moe. 

(Mnj  lyster  udi  lunden  at  ride,)  <fc. 

Child  Dyring  has  ridden  him  np  under  oe,1 

(And  Ogin  I  were  young!) 
There  wedded  he  him  sae  fair2  a  may. 

( 1'  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride. ) 

Thegither  they  lived  for  seven  lang  year, 

(And  O,  4-c.) 
And  they  seven  bairns  hae  gotten  in  fere. 

( /'  the  greenwood,  <£c. ) 

2  "Fair  "—The  Dan.  and  Swed  ven,  earn,  or  veime,  and 


220 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sae  Death's  come  there  intill  that  stead, 
And  that  winsome  lily  flower  is  dead. 

That  swain  he  has  ridden  him  "p  nude  oe, 
And  syne  he  has  married  anither  may. 

He's  married  a  may.  and  he's  fessen  her  name ; 
But  she  was  a  grim  and  a  laidly  dame. 

When  into  the  castell  court  drave  she. 

The  seven  bairns  stood  wi'  the  tear  in  their  ee. 

The  bairns  they  stood  wi1  dule  nnd  doubt ; — 
She  up  wi'  her  foot,  and  she  kick'd  them  out. 

Nor  ale  nor  mead  to  the  bairnies  she  gave  : 
"  But  hunger  and  hate  frae  me  ye's  have." 

She  took  fme  them  the  bowster  blae, 
And  said,  "  Ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  bare  strae !" 

She  took  frae  them  the  groff  wax-light : 
Say,  "  Now  ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night !" 

'Twas  lang  i'  the  night,  and  the  baimies  grat : 
Their  mil  her  she  under  the  mools  heard  that ; 

That  heard  the  wife  under  the  eard  that  lay ; 
"  For  sooth  maun  I  to  my  bairnies  gae !" 

That  wife  can  stan  np  at  our  Lord's  knee, 
And  "  May  I  gang  and  my  bairnies  see  V 

She  prigged  sae  sair,  and  she   prigged   sae 

lang. 
That  he  at  the  last  ga'e  her  leave  to  gang. 

"  And  thou  sail  come  back  when  the  cock  does 

craw, 
For  thou  nae  lanser  sail  bide  awa." 

Wi'  her  banes  sae  stark  a  bowt  she  gae ; 
She's  riven  baith  wa'  and  marble  gray.i 

Whan  near  to  the  dwalling  she  can  gang, 
The  dogs  they  wow'd  till  the  lift  it  rang. 

When  she  came  till  the  castell  yett, 
Her  eldest  dochter  stood  thereat. 

"  Why  stand  ye  here,  dear  dochter  mine  T 
How  are  sin'  brithers  and  sisters  thine  ?"— 

"  For  sooth  ye're  a  woman  baith  fair  and  fine  ; 
But  ye  are  nae  dear  mither  of  mine." — 

"  Och !  how  should  I  be  fine  or  fair  ? 

My  cheek  it  is  pale,  and  the  ground's  my 

lair."— 

•'  My  mither  was  white,  wi'  cheek  sae  red ; 
But  thou  art  wan,  and  liker  ane  dead." — 

"  Och  !  how  should  I  be  white  and  red. 
Sae  lang  as  I've  been  cauld  and  dead  !" 

When  she  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 
Down  the  bairns'  cheeks  the  tears  did  rin. 

She  hnskit  the  tane.  and  she  brush'd  it  there ; 
She  kem'd  and  plaited  the  tither's  hair. 

The  thirden  she  doodl'd  upon  her  knee. 
And  the  fourthen  she  dichted  sae  caunilie. 

She's  ta'en  the  fifthen  upon  her  lap, 
And  sweetly  suckled  it  at  her  pap. 

Till  her  eldest  dochter  syne  said  she. 
"  Ye  hid  Child  Dyring  come  here  to  me."* 


Whan  he  cam  till  the  clialrner  in, 
Wi'  angry  mood  she  said  lo  him  : 

"I  left  you  roulh  o'  ale  and  bread  : 
My  bairnies  quail  for  hunger  and  need. 

"I  left  ahind  me  tiraw  bowsters  blae  : 
My  tjiiirnies  are  liggm'  i'  the  bare  strae. 

"  I  left  ye  sae  niony  a erofT  wax-light; 
My  bairnies  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night. 

"  Gin  aft  I  come  back  to  visit  thee, 

Wae,  dowy.  and  weary  thy  luck  shall  be." 

Up  spak  little  Kirs'in  in  bed  that  lay  : 
"To  thy  bairnies  I'll  do  the  best  I  may." 

Aye  when  they  heard  the  dog  nirr  and  bell, 
Sae  ga'e  they  the  bairnies  bread  and  ale. 

Aye  whan  the  dog  did  wow.  in  haste 
They  cross'd   and  sain'd  themsells  frae  the 
ghaist. 

Aye  whan  the  little  dog  yowl'd,  with  fear 

(And  O  </in  I  were  \,oumi !) 
They  shook  at  the  thought  the  dead  was  near. 

(!'  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride. ) 

( Fair  words  sae  many  a  heart  ihey  chter. ) 
GLOSSARY. 

St.  1.  May,  nmid. 

Lists,  pleases. 

2.  Stead,  place. 

3.  Batrns,  children. 
In  fere,  together. 

Winsome,    engaging;    giving  joy,    (old 
Teat ) 

4.  Syne.  then. 

5.  fessen,  fetched ;  brought. 

6.  Drave.  drove. 

7.  Dule,  sorrow. 
Dout,  fear. 

8.  BoiDSter.  bolster ;  cushion ;  bed. 
Blae.  blue. 

Strae.  straw. 

10.  Graff,  great ;  large  in  girt. 
Mark,  mirk  ;  dark. 

11.  Lima  i  the  night,  late. 
Grot.  wept. 

Moots,  mould;  earth. 

12.  Eard,  earth. 
Gae,  go. 

14.  Prigged,  entreated  earnestly  and  oerse- 

veringly. 
Gang,  go. 

15.  Craw,  crow. 

16.  Bnnes,  bones. 
Stark,  strong. 

Bowl,  bolt :  elastic  spring,  like  that  of  a 

boll  «T  arrow  from  a  bow. 
Riven,  split  asunder. 
Wa\  wall. 

17.  Wmu'd.  howled. 

Lift,  sky,  firmament;  air. 

18.  Yett,  gate. 

19.  Sma',  small. 

22.  Lire,  complexion. 

23.  Cnld.  cold. 

24.  Till,  to. 
Rin.  run. 


1  The  original  of  this  and  the  following 
Inc. 

"  Hun  skod  op  line  modige  been, 


Per  han  t;ik  igrnnem  dell  by. 
D:  hfitie  de  tude  ««/j  luijt  I  «*»•' 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  ^21 


25.  Biw*i/,  dressed. 
Krnfil.  combed. 
1'ilher,  the  other. 

28.  Rinith.  plenty. 

IJuml,  are  quelled  ;  die. 
Kent.  want. 

29.  AMnd,  behind. 
Brain,  hrave :  fine. 

31.  Dotay.  sorrowful. 

33.  .Vjrr.  snarl. 

Byz.  bark. 

34.  Sained,  blessed;   literally,  signed  with 

the  sign  of  the  cross.  Before  the  in- 
troduction of  Christianity,  Runes  were 
used  in  saining,  as  a  spell  against  the 
power  of  enchantment  and  evil  genii. 
Gliaist,  ghost. 


NOTE  2Z. 


•  tlie  moody  Elfin  King.— P.  206. 


Tn  a  Ion?  dissertation  upon  the  Fairy  Super- 
stitions, published  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,  the  most  valuable  part  of 
which  was  supplied  hv  my  learned  and  indefa- 
tigable friend.  Dr.  John  "l.eyden,  most  of  the 
circumstances  are  collected  which  can  throw 
light  upon  the  popular  belief  which  even  vet 
prevails  respectinz  them  in  Scotland.  Dr. 
Grahame.  MIT  nor  of  an  entertaining  work  upon 
the  Scenery  of  the  Perthshire  Highlands,  al- 
ready frequently  quoted,  has  recorded,  with 
great,  accuracy,  the  peculiar  tenets  held  by  the 
Highlanders  on  this  topic,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Ixich  Katrine.  The  learned  author  is  inclined 
to  deduce  the  whole  mythology  from  the  Dru- 
idical  system.— an  opinion  to  which  there  are 
manv  objections. 

"  The  Dnoint  Shi',  or  Men  of  Peace  of  the 
Highlanders,  thongh  not  al)solutely  malevo- 
lent, are  believed  to  be  a  peevish,  repining 
race  of  beings,  who,  possessins  themselves  but 
a  scanty  portion  of  happiness,  are  supposed  to 
envy  mankind  their  more  complete  and  sub- 
stantial enjoyments.  They  are  supposed  to 
enjoy  in  iheir  subterraneous  recesses  a  sort  of 
shadowy  happiness,— a  tinsel  grandeur;  which, 
however,  they  would  willingly  exchange  for 
the  more  solid  joys  of  mortality. 

"They  are  believed  to  inhabit  certain  round 
grassy  eminences,  where  they  celebrate  their 
nocturnal  festivities  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
About  a  mile  beyond  the  source  of  the  Forth 
above  Lochcon,  there  is  a  place  called  Cuir- 
shi'an.  or  the  Core  of  the  Men  of  Peace,  which 
is  still  supposed  to  be  a  favourite  place  of  their 
residence.  In  the  neighbourhood  are  to  be 
seen  many  round  conical  eminences ;  particu- 
larly one,  near  the  head  of  the  lake,  by  the 
skirts  of  which  many  are  still  afraid  to  pass 
after  sunset.  It  is  believed,  that  if,  on  Hallow- 
eye,  any  person,  alone,  goes  round  one  of  these 
hills  nine  times,  towards  the  left  hand  (sinis- 
tmrsum).  a  door  shall  open,  by  which  he  will 
be  admitted  into  their  subterraneous  abodes. 
Many,  if.  is  said,  of  mortal  race,  have  been  en- 
tertained in  their  secret  recesses.  There  they 
have  been  received  into  the  most  splendid 
apartments,  and  regaled  with  the  most  sump- 
tuous banquets,  and  delicious  wines.  Their 
females  surpass  the  daughters  of  men  in 

19* 


beauty.  The  seemingly  hanpy  iuhahitHiits  pass 
their  time  in  festivity,  and  in  dancing  to  notes 
of  the  softest  music.  But  unhappy  is  the 
mortal  who  joins  in  their  joys,  or  ventures  to 
partake  of  their  dainties.  By  this  indulgence, 
he  foi  feits  for  ever  the  socie'iy  of  men.  and  is 
bound  down  irrevocably  to  the  condition  of 
Slific.li,  or  Man  of  Peace. 

"  A  woman  as  is  reported  in  the  Highland 
tradition,  was  conveved,  in  davs  of  yore,  into 
the  secret  recesses  of  the  Men  of  Peace. 
There  she  was  recognised  by  one  who  had 
formerly  been  an  ordinary  mortal,  but  who 
had,  by  some  fatality,  become  associated  wilh 
the  Shfichs.  This  acquaintance,  still  retain- 
ing some  portion  of  human  benevolence, 
warned  her  of  her  danger,  and  counselled 
her,  as  she  valued  her  liberty,  to  abstain  from 
ealing  and  drinking  with  them  for  a  cerlain 
space  of  time.  She  complied  with  the  counsel 
of  her  friend  ;  and  when  the  period  assigned 
was  elapsed,  she  found  herself  again  upon 
earth,  restored  to  the  society  of  mortals.  It  is 
added,  that  when  she  examined  the  viands 
which  had  been  presented  to  her.  and  which 
had  appeared  so  tempting,  to  the  eye.  they 
were  found,  now  that  the  enchantment  was 
removed,  to  consist  only  of  the  refuse  of  the 
earth."— P.  107-111. 


NOTE  3  A. 

Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak. 

Our  moonhght  circle's  screen  ? 
Or  who  conus  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ?—P.  181. 

It  has  been  already  observed,  that  fairies,  if 
not  positively  malevolent,  are  capricious,  and 
easily  offended.  They  are,  like  other  pro- 
prietors of  forests,  peculiarly  jealous  of  their 
rights  of  vert  and  vfnison,  as  appears  from  the 
cause  of  offence  taken,  in  the  original  Danish 
ballad.  This  jealousy  was  also  MII  attribute 
of  the  northern  Duerynr.  or  dwarfs;  to  many 
of  whose  distinctions  the  fairies  seem  to  have 
succeeded,  if,  indeed,  they  are  not  the  same 
class  of  beings.  In  the  huge  metrical  record 
of  German  Chivalry,  entitled  the  Helden-Buch, 
Sir  Hildebrand,  and  the  other  heroes  of  whom 
it  treats,  are  engaged  in  one  of  their  most  des- 
perate adventures,  from  a  rash  violation  of 
the  rose-gardc'ii  of  an  Elfin,  or  Dwarf  King. 

There  are  yet  traces  of  a  belief  in  this  worst 
and  most  malicious  order  of  Fairies,  among 
the  Border  wilds  Dr.  Leyden  has  introduced 
such  a  dwarf  into  his  ballad  entitled  the  Cout 
of  Keeldar,  and  has  not  forgot  his  character- 
istic detestation  of  the  chase. 

"  The  third  blast  that  young  Keeldor  h]pw, 

SMI  Btood  the  limber  fern. 
Ami  a  wee  man,  of  swarlny  hue, 
Upstarted  by  a  cairn. 

"  His  niswt  weeds  were  brown  a>  heath 

Thai  clothes  the  upland  fell ; 
And  the  liair  of  his  head  was  frillly  red 
As  Ihe  purple  heather-bell. 

"  An  urchin,  clad  in  prickles  red. 

Clung  cow'ring  lo  his  arm  ; 
The  hounds  they  liowl'd,  and  backward  fled 
A»  struck  by  fairy  charm. 


222 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Where  stag. hound  ne'er  should  be  7 
\Vhv  wakes  that  horn  the  silent  morn, 
Without  the  leave  of  me  7* 

Thy  name  lo  Keeldar  tell  !'— 
•The  Brown  man  "f  the  Moors,  who  flays 
Beneath  the  heather-bell. 

•"Til  sweet  benealh  the  heather-bell 

And  sweet  to  hear  the  Lav'rock-s,  «we]l. 
Far,  far  from  tower  and  town. 

•"But  woe  betide  the  shrilling  horn, 

The  chase's  surly  cheer  ! 
And  eTer  that  hunter  is  forlorn, 
Whom  first  at  morn  1  hear.'  " 

The  poetical  picture  here  riven  of  the  Duer- 
gar  corresponds  exactly  with  the  following 
Northumbrian  legend,  with  which  I  was  lately 
favoured  by  my  learned  and  kind  friend,  Mr. 
Surtees  of  Ifainsforth.  who  has  bestowed  in- 
defatigable labour  upon  the  antiquities  of  the 
English  Border  counties.  The  subject  is  in 
itself  so  curious,  that  the  length  of  the  note 
will,  [  hope,  be  pardoned. 

"  I  have  only  one  record  to  offer  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  our  Northumbrian  Duergar.  Mv 
narratrix  is  Elizabeth  Cockburn.  an  old  wife 
of  Offerton,  in  this  county,  whose  credit,  in  a 
case  of  this  kind,  will  not.  I  hope,  be  much 
impeached,  when  I  add,  that  she  is.  by  her 
dull  neighbours,  supposed  to  be  occasionally 
insane,  but.  by  herself,  to  be  at  those  times 
endowed  with  a  faculty  of  seeing:  visions,  and 
spectral  appearances,  which  shun  the  common 
ken. 

"  In  the  year  before  the  great  rebellion,  two 
young  men  from  Newcastle  were  sporting  on 
the  high  moors  above  Elsdon,  and  after  pur- 
suing their  game  several  hours,  sat  down  to 
dine  in  a  green  e'en,  near  one  of  the  mountain 
streams.  After  their  repast,  the  younger  lad 
ran  to  the  brook  for  water,  and  after  stooping 
to  drink,  was  surprised,  on  lifting  his  head 
again,  by  the  appearance  of  a  brown  dwarf, 
who  stood  on  a  crag  covered  with  brackens, 
across  the  burn.  This  extraordinary  person- 
age did  not  appear  to  be  above  half  the  stature 
of  a  common  man,  but  was  uncommonly  stout 
and  broad-built,  having  the  appearance  of  vast 
strength.  His  dress  was  entirely  brown,  the 
colour  of  the  brackens,  and  his  head  covered 
with  frizzled  red  hair.  His  countenance  was 
expressive  of  the  most  savage  ferocity,  and  his 
eyes  glared  like  a  bull.  It  seems  he  addressed 
the  young  man  first,  threatening  him  with  his 
vengeance,  for  having  trespassed  on  his  de- 
mesnes, and  asking  him  if  he  knew  in  whose 
presence  he  stood  ?  The  youth  replied,  that 
he  now  supposed  him  to  be  the  lord  of  the 
moors:  that  he  offended  through  ignorance; 
and  offered  to  bring  him  the  game  he  had 
killed.  The  dwarf  was  a  little  mollified  by 
this  submission,  but  remarked,  that  nothing 
could  be  more  offensive  to  him  than  such 
an  offer,  as  he  considered  the  wild  animals 
as  his  subjects,  and  never  failed  to  avenge 
their  destruction  He  condescended  further 
to  inform  him,  that  he  was,  like  himself, 
mortal,  though  of  years  far  exceeding  the  lot 
of  common  humanity;  and  (what  I  should  not 
have  had  an  idea  of)  that  he  hoped  for  salva- 
tion. He  never,  he  added,  fed  on  any  thing 
that  had  life,  but  lived  in  the  summer  on 


wortle-berries,  and  in  winter  on  nuts  and 
apples,  of  which  he  had  great  store  in  the 
woods.  Filially,  he  invited  his  new  acquaint- 
ance to  accompany  him  home  and  partake  his 
hospitality ;  an  offer  which  the  youth  was  on 
the  point  of  accepting,  and  WHS  just  going  to 
spring  across  the  brook  (which,  if  he  had  done, 
says  Elizabeth,  the  dwarf  would  certainly 
have  torn  him  in  pieces),  when  his  fool  was 
arrested  by  the  voice  of  his  companion,  who 
thought  he  had  tamed  long:  and  on  looking 
round  again,  'the  wee  brown  man  was  fled.' 
The  story  adds,  that  he  was  imprudent  enough 
to  slight  the  admonition,  and  to  sport  over  the 
moors  on  his  way  homewards ;  but  soon  after 
his  return,  he  fell  into  a  lingering  disorder, 
and  died  within  the  year." 


NOTE  3B. 

Who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies'  fatal  green  ?— P.  181. 
As  the  Daoine  Shf,  or  Men  of  Peace,  wore 
green  habits,  they  were  supposed  to  take 
offence  when  any  morials  ventured  to  assume 
their  favourite  colour.  Indeed,  from  some 
reason  which  has  been,  perhaps,  originally  a 
general  superstition,  green  is  held  in  Scotland 
to  be  unlucky  to  particular  tribes  and  counties. 
The  Caithness  men,  who  hold  this  belief, 
allege  as  a  reason,  that  their  bands  wore  that 
colour  when  they  were  cut  off  at  the  battle  of 
Flodden :  and  for  the  same  reason  they  avoid 
crossing  the  Ord  on  a  Monday,  being  the  day 
of  the  week  on  which  the  ill-omened  array 
set  forth.  Green  is  also  disliked  by  those  of 
the  name  of  Ogilvy  ;  but  more  especially  is  it 
held  fatal  to  the  whole  clan  of  Grahame.  it 
is  remembered  of  an  aged  gentleman  of  that 
name,  that  when  his  horse  tell  in  a  fox-chase, 
he  accounted  for  it  at  once  by  observing,  that 
the  whipcord  attached  to  his  lash,  was  of  this 
unlucky  colour. 


NOTE  3C. 

For  thou  wert  christen'd  man. — P.  181. 
The  elves  were  supposed  greatly  to  envy  the 
privileges  acquired  by  Christian  initiation,  and 
they  gave  to  those  mortals  who  had  fallen 
into  their  power  a  certain  precedence,  founded 
upon  this  advantageous  distinction.  Tamlane, 
in  the  old  ballad,  describes  his  own  rank  in 
the  fairy  procession  :— 

I  ride  on  a  milk-white  Meed, 


»nd  aye 


nM  knight, 


1  presume  that,  in  the  Danish  ballad  of  the 
Elfin  Gray  (see  Appendix.  Note  3  A),  the  ob- 
stinacy of  the  '•  Weiest  Elf."  who  would  not 
flee  for  cross  or  sign,  is  to  be  derived  from  the 
circumstance  of  his  having  been  "  chris.teu'd 
man." 

How  eager  the  Elves  were  to  obtain  for  their 
offspring  the  prerogaiives  of  Christianity  will 
be  proved  by  the  following  story:— "In  the 
district  called  Haga.  in  Iceland,  dwelt  a  noble- 
man called  Sigward  Forster,  who  had  an  in- 
trigue with  one  of  the  subterranean  females. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.     223 


The  elf  berime  pregnant,  anil  exacted  from 
!ier  lover  a  firm  promise  that  lie  would  pro- 
cure the  baptism  of  the  infant.  At  the  ap- 
pointed time,  the  mother  came  to  the  church- 
yard, on  the  wall  of  which  she  placed  a  golden 
cup,  and  a  stole  for  the  priest,  agreeable  to 
the  custom  of  making  an  offering  at  baptism 
She  tnen  stood  a  hi  tie  apart.  When  the  priest 
left,  the  church,  he  enquired  the  meaning  of 
what  he  saw,  and  demanded  of  Sigward  if  he 
avowed  himself  the  father  of  the  child.  But 
Sigward,  ashamed  of  the  connection,  denied 
the  paternity.  He  was  then  interrogated  if  he 
desired  that  the  child  should  be  baptized  ;  but 
this  also  he  answered  in  the  negative,  lest,  by 
such  request,  lie  should  admit  himself  to  be 
the  father.  On  which  the  child  was  left  un- 
touched and  unhaptized.  Whereupon  the 
mother,  in  extreme  wrath,  snatched  up  the 
infant  and  the  cup,  and  retired,  leaving  the 
priestly  cope,  of  which  fragments  are  in  pre- 
servation. But  this  female  denounced  and 
imposed  upon  Sigward  and  his  posterity,  to  the 
ninth  generation,  a  singular  disease,  with 
which  many  of  his  descendants  are  afflicted 
at  this  day."  Thus  wrote  Einar  Dud.-nond, 
pastor  of  the  parish  of  Garpsdale,  in  Iceland, 
a  man  profoundly  versed  in  learning,  from 
whose  manuscript  it  was  extracted  by  the 
learned  Torfieus.— Hisloria  Hrolfi  Krakii,  HaJ- 
ntie,  Y11&,  prtfatio. 


NOTE  3D. 

And  gaily  shines  the  Fairy-land— 
But  all  is  glistening  show. — P.  181. 

No  fact  respecting  Fairy-land  seems  to  be 
better  ascertained  than  the  fantastic  and  illu- 
sory nature  of  their  apparent  pleasure  and 
splendour.  It  has  been  already  noticed  in  the 
former  quotations  from  Dr  Grahame's  enter- 
taining volume,  and  may  be  confirmed  by  the 
following  Highland  tradition  :—"  A  woman, 
whose  new-born  child  had  been  conveyed  by 
them  into  their  secret  abodes,  was  also  carried 
thither  herself,  to  remain,  however,  only  until 
she  should  suckle  her  infant.  She  one  day, 
during  this  period,  observed  the  Shi'ichs  busily 
employed  in  mixing  various  ingredients  in  a 
boiling  cauldron  ;  and.  as  soon  as  the  compo- 
sition was  prepared,  she  remarked  that  they 
all  carefully  anointed  their  eyes  with  it,  laying 
the  remainder  aside  for  future  use  In  a  mo- 
ment when  they  were  all  absent,  she  also 
attempted  to  anoint  her  eyes  with  the  precious 
drug,  but  had  time  to  apply  it  to  one  eye  only 
when  the  Daoine  Sh?  returned  But  with 
that  eye  she  was  henceforth  enabled  to  see 
everything  as  it  really  passed  in  their  secret 
abodes.  She  saw  every  object,  not  as  she 
hitherto  had  dono,  in  deceptive  splendour  and 
elegance,  but  in  its  genuine  colours  and  form. 
The  gaudy  ornaments  of  the  apartment  were 
reduced  to  the  walls  of  a  gloomy  cavern.  Soon 
after,  having  discharged  her  office,  she  was 
dismissed  to  her  own  home.  Still,  however, 
she  retained  the  faculty  of  seeing,  with  her 
medicated  eye,  every  thing  that  was  done,  any 
where  in  her  presence,  by  the  deceptive  art  of 
the  order.  One  day.  amidst  a  throng  of  people, 
she  chanced  to  observe  the  Sfu'ich,  or  man  of 
peace,  in  whose  possession  she  had  left  her 


:hild  ;  though  to  every  other  eye  invisible. 
Prompted  by  maternal  affection,  she  madver- 
ently  accosted  linn,  and  began  to  enquire  after 
the  welfare  of  her  child  The  man  of  peace, 
itomshed  at  being  thus  recognized  by  one  of 
mortal  race,  demanded  how  she  had  been 
enabled  to  discover  him.  Awed  by  the  terrible 
frown  of  his  countenance,  she  acknowledged 
what  she  had  done.  He  spat  in  her  eye,  and 
ixtinsuished  it  forever  "—Grahanie's  Skeichts, 
p.  116-118.  It  is  very  remarkable,  that  this 
story,  translated  by  Dr.  Graharne  from  popular 
Saelic  tradition,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Otia 
Imperialia  of  Gervase  of  Tilbury.  A  work  of 
great  interest  might  be  compiled  upon  the 
rigiri  of  popular  fiction,  and  the  transmission 
f  similar  tales  from  age  to  age,  and  from 
country  to  country.  The  mythology  of  one 
period  would  then  appear  to  pass  into  the 
romance  of  the  next  century,  and  that  into 
the  nursery  tale  of  the  subsequent  ages. 
Such  an  investigation,  while  it  went  greatly 
to  diminish  our  ideas  of  the  richness  of  human 
invention,  would  also  show,  that  these  fictions, 
however  wild  and  childish,  possess  such 
charms  for  the  populace,  as  enable  them  to 
penetrate  into  countries  unconnected  by  man- 
ners rind  language,  and  having  no  apparent 
intercourse  to  afford  the  means  of  transmis- 
sion. It  would  carry  me  far  beyond  my 
bounds,  to  produce  instances  of  this  commu- 
nity of  fable  among  nations  who  never  bor- 
rowed from  each  other  any  thing  intrinsically 
worth  learning.  Indeed,  the  wide  diffusion  of 
popular  fictions  may  be  compared  to  the 
facility  with  which  straws  and  feathers  are 
dispersed  abroad  by  the  wind,  while  valuable 
metals  cannot  he  transported  without  trouble 
and  labour.  There  lives,  I  believe,  only  one 
gentleman,  whose  unlimited  acquaintance  with 
this  subject  might  enable  him  to  do  it  justice ; 
1  mean  my  friend,  Mr.  Francis  Douce,  of  the 
British  Museum,  whose  usual  kindness  will,  I 
hope,  pardon  my  mentioning  his  name,  while 
on  a  subject  so  closely  connected  with  his  ex- 
tensive and  curious  researches. 


NOTE  3E. 

I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray. 

And,  'tutixl  life  and  death,  was  snatch'd  away 
To  the  joyless  Elfin  dower.— P.  181. 

The  subjects  of  Fairy-land  were  recruited 
from  the  regions  of  humanity  by  a  sort  of 
crimping  system,  which  extended  to  adults  as 
well  as  to  infants.  Many  of  those  who  were 
in  this  world  supposed  to  have  discharged  the 
debt  of  nature,  had  only  become  denizens  of 
the  "  Londe  of  Faery."  In  the  beautiful  Fairy 
Romance  of  Orfee  and  Henrodiis  (Urpheus  and 
Eurydice)  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.  is  the  fol- 
lowing striking  enumeration  of  persons  thus 
abstracted  from  middle  earth.  Mr.  Ritson  un- 
fortunately published  this  romance  from  a 
copy  in  which  the  following,  and  many  other 
highly  poetical  passages,  do  not  occur :  — 

"Then  br  gan  bihokle  about  al, 
And  Mil-he  fill  ligei-and  wilh  in  the  waj, 
Of  folk  that  were  thiiMer  y-brought, 

Some  fctode  withouten  hadile; 


224 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  Mira  armed  on  hors  nete ; 
And  sum  ustraiigled  ;i»  thai  ele; 
And  sum  war  in  water  aclrrynt; 
And  sum  with  fire  al  forschreyiit 
Wires  Iher  lay  on  childe  bedde; 
Sum  dede,  and  sum  aw  wide  ; 
And  wonder  tele  tber  lay  besides, 
Bight  as  thai  slepe  her  undertimes  : 
Ecne  wan  thus  in  the  warl  y.nora-s, 
With  fairi  thider  y-come." 


NOTE  3F. 

Who  ever  rech'd,  where,  how,  or  tcbrn. 

The  prowling  fox  was  Irapp'd  or  slain  ? — P.  184 

St.  John  actually  used  this  illustration  when 
engaged  in  confuting  the  plea  of  law  proposed 
for  the  unfortunate  Earl  of  Strafford  :  "  It  was 
true,  we  gave  laws  to  hares  and  deer,  because 
they  are  beasts  of  chase ;  but  it  was  never  ac- 
counted either  cruelty  or  foul  play  to  knock 
foxes  or  wolves  on  the  head  as  they  can  he 
found,  because  they  are  beasts  of  prey.  In  a 
word,  the  law  and  humanity  were  alike;  the 
one  beins  more  fallacious,  and  the  other  more 
barbiinms,  than  in  any  aee  had  been  vented  in 
such  an  authority." — Clarendon's  History  of  the 
Rebellion.  Oxford,  1702,  fol.  vol.  p.  183. 


NOTE  3G. 

his  Highland  chtfr. 

The  harden' d  Jitsh  of  mountain-deer.— P.  185. 

The  Scottish  Highlanders  in  former  times, 
had  a  concise  mode  of  cooking  their  venison, 
or  rather  of  dispensing  with  cooking  it.  which 
appears  greatly  to  have  surprised  the  French 
whom  chance  made  acquainted  with  it.  The 
Vidiime  of  Charters,  when  a  hostage  in  Eng- 
land, during  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.,  was  per- 
mitted to  travel  into  Scotland,  and  penetrated 
as  far  as  to  the  remote  Highlands  (au  fin  fond 
des  Sauvages)  After  a  great  hunting  party,  at 
which  a  most  wonderful  quantity  of  game  was 
destroyed,  he  saw  these  Scottish  Savaues  de- 


tween  two  batons  of  wood,  so  as  to  force  out 
the  blood,  and  render  it  extremely  hard  This 
they  reckoned  a  great  delicacy ;  and  when  the 
Vidame  partook  of  it.  his  compliance  with 
their  taste  rendered  him  extremely  popular,  j 
This  curious  trait  of  manners  was  communi-  | 
cated  hy  Mous.  de  Montmorency,  a  great  friend 
of  the  Vidame,  to  Brantome,  hy  whom  it  is  ! 
recorded  in  Vies  dfs  Hovtmes  lilustres,  Lhscours, 
lxxxix.,art.  14.  The  process  by  which  the  raw 
venison  was  rendered  eatable  is  described  very 
minutely  in  the  romance  of  Perceforest.  where 
Estonne,  a  Scottish  knight-errant,  having  slain 
a  deer,  says  to  his  companion  Claudius :  "  Sire, ' 
or  rnangerez  vous  et  moi  aussi.  Voire  si  nous 
unions  de  feu.  dit  Claudius.  Par  1'ame  de 
mon  pere.  dist  Estonne.  ie  vous  atoumeray  et 
cuiray  a  la  maniere  de  nostre  pays  comrae 
pour  cheualier  errant.  Lurs  lira  son  es[>ee.  et 
63ii  vint  a  la  branche  dung  arbre,  et  y  fait  vug 
grant  trou,  et  puis  fend  la  branche  bien  dieux 
piedx,  et  boule  la  cuisse  du  serf  entredeux,  et 


puis  prent  le  licol  de  son  cheval.  et  en  lye  la 
taranche.  et  destraini  si  fort,  qne  le  sans  el  les 
huineurs  de  la  chair  saillent  hors.  et  demeure 
la  chair  doulce  et  seiche  Lors  prent  la  chair, 
et  oMe  ins  le  cnir,  et  lachaire  demeure  aussi 
blanche  coniine  si  Ve  fenst  dun?  chappcm 
Dcmt  dist  a  Claudius.  Sire,  ie  la  vous  ay  cuiste 
a  la  euise  de  mon  pays,  vous  en  ponez  mansrer 
hardyement,  car  ie  ni:inseray  premier  Lors 
met  sa  mam  a  sa  Sflle  en  vn;r  lien  qm!  y  anoi'., 
et  tire  hors  sel  et  pnudre  de  poiure  «t  ginseni- 
bre,  mesle  ensemble,  et  le  iecte  dessiis.it  ]•• 
frote  sus  men  fort,  puis  le  coupi*  a  nioytie.  et 
en  donne  a  Claudius  Time  des  pieces,  et  pins 
niort  en  1'autre  aussi  sauoureussemcnt  qni! 
est  aduis  que  il  en  feist  la  ponldre  voller. 
Quant  Claudius  veil  quil  le  mangeoit  de  tel 
goust,  il  en  print  grant  faim,  et  commence  a 
manger  tres  voulentiers.  et  dist  a  Estonne: 
Par  1'ame  de  moy,  ie  ne  mangeny  oncqiiesiiiars 
de  chair  atoii rnee  de  telle  guise  :  mais  dorese- 
nauutit  ie  ne  me  retourneroye  pas  hors  de 
mon  chemin  par  auoir  la  cuite  Sire,  dist 
Estonne,  quant  is  suis  en  desers  d'Ecosse.  clout 
ie  suis  seisneur, ie  chruaiicheray  hint  lours  on 
quinze  que  ie  n'entrerayen  cliasiel  ne  en  mai- 
sou.et  si  neverray  feu  ne  personneviuant  fors 
que  hestes  saunaaes.  et  de  celles  mangeray 
atournees  en  ceste  maniere,  et  mieulx  me 
plairaqne  laviande  de  rempereur.  Ainsi  sen 
vi  ml  mangeant  et  cheuauchant  msques  adonc 
quilz  arnuerent  sur  tine  moult  lielie  fontaine 
que  estoit  en  yne  valee.  Quant  Estonne  la  vit 
il  dist  a  Claudius,  allons  boire  a  ceste  fontaine 
Or  beuuons.  dist  Estonne.  du  hoir  que  le  grant 
dieu  a  pourucu  a  toutes  gens,  ei  qne  me  plaist 
nneulx  qne  les  ceruoises  d'Angleterre." — La 
Trestlegnnte  Uysloire  du  tresnohle  Roy  Prrce- 
JorfSt.  Pans,  1531.  fol  tome  i.  fol.  Iv  vers. 

After  all.  it  may  be  doubted  whether  to 
chaire  nostrtt,  for  so  the  French  called  the 
venison  thus  summarily  prepared,  was  any 
thing  more  than  a  mere  rude  kind  of  deer- 
ham. 


NOTE  3H. 

Not  then  c'aim'd  sovereignty  his  due 
While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand. 


There  is  scarcely  a  more  disorderly  period  in 
Scottish  history  than  that  which  succeeded  the 
bat>  It;  of  Flodden,  and  occupied  the  minority 
of  James  V.  Feuds  of  ancient  standing  broke 
out  jike  old  wounds,  and  every  quarrel  among 
the  independent  nobility,  which  occurred  dai- 
ly, and  almost  hourly,  gave  rise  to  fresh  blood- 
shed. "There  arose,"  says  Pitscottie. "  great 
trouble  and  deadly  feuds  in  many  parts  of 
Scotland,  both  in  the  north  and  west  parts. 
The  Master  of  Forbes,  in  the  north,  slew  the 
Laird  of  Meldrum,  under  tryst :"  (i.  e  at  an 
agretd  and  secure  meeting.)  "  Likewise,  the 
Laird  of  Drunimelzier  slew  the  Lord  Fleming 
a'  the  hawking;  and  likewise  there  was 
slaughter  among  many  other  great  lords.  —  P. 
121.  Nor  was  the  matter  much  mended  un- 
der the  government  of  the  Earl  of  Angus  :  for 
though  he  caused  the  King  to  ride  throush  all 
Scotland,  "under  the  pretence  and  colour  of 
jus; ice,  to  punish  thief  and  traitor,  none  were 
found  greater  than  were  in  their  own  coin 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  225 


pany.  Ami  none  ut  that  time  durst  strive  with 
a  Douglas,  nor  yet.  a  Douglas's  man ;  for  if 
they  would,  they  got  tlie  worst.  Therefore, 
none  durst  plamzie  of  no  extortion,  theft,  reiff, 
nor  slaughter,  done  to  them  by  the  Douglasses, 
or  their  men ;  in  that  cause  they  were  not 
heard,  so  long  as  the  Douglas  had  the  court  in 
guiding." — Ibid,  p.  133. 


NOTE  31. 

The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 
Shall,  with  slrony  hand,  redeem  his  sJiare. 

P.  186. 

The  ancient  Highlanders  verified  in  their 
practice  the  lines  of  Gray :  — 


be  found, 

With  aide-long  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground; 
To  turn  the  torrent's  swift  descending  flood; 

What  wonder  if,  ("o  patient  v:.lour  train'd, 

They  guar  1  with  s(.n  it  what  by  strength  they  gaind  : 

And  while  tlieir  n  ky  rainixirls  round  they  «ee 

The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty, 

(AS  lawless  force  from  roulidenre  will  grow), 

Illault  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below  I" 

So  far,  indeed,  was  a  Creagh,  or  foray,  from 
being  held  disgraceful,  that  a  young  chief  was 
always  expected  to  show  his  talents  for  com- 
mand as  soon  as  he  assumed  it,  by  leading  his 
chin  on  a  successful  enterprize  of  this  nature, 
either  against  a  neighbouring  sept,  for  which 
constant  feuds  usually  furnished  an  apology, 
or  against  the  Sassenach,  Saxons,  or  Low- 
landers,  for  which  no  apology  was  necessary. 
The  Gael,  great  traditional  historians,  never 
forgot  that  the  Lowlands  had,  at  some  remote 
period,  been  the  property  of  their  Celtic  fore- 
fathers, which  furnished  an  ample  vindication 
of  all  the  ravages  thai  they  could  make  on 
the  unfortunate  districts  which  lay  within 
their  reach.  Sir  James  Grant  of  Grant  is  in 
possession  of  a  letter  of  apology  from  Cameron 
of  Loohiel,  whose  men  had  committed  some 
depredation  upon  a  farm  called  Momes,  occu- 
pied by  one  of  the  Grants.  Lochiel  assures 
Grant,  that,  however  the  mistake  had  hap- 
pened, his  instructions  were  precise,  that  the 
party  should  foray  the  province  of  Moray  (a 
Lowland  district),  where,  as  he  coolly  ob- 
serves, "  all  men  take  their  prey." 


NOTE  3K. 

—  /  only  meant 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Detminu  this  path  you  mujhl  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  £>hu. — P.  1ST. 

This  incident,  like  some  other  passages  in 
the  poem,  illustrative  of  the  character  of  the 
ancient  Gael,  is  not  imaginary,  but  borrowed 
from  fact.  The  Highlanders,  with  the  incon- 
sistency of  most  nations  in  the  same  state. 
re  alternately  capable  of  great  exertions  of 
generosity,  and  of  cruel  revenge  and  perfidy. 
The  following  story  1  can  only  quoie  from  tra- 


dition, hut  with  such  an  assurance  from  those 
by  whom  it  was  communicated,  as  permits  me 
little  doubt  of  its  authenticity.  Early  in  the 
last  century,  John  Gunn,  a  noted  Cateran,  or 
Highland  robber,  infested  Inverness-shire,  and 
levied  black-mail  up  to  the  walls  uf  the  pro- 
vincial capital.  A  garrison  was  ti.ea  main- 
tained in  the  castle  of  that  town,  and  their 
pay  (country  banks  being  unknown)  was 
usually  transmitted  in  specie,  under  the  guard 
of  a  small  escort.  It  chanced  that  the  officer 
who  commanded  this  little  party  was  unex- 
pectedly obliged  to  halt,  about  thirty  miles 
from  Inverness,  at  a  miserable  inn.  About 
night-tall,  a  stranger,  in  the  Highland  dress, 
and  of  very  prepossessing  appearance,  entered 
the  same  house.  Separate  accommodation 
being  impossible,  the  Englishman  offered  the 
newly-arrived  guest  a  part  of  his  supper,  which 
was  accepted  with  reluctance.  By  the  con- 
versation he  found  his  new  acquaintance  knew 
well  all  the  passes  of  the  country,  which  in- 
duced him  eagerly  to  request  his  company  on 
the  ensuing  morning.  He  neither  disguised 
his  business  and  charge,  nor  his  apprehensions 
of  that  celebrated  freebooter,  John  Gunn. — 
The  Highlander  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
frankly  consented  to  he  his  guide.  Forth 
they  set  in  the  morning;  and,  in  travelling 
through  a  solitary  and  dreary  glen,  the  dis- 
course again  turned  on  John  Gunn.  "  Would 
you  like  to  see  him  .'"  said  the  guide ;  and, 
without  waiting  an  answer  to  this  alarming 
question,  he  whistled,  and  the  English  officer, 
with  his  small  party,  were  surrounded  by  a 
body  of  Highlanders,  whose  numbers  put  re- 
sistance out  of  question,  and  who  were  all 
well  armed.  "  Stranger,"  resumed  the  guide, 
"  1  am  that  very  John  Gunn  by  whom  you 
feared  to  be  intercepted,  and  not  without 
cause :  for  I  came  to  the  inn  last  night  with 
the  express  purpose  of  learning  your  route, 
that  I  and  my  followers  might  ease  you  of 
your  charge  by  the  road.  But  1  am  incapable 
of  betraying  the  trust  you  reposed  in  me,  and 
having  convinced  you  that  you  were  in  my 
power,  I  can  only  dismiss  you  unplundered 
and  uninjured."  He  then  gave  the  officer 
directions  for  his  journey,  and  disappeared 
with  his  party  as  suddenly  as  they  had  pre- 
sented themselves. 


NOTE  3  L. 

On  Bochaslle  the  mouldering  lines. 
Where  Rome,  the  Empress  of  the  world. 
Of  yore  her  eayle-wmus  unfurl'd. — P.  187. 

The  torrent  which  discharges  itself  from 
Loch  Vennachar,  the  lowest  and  eastniost  of 
the  three  lakes  which  form  the  scenery  adjoin- 
ing to  the  Trosaehs.  sweeps  through  a  flat  and 
extensive  moor,  called  Bochasue.  Upon  a 
small  eminence,  called  the  Dim  of  Bochastle, 
and  indeed  on  the  plain  itself,  are  some  in- 
trenclnnenis,  which  have  been  thought  Ro- 
man. There  is.  adjacent  to  Callender,  a  sweet 
villa,  tlie  residence  of  Captain  Fairfoul,  en- 
titled the  Roman  Camp. 

[••  One  of  the  most  entire  and  beautiful  re- 
mains of  a  Koimm  encampment  now  to  be 


T 


226 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


found  in  Scotland,  is  to  he  seen  at  Anloch, 
near  Greenloaning,  almut  six  miles  to  the  east- 
ward of  Dunblane.  This  encampment  is  sup- 
posed,  ou  good  grounds,  to  have  been  con- 
structed during  the  fourth  campaign  of  Agri- 
cola  in  Britain ;  it  is  1060  feet  in  length,  and 
900  in  breadth;  it  could  contain  26,OUO  men, 
according  to  the  ordinary  distribution  of  the 
Roman  soldiers  in  their  encampments.  There 
appears  to  have  beeu  three  or  four  ditches, 
strongly  fortified,  surrounding:  the  camp.  The 
four  entries  crossing  the  lines  are  still  to  be 
seen  distinctly.  The  general's  quarter  rises 
above  the  level  of  the  camp,  but  is  not  exactly 
in  the  centre.  It  is  a  regular  square  of  twenty 
yards,  enclosed  with  a  stone  wall,  and  con- 
taining the  foundations  of  a  house,  30  feet  by 
20.  There  is  a  subterraneous  communication, 
with  a  smaller  encampment  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, in  which  several  Roman  helmets, 
spears,  <tc.,  have  been  found.  From  this  camp 
at  Ardoch,  the  great  Roman  highway  runs 
east  to  Bertha,  about  11  miles  distant,  where 
the  Roman  army  is  believed  to  have  passed 
over  the  Tay  into  Strathniore." — Grahame.] 


NOTE  3  M. 

See,  here,  all  vantayelcss  I  stand, 

Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand.— P.  187. 

The  duellists  of  former  times  did  not  always 
stand  upon  those  punctilios  respecting  equality 
of  arms,  which  are  now  judged  essential  to 
fair  combat.  It  is  true,  that  in  former  combats 
in  the  lists,  the  parties  were,  by  the  judges  of 
the  field,  put  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same 
circumslances.  But  in  private  duel  it  was 
often  otherwise.  In  that  desperate  combat 
which  was  fought  between  Quelus,  a  minion 
of  Henry  III.  of  France,  and  Autraguet,  with 
two  seconds  on  each  side,  from  which  only 
two  persons  escaped  alive,  Quelus  complained 
that  his  antagonist  had  over  him  the  advantage 
of  a  poniard  which  he  used  in  parrying,  while 
his  left  hand,  which  he  was  forced  to  employ 
for  the  same  purpose,  was  cruelly  mangled. 
When  he  charged  Antraguet  with  this  odds, 
"  Thou  hast  done  wrong,"  answered  he, "  to 
forget  thy  dagger  at  home.  We  are  here  to 
fight,  and  not  to  settle  punctilios  of  arms." 
In  a  similar  duel,  however,  a  younger  brother 
of  the  house  of  Aubanye,  in  Aneoulesme.  be- 
haved more  generously  on  the  hue  occasion, 
and  at  once  threw  away  ms  dagger  when  his 
enemy  challenged  it  as  an  undue  advantage. 
But  at  this  time  hardly  any  thing  can  he  con- 
ceived more  horribly  brutal  and  savage  than 
the  mode  in  winch  private  quarrels  were  con- 
ducted in  France.  Those  who  were  most 
jealous  of  the  point  of  honour,  and  acquired 
the  title  of  Ruffines,  did  not  scruple  to  take 
every  advantage  of  strength,  numbers,  sur- 
prise, and  arms,  to  accomplish  thefr  revenge. 
The  Sieur  de  Brantome,  to  whose  discourse 
on  duels  I  am  obliged  for  these  particulars, 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  death  and 
principles  of  his  friend,  the  Baron  de  Vi- 
taux:— 

"J'ayoui  confer  a  nn  Tircur  d'armes,  qui 
apprit  a  Millaud  a  en  tirer,  lequel  s'appelloit 


Seigneur  le  Jacques  Ferron.  de  la  ville  d'Ast, 
qui  avoit  este  a  moy,  il  fut  despuis  tne  a 
Saincte-Basille  en  Gascogne.  lors  que  Mon- 
sieur du  .Mavue  I'aisicgea  liii  servant  d'lnge- 
nieur ;  et  de  malhenr,  je  i'avois  addresse  audit 
Baron  quelques  trois  mats  anparavant,  pour 
1'exercer  a  tirer,  bien  qu'il  en  sceust  prou; 
mais  il  ne'eu  htcompte  :  et  le  laissant.  Millaud 
s'en  servit,  et  le  reudit  fort  adroit  Ce  Seigneur 
Jacques  done  me  raconta,  qu'il  s'estoit  monte 
sur  un  noyer,  assez  loing.  pour  en  voir  le  com- 
bat, et  qu'il  ue  visl  jamais  homnie  y  alter  plus 
bravement,  ny  plus  rcsolumeut,  ny  de  grace 
plus  asseuree  ny  deternunee.  II  commenca 
de  marcher  de  cmquante  pas  vers  son  enneniy. 
relevant  souvent  ses  moustaches  en  haut  d'une 
main ;  et  estant  a  vmgt  pas  de  son  euneniy, 
(non  plustost,)  il  mit  la  main  a  1'espee  qu  il 
tenoit  en  la  main,  non  qu'il  1'eust  tiree  encore ; 
mais  en  marchant,  il  fit  voller  le  fonrreau  en 
1'air,  en  le  secouant,  ce  qui  est  le  beau  de  eela, 
et  qui  monstroit  bien  uue  grace  de  combat 
bleu  asseuree  et  froide,  et  nullement  terne- 
raire,  comme  il  y  en  a  qui  lirent  leurs  espees 
de  cinq  cents  pas  de  I'enneniy,  voire  de  imlle, 
comme  i'en  ay  veu  aucuns.  Amsi  niourut  ce 
brave  Baron,  le  parogon  de  France,  qu'on 
uomnioit  tel,  a  bien  venger  ses  querelles,  par 
graudes  et  determmees  resolutions.  11  n'estoit 
pas  seulemeut  estimfi  en  France,  mais  en 
llalie,  Espaigne,  Allemaigne.  en  Boulogne  et 
Angle.terre;  et  desiroient  fort  les  Etrangers, 
venant  eu  France,  le  voir;  car  je  1'ay  veu,  taut 
sa  renommee  volloit.  11  estoit  fort  petit  de 
corps,  mais  fort  grand  de  courage.  Ses  enne- 
mis  disoient  qu'il  ne  tuoit  pas  bien  ses  gens, 
que  par  advantages  et  supercheries  Certes.  je 
liens  de  grands  capitaiiies.  et  mesme  d'lta- 
liens,  qui  out  estcz  d'autres  fois  les  premiers 
vengeurs  du  rnonde,  in  uyni  modo,  disoient-ils, 
qui  out  tenu  cette  maxime.  qu'iine  superchene 
ne  se  devoil  payer  que  par  semblable  monnoye, 
et  u V  alloit  point  la  de  deshonneur."—  Oeui-rts 
tie  Brantome.  Paris.  17B7-8.  Tome  viii.  p.  90- 
92.  It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader, 
that  this  paragon  of  France  was  the  most  foul 
assassin  of  his  time,  and  had  committed  many 
desperate  murders,  chiefly  by  Ihe  assistance 
of  his  hired  banditti ;  from  which  it  may  be 
conceived  how  Little  the  point  of  honour  of 
the  period  deserved  its  name.  I  have  chosen 
to  give  my  heroes,  who  are  indeed  of  an 
earlier  period,  a  stronger  tincture  of  the  spirit 
of  chivalry. 


NOTE  3  N 

III  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhv, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw. 
For  train'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wtetd 
Fitz- James's  Made  was  sword  and  shield. 

P.  188. 

A  round  target  of  light  wood,  covered  with 
strong  leather,  and  studded  with  brass  or  iron, 
was  a  necessary  part  of  a  Highlander's  equip- 
ment. In  charging  regular  iroops.  they  re- 
ceived the  thrust  of  the  bayonet  in  this 
buckler,  twisted  it  aside,  and  used  the  broad- 
sword against  the  encumbered  soldier.  In  i In- 
civil  war  of  1715.  most  of  the  front  rank  of  the 
] clans  were  thus  armed:  and  Captain  Grose 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  227 


informs  us,  that,  in  1747,  the  privates  of  the 
42d  regiment,  then  in  Flanders,  were,  for  the 
must  part,  permitted  to  carry  targets  — Military 
Antiquities,  vol.  i.  p.  1(U.  A  person  thus  armed 
had  a  considerable  advantage  in  private  fray. 
Among  verses  between  Swift  and  Sheridan, 
lately  published  by  Dr.  Barret,  there  is  an  ac- 
count of  such  an  encounter,  in  which  the 
circumstances,  and  consequently  the  relative 
superiority  of  the  combatants,  are  precisely 
the  reverse  of  those  in  the  text : — 

«  A  Hiuhlander  oner  Cough!  a  Frenchman  at  Margate, 
The  weapons,  a  rapier,  a  backsword,  and  target ; 
Brisk  Mo'.sn-ur  advanced  as  fast  as  he  could, 
But  ail  h.s  line  pushes  were  naught  in  the  wood, 
And  Sawney,  with  bac&bworu,  did  slash  him  and  nick 

him, 
While  I'olher,  enraged  that  he  could  not  once  prick  him, 

Me  will  fight  you,  be  gar  !  if  you'li  come  from  your 

The  use  of  defensive  armour,  and  particu- 
larly of  the  huckler,  or  target,  was  general  in 
Queen  Elizabeth's  tune,  although  that  of  the 
single  rapier  seems  to  have  been  occasionally 

Practised  mucu  earlier'  Rowland  Yorke, 
owever,  who  betrayed  the  fort  of  Zutphen  to 
the  Spaniards,  for  which  good  service  he  was 
afterwards  poisoned  by  them,  is  said  to  have 
been  the  first  who  brought  the  rapier  fight  into 
general  use.  Fuller,  speaking  of  the  swash- 
bucklers, or  bullies,  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time,  says  —  "West  Smithfield  was  formerly 
called  Ruffian's  Hall,  where  such  men  usually 
met,  casually  or  otiierwise,  to  try  masttries 
with  sword  and  buckler.  More  were  fright- 
ened thau  hurt,  more  hurt  than  killed  there- 
with, it  liemg  accounted  unmanly  to  strike 
beneath  the  knee.  But  since  that  desperate 
traitor  Rowland  Yorke  first  introduced  thrust- 
ing with  rapiers,  sword  and  buckler  are  dis- 
used." In  "The  Two  Angry  Women  of 
Abingdon,"  a  comedy,  printed  in  1599,  we  have 
a  pathetic  complaint :  —  "Sword  and  buckler 
fight  begins  to  grow  out  of  use.  I  am  sorry 
for  it :  1  shall  never  see  good  manhood  again. 
If  it  be  once  gone,  this  poking  fight  of  rapier 
and  dagger  will  come  up;  then  a  tall  man, 
and  a  good  sword-and-buckler  man,  will  be 
spitted  like  a  cat  or  rabbit."  But  the  rapier 
had  upon  the  continent  long  superseded,  in 
private  duel,  the  use  of  sword  and  shield. 
The  masters  of  the  noble  science  of  defence 
were  chiefly  Italians.  They  made  great  mys- 
tery of  their  art  and  mode  of  instruction,  never 
suffered  any  person  to  be  present  but  the  scho- 
lar who  was  to  be  taught,  and  even  examined 
closets,  beds,  and  other  places  of  possible  con- 
cealment. Their  lessons  often  gave  the  most 
treacherous  advantages;  for  the  challenger, 
having  the  right  to  choose  his  weapons,  fre- 
quently selected  some  strange,  unusual,  and 
inconvenient  kind  of  arms,  the  use  of  which 
he  practised  under  these  instructors,  and  thus 
killed  at  his  ease  his  antagonist,  to  whom  it 
was  presented  for  the  first  time  on  the  field 
of  battle.  See  Jirantome's  Discourse  on  Duels, 
and  the  work  on  the  same  subject,  "  si  yentc- 
ment  ecnt,"  by  the  venerable  Dr.  Pans  de 
Puteo  The  Highlanders  continued  to  use 
broadsword  and  target  until  disarmed  after 
the  affair  of  171S-6. 


1  See  Itouce'n  lllu 


of  Suakspe, 


ol    ii.  p. 


NOTE  30. 

Thy  threats,  thy  mercy  1  defy ! 
Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die  —P.  188. 
I  have  not  ventured  to  render  this  duel  so 
savagely  desperate  as  that  of  the  celebrated 
Sir  Ewan  of  Lochiel,  chief  of  the  clan  Came- 
ron, called,  from  his  sable  comp.exioti  rjuau 
Dhu.  He  was  the  last  man  in  Scotland  who 
maintained  the  royal  cause  during  the  great 
Civil  War,  and  his  constant  incursions  ren- 
dered him  a  very  unpleasant  neighbour  to  the 
republican  garrison  at  Invenochy,  now  Fort- 
!  William.  The  governor  of  the  fort  detached 
a  party  of  three  hundred  men  to  lay  waste 
:  Lochiel's  possessions,  and  cut  down  his  trees; 
|  but,  in  a  sudden  and  desperate  attack  made 
i  upon  them  by  the  chieftain  with  very  inferior 
numbers,  they  were  almost  all  out  to  pieces. 
The  skirmish  is  detailed  in  a  curious  memoir 
;  of  Sir  Ewan's  life,  printed  in  the  Appendix  of 
Pennant's  Scottish  Tour. 

I  "In  this  engagement,  Lochiel  himself  had 
j  several  wonderful  escapes.  In  the  retreat  of 
|  the  English,  one  of  the  strongest  and  bravest 
i  of  the  officers  retired  behind  a  bush,  when  he 
observed  Lochiel  pursuing,  and  seeing  him 
unaccompanied  with  any,  he  leapt  out.  and 
thought  him  his  prey.  They  met  one  another 
with  equal  fury.  The  combat  was  long  and 
doubtful :  the  English  gentleman  had  by  far 
the  advantage  in  strength  and  size ;  but  Lo- 
chiel, exceeding  him  in  nimblenessand  agility, 
j  in  the  end  tript  the  swnrd  out  of  his  hand  : 
I  they  closed  and  wrestled,  till  both  fell  to  the 
1  ground  in  each  other's  arms  The  English 
officer  got  above  Lochiel,  and  pressed  him 
hard,  but  stretching  forth  his  neck,  by  at- 
tempting to  disengage  himself,  Lochiel,  who 
hy  tins  time  had  his  hands  at  liberty,  with  his 
left  hand  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  jump- 
ing at  his  extended  throat,  he  bit  it.  with  his 
teeth  quite  through,  and  kept  such  a  hold  of 
his  grasp,  that  he  brought  away  his  mouthful : 
this,  he  said,  was  the  sweetest  bit  he  everltad  in 
his  lifetime."— Vol.  i.  p.  375. 


NOTE  3  P. 

Ye  towers  !  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled ; 

And  thou,  O  sail  and  fatal  mound  ! 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound. 

P.  189. 

An  eminence  on  the  north-east  of  the  Castle. 

where  slate  criminals  were  executed.    Stirling 

was  often   polluted  with  noble   blood,    it  is 

thus  apostrophized  by  J.  Johnston  :— 

"  DiBcordia  trislis 

Laetior  aut  cdeli  Irons  genius've  soli." 

The  fate  of  William,  eighth  Earl  of  Douglas, 
whom  James  II.  stabbed  in  Stirling  Castle 
with  his  own  hand,  and  while  under  his  royal 
safe-conduct,  is  familiar  to  all  who  read  Scot- 
tish history.  Murdack  Duke  of  Albany,  Dun- 
can Earl  of  Lennox,  his  father-in-law,  and  his 
two  sons,  Walter  and  Alexander  Stuart,  were 
xecuted  at  Stirling,  in  H25.  They  were  be- 
headed upon  an  eminence  without  the  castle 


228 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


walls,  hut  making  part  of  the  same  hill,  from 
whence  they  could  behold  their  strong  castle 
of  Dunne,  and  their  extensive  pos-< 
This  "  heading  hill."  as  it  was  sometimes 
termed,  bears  commonly  the  less  terrible 
name  of  Hurly-hacket,  from  its  having  been 
the  scene  of  a  courtly  amusement  alluded  to 
by  Sir  David  Lindsay.  who  says  of  the  pastimes 
ill  which  the  young  king  was  engaged, 

"  Some  harled  him  to  the  Hurl j-hacket ;" 

which  consisted  in  sliding,  in  some  sort  of 
chair  it  may  be  supposed,  from  top  to  bottom 
of  a  smooth  bank.  The  boys  of  Edmburzh. 
about  twenty  years  ago,  used  to  play  at  the 
hurly-hacket.  on  the  Calton- Hill,  using  for 
their  seat  a.  horse's  skull. 


NOTE  3Q. 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day. — P.  189. 

Every  burgh  of  Scotland,  of  the  least  note, 
but  more  especially  the  considerable  towns, 
had  their  solemn  play,  or  festival,  when  feats 
of  archery  were  exhibited,  and  prizes  distri- 
buted to  those  who  excelled  in  wrestling, 
hurling  the  bar.  and  the  other  gymnastic  exer- 
cise: 
roya 


for  the  Scottish-men.  The  field  and  ground 
was  chosen  in  St.  Andrews,  and  three  landed 
men  and  three  yeomen  chosen  to  shoot  against 
the  English -men.— to  wit.  David  Weniyss  of 
that  ilk.  David  Arnot  of  that  ilk.  and  Mr  J.,hn 
Wedderhurn.  vicar  of  Dundee ;  the  yeomen, 
John  Thomson,  in  Leith,  Steven  Taburner, 
with  a  piper,  called  Alexander  Bailie;  they 
shot  very  near,  and  warred  [worsted]  the 
Englishmen  of  the  enterprise,  and  wan  the 
hundred  crowns  and  the  tun  of  wine,  which 
made  the  king  very  merry  that  Ins  men  wan 
the  victory."— P.  147. 


NOTE  3R. 

Robin  Hood.-P.  190. 

The  exhibition  of  this  renowned  outlaw  and 
his  band  was  a  favourite  frolic  at  such  festivals 
as  we  are  describing.  This  sporting,  in  which 
kings  did  not  disdain  to  be  antors,  was  pro- 
hibited in  Scotland  upon  the  Reformation,  bv 
a  statute  of  the  6th  Parliament  of  Queen 
Mary,  c.  61.  A  D ,  1555,  which  ordered,  under 
heavy  penalties,  that  "  na  manner  of  person  be 
chosen  Robert  Hude.  nor  Little  John,  Abbot  of 
Unreason,  Queen  of  May.  nor  otherwise." 
But  in  1561,  the  "  rascal  multitude." says  John 
Knox,  "  were  stirred  up  to  make  a  Robin 


i  of  the  period.  Stirling,  a  usual  place  of  I  Hude,  whilk  enormity  was  of  many  years  left 
.  _ ,  il  residence,  was  not  likely  to  be  deficient  I  and  damned  by  statute  and  act  of  Parliament ; 
in  pomp  upon  such  occasions,  especially  since  j  yet  would  tiiey  not  be  forbidden."  Accord- 
James  V.  was  very  partial  to  them.  His  re:;dy  ingly,  they  raised  a  very  serious  tumult,  and  at 
participation  in  these  popular  amusements!  length  made  prisoners  the  magistrates  who 


was  one  cause  of  his  acquiring  the  title  of 
King  of  the  Commons,  or  Rex  Plcbeiorum,  as 
Lesley  has  latinized  it.  The  usual  prize  to 
the  best  shooter  was  a  silver  arrow.  Such  a 
one  is  preserved  at  Selkirk  and  at  Peebles. 
At  Dumfries,  a  silver  gun  was  substituted,  and 
the  contention  transferred  to  fire-arms.  The 
ceremony,  as  there  performed,  is  the  subject 
of  an  excellent  Scottish  poem,  bv  Mr.  John 
Mayne,  entitled  the  Siller  Gun,  1808,  which 
surpasses  the  efforts  of  Fergusson,  and  comes 
near  to  those  of  Burns. 

Of  James's  attachment  to  archery,  Pitscottie, 
the  faithful,  though  rude  recorder  of  the  man- 
ners of  that  period,  has  given  us  evidence  :  — 

"  In  this  year  there  came  an  ambassador  out 
of  England,  named  Lord  William  Howard, 
with  a  bishop  with  him,  with  many  other  gen- 
tlemen, to  the  number  of  threescore  horse. 


men  for  all  kinds  of  games  and  pastimes, 
shooting,  louping,  running,  wrestling,  and  cast- 
ing of  the  stone,  but  they  were  well  'saved 
[essayed  or  tried]  ere  they  passed  out  of  Scot- 
land, and  that  by  their  own  provocation  ;  but 
ever  they  tint :  till  at  last  the  Queen  of  Scot- 
land, the  king's  mother,  favoured  the  English- 
men, because  she  was  the  King  of  England's 
sister;  and  therefore  she  took  an  enterprise 
of  archery  upon  the  English-men's  hands,  con- 
trary her  son  the  king,  and  any  six  in  Scotland 
that  he  would  wale,  either  gentlemen  or 
yeomen,  that  the  Englishmen  should  shoot 
asainst  them,  either  at  pricks,  revers,  or  buts, 
as  the  Scots  pleased. 

-The  king,  hearing  this  of  his  mother,  was 
content,  and  gart  her  pawn  a  hundred  crowns, 
and  a  tun  of  wine,  upon  the  English-turn's 
hands;  and  he  incontinent  laid  down  as  much 


ndeavoured  to  suppress  it.  and  would  not  re- 
lease them  till  they  extorted  n  formal  promise 
that  no  one  should  be  punished  for  his  share 
of  the  disturbance.  It  would  seem,  from  the 
complaints  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the 
Kirk,  that  these  profane  festivities  were  con- 
tinued down  to  1592. '  Bold  Robin  was,  to  say 
the  least,  equally  successful  in  maintaining  his 
2round  against  tile  reformed  clergy  of  Kngl and: 
for  the  simple  and  evangelical  l.atiner  com- 
plains of  coming  to  a  country  church,  where 
ihe  people  refused  to  hear  him.  because  it  was 
Robin  Hood's  day;  and  his  mitre  and  rochet 
were  fain  to  give  way  to  the  village  pastime. 
Much  curious  information  on  this  subject  may 
be  found  m  the  Preliminary  Disseri  atiou  to 
the  late  Mr.  Ritson's  edition  of  the  songs  re- 
specting this  memorable  outlaw.  The  game 

if  Robin  Hood  was  usually  acted  in  May ;  and 


hich  were  all  able  men  and  waled  [picked]   he  was  associated  with  the  momce-dancers 


horn  so  mnch  illustration  has  been  be- 
stowed by  the  commentators  on  Shakspeare. 
A  very  lively  picture  of  these  festivities,  con- 
taining a  great  deal  of  curious  iiiforniarinn  on 
the  subject  of  the  private  lile  and  amusements 
of  our  ancestors,  was  thrown,  by  the  late 
ingenious  Mr.  Strutt.  into  his  romance  entitled 
Qneentaoo  Hall,  published  after  his  death,  in 

im. 

NOTE  3S. 

Indifferent  as  to  archer  uriyht. 
Tite  monarch  gaae  the  arroa  bright.— P.  190. 
The  Douglas  of  the  poem  is  an  imaginary 
person,  a  supposed  uncle  of  the  Earl  of  Angus. 


1  Book  of  the  Un 


,al  Kirk,  p.  414. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  229 


But  the  King's  hehaviourdurmgan  unexpected 
interview  with  the  Laird  of  KiTlpintlie,  one  of 
the  I  anished  Douglasses,  under  circumstances 
similar  to  tliose  in  the  tei:,  is  unitared  from  a 
real  story  told  hy  Hume  of  Godscroft.  I  would 
have  availed  myself  more  fully  of  the  simple 
and  affecting  circumstances  of  tlie  old  history, 
had  ihev  not  been  already  woven  into  a 
p.iihetii:  ballad  by  my  friend.  Mr.  Fmlay.i 

•'  His  (the  king  s)  implacability  (towards  the 
l"arri:ly  of  Douglas)  did  also  appear  in  his  car- 
riage towards  Archibald  of  Iviispmdie.  whom 
he,  when  he  was  a  child,  loved  sinxularly  well 
fir  his  ability  of  body,  and  was  wont  to  call 
him  his  Grey-Steill.2  Archibald,  being  ban- 
ished into  England,  could  not  well  comport 
with  the  humour  of  that  nation,  which  he 
thought  to  be  too  proud,  and  that  they  had 
too  high  a  conceit  of  themselves,  joined  with 
a  contempt  and  despising  of  all  oi  hers.  Where- 
fore, being  wearied  of  (hat  life,  and  remem- 
bering the  king's  favour  of  old  towards  him, 
he  determined  to  try  tne  king's  mercifulness 
and  clemency  So  he  comes  into  Scotland, 
and  taking  occasion  of  the  king's  hunting  in 
the  park  at  Stirling,  he  casts  himself  to  be  in 
his  way,  as  he  was  coming  home  to  the  castle. 
So  soon  as  the  king  saw  him  afar  off,  ere  he 
came  near,  he  guessed  it  was  he,  and  said  to 
one  of  his  courtiers,  yonder  is  my  Gray-Steill, 
Archibald  of  Kilspindie.  if  he  be  alive.  The 
other  answered,  that  it  could  not  be  he,  and 
that  he  durst  not  come  into  the  king's  pre- 
sence. The  king  approaching,  he  fell  upon 
his  knees  and  craved  pardon,  and  promised 
from  thenceforward  to  abstain  from  meddling 
in  public  affairs,  and  to  lead  a  quiet  and  pri- 
vate life.  The  king  went  by  without  giving 
him  any  answer,  and  trotted  a  good  round  pace 
up  the  lull.  Kilspindie  followed,  and  though 
he  wore  on  him  a  secret,  or  shirr  of  mail,  for 
his  particular  enemies,  was  as  soon  at  the 
castle  gate  as  the  king.  There  he  sat  him 
down  upon  a  stone  without,  and  entreated 
some  of  tlie  king's  servants  for  a  cup  of  drink, 
being  weary  and  thirsty ;  bur,  they,  fearing  the 
king's  displeasure,  durst  give  him  none.  When 
the  king  was  set  at  his  dinner,  lie  asked  what 
he  had  done,  what  he  had  said,  and  whither 
he  had  gone  ?  It  was  told  him  that  he  had  de- 
sired a  cup  of  drink,  and  had  gotten  none. 
The  king  reproved  them  very  sharply  for  their 
discourtesy,  and  told  them,  that  if  he  had  not 
taken  art  oath  that  no  Douglas  should  ever 
serve  lam,  he  would  have  received  him  into 
his  service,  for  he  had  seen  him  sometime  a 
man  of  gieut  ability.  Then  he  sent  him  word 
to  go  to  Leith.  and  expect  Ins  further  pleasure. 
Then  some  kinsman  of  David  Falconer,  the 
cannomer,  that  was  slam  at  Tantallon,  began 
to  quarrel  with  Archibald  about  the  matter, 
wherewith  the  king  showed  himself  not  well 
pleased  when  he  heard  of  it.  Then  he  com- 
manded him  to  go  to  France  for  a  certain 
space,  till  he  heard  farther  from  him.  And  so 
he  did.  and  died  shortly  after.  This  gave 
occasion  to  the  King  of  England,  (Henry  VIII.) 
to  blame  his  nephew,  alleging  the  old  saying, 
That  a  king's  face  should  give  grace.  For 
this  Archibald  (whatsoever  were  Angus's  or 
Sir  George's  fault)  had  not  been  principal  actor 


of  anything.  n<>r  no  counsellor  nor  stirrer  up, 
but  only  a  follower  of  his  friends,  and  that  no- 
ways cruelly  disposed."— Hume  of  Godscroft, 
ii.  107. 


NOTE  3  T. 

Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  Kind 
To  Douglas  gave  a  yoUien  riny.—P.  190. 

The  usual  prize  of  a  wrestling  was  a  ram 
and  a  ring,  but  the  animal  would  have  embar- 
rassed my  story.  Thus,  in  the  Cokes  Tale  of 
Gamelyn,  ascribed  to  Chaucer : 

"  There  happed  to  be  there  beiide 

Tryed  a  wre-lling : 
And  therefore  there  was  y-»etten 

Again  the  Lilil  Geste  of  Robin  Hood : 

.  ..."  By  a  bridge  waa  a  wrestling, 

And  there  lary.-d  wa»  he, 
Anil  Ihere  »a«  all  the  best  ytmen 

Of  all  the  went  couulri-y 
A  full  fayre  game  there  waa  «et  up, 

A  white  bull  up  y-pight, 
A  great  courser  with  saddle  and  brydle, 

With  goM  burnished  full  bryght; 
A  payre  of  gloves,  a  red  golde  nnge, 
A  pipe  of  wine,  good  fay  : 
"i  him  best,  1 
bear  away.' 
Rtttan'i  Robin  Bond,  vol.  I. 


NOTE  3U. 

These  drew  not  for  their  fit  Ids  the  sword. 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
Nor  oion'd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chief  tain  in  their  leader's  name  ; 
Adventurers  they P.  192. 

The  Scottish  armies  consisted  chiefly  of  the 
nobility  and  barons,  with  their  vassals,  who 
held  lands  under  them,  for  military  service 
by  themselves  and  their  tenants.  The  patri- 
archal influence  exercised  by  the  heads  of 
clans  in  the  Highlands  and  Borders  was  of  a 
different  nature,  and  sometimes  at  variance 
with  feudal  principles.  It  flowed  from  the 
Palria  Pote&tns,  exercised  by  the  chieftain  as 
representing  the  original  father  of  the  whole 
name,  and  was  often  obeyed  in  contradiction 
to  the  feudal  superior.  James  V.  seems  first 
to  have  introduced,  in  addition  to  the  militia 
furnished  from  these  sources,  the  service  of  a 
small  number  of  mercenaries,  who  formed  a 
body-guard,  called  the  Foot-Band.  The  sati- 
rical poet,  Sir  David  Lindsay  (or  the  person 
who  wrote  the  prologue  to  his  play  of  the 
"  Three  Estaites,  has  introduced  Finlay  of  the 
Foot-Band,  who,  after  much  swaggering  upon 
the  stage,  is  at  lenath  put  to  flight  by  the  Fool, 
who  terrifies  him  by  means  of  a  sheep's  skull 
upon  a  pole.  I  have  rather  chosen  to  give 
them  the  harsh  features  of  the  mercenary 
soldiers  of  the  period,  than  of  this  Scottish 
Thraso.  These  partook  of  the  character  of 
the  Adventurous  Companions  of  Froissart  or 
the  Condottieri  of  Italy. 

One  of  the  best  and  liveliest  traits  of  such 


Ballads.    Glas-        2  A  champion  of  popular  romance.    See  Ellit't  Romance*, 


230 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


manners  is  the  last  will  of  a  lender,  called 
Geffroy  Tete  Noir.  who  having  been  slightly 
wounded  in  a  skirmish,  his  intemperance 
brought  on  a  mortal  disease.  When  he  found 
himself  dying,  he  summoned  to  his  bedside 
the  adventurers  whom  he  commanded,  and 
thus  addressed  them  : — 

"  Fayre  sirs,  quod  Geffray.  I  knowe  well  ye 
have  alwayes  served  and  honoured  me  as  men 
ousht  to  serve  their soverayeiie  and  capitayne. 
and  I  shal  be  the  gladder  if  ye  wyll  asre  1" 
have  to  your  capitaynp  one  that  is  descended 
of  my  hlode.  Beholde  here  Aleyne  Roux,  my 
cosfb,  and  Peter  his  brother,  who  are  men  of 
armes  and  of  my  blode.  I  require  you  to  make 
Aleyne  your  (Mpitayne.  and  to  swere  to  hyin 
faythe.  obeysaunce,  love,  and  lovalte,  here  in 
my  presence,  and  also  to  his  brother :  how  be 
it,  I  wyll  that  Aleyne  have  the  soverayne 
charge.  Sir,  quod  they,  we  are  well  content, 
for  ye  hauve  ryght  well  chosen.  There  all  the 
companyons  made  them  breke  no  poynt  of 
that  ye  have  ordayned  and  coramauuded." — 
Lord  Berner's  Froissart. 


NOTE  3V. 

Tkmi  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp  ! 
Gft  thee  an  af>e,  and  trtnl/je  the  land. 
The  leader  of  a  juggler  bund.— 7.  193. 

The  jonglenrs,  or  jugglers,  as  we  leam  Irom 
the  elaborate  work  of  the  late  Mr  Strutt.  on 
the  sports  and  pastimes  of  the  people  of  Eng- 
land, used  to  call  in  the  aid  of  various  assist- 
ants, to  render  these  performances  as  capti- 
vating as  possible.  The  glee-maiden  was  a 
necessary  attendant.  Her  duty  was  tumbling 
and  dancing;  and  therefore  the  Anglo-Saxon 
version  of  Saint  Mark's  Gospel  states  Herodias 
to  have  vaulted  or  tumbled  before  King  Herod. 
In  Scotland,  these  poor  creatures  seem,  even 
at  a  late  period,  to  have  been  bondswomen  to 
their  masters,  as  appears  from  a  case  reported 
by  Fountainhall  :— "Reid  the  mountebank 
pursues  Scott  of  Harden  and  his  lady,  for 
stealing  away  from  him  a  little  girl,  called  the 
tumbiing-lassie,  that  danced  upon  his  stage  : 
and  he  claimed  damages,  and  produced  a  con- 
tract, whereby  he  bought  her  from  her  mother 
for  301.  Scots.  But  we  have  no  slaves  in  Scot- 
land, and  mothers  cannot  sell  their  bairns ; 
and  physicians  attested  the  employment  of 
tumbling  would  kill  her;  and  her  joints  were 
now  grown  stiff,  and  she  declined  to  return : 
though  she  was  at  least  a  'prentice,  and 
so  could  not  run  away  from  her  master :  yet 
some  cited  Moses's  law,  that  if  a  servant 
shelter  himself  with  thee,  against  his  master's 
cruelty,  thou  shall  surely  not  deliver  him  up. 
The  Lords,  renittnte  cancellario,  assoilzied  Har- 
den, on  the  27th  of  January  (1687)."— Foun- 
tamhalFs  Decisions,  vol.  i.  p.  439.  * 

The  facetious  qualities  of  the  ape  soon  ren- 
dered him  an  acceptable  addition  to  the  stroll- 
ing band  of  the  jongleur.  Ben  Junson,  in  his 
splenetic  introduction  to  the  comedy  of  "Bar- 
tholomew Fair,"  is  at  pains  to  inform  the  au- 
dience "that  he  hasne'erasword-and-buckler 
man  in  his  Fair,  nor  a  j  uggler,  with  a  well- 
educated  ape,  to  come  over  the  chaine  for  the 


Kin:  of  England,  and  back  again  for  the 
Prince,  and  sit  still  on  his  haunches  for  the 
Pope  and  the  King  of  Spame." 


NOTE  3W. 

That  stirring  air  that  prate  on  high, 
O'er  Dei-miil's  racf  our  victory. — 
Strike  it  .'—P.  195. 

There  are  several  instances,  at  least  in  tra- 
dition, of  persons  so  much  attached  to  particu- 
lar times,  as  to  require  to  hear  them  on  their 
deathbed.  Such  an  anecdote  is  mentioned  by 
the  late  Mr.  Riddel  of  Glennddel.  in  his  col- 
lection of  Border  tunes,  respecting  an  air 
called  the  "  Dandling  of  the  Bairns/'  for  which 
a  certain  Gallovidiau  laird  is  said  to  have 
evinced  this  strong  mark  of  partiality.  It  is 
popularly  told  of  a  famous  freebooter,  that  he 
composed  the  tune  known  by  the  name  of 
Macpherson's  Rant,  while  under  sentence  of 
death,  and  played  it  at  the  gallows-tree.  Some 
spirited  words  have  been  adapted  to  it  by 
Burns.  A  similar  story  is  recounted  of  a 
Welsh  bard,  who  composed  and  played  on  his 
deathbed  the  air  called  Dafytldy  Garret/a  Wen. 
But  the  most  curious  example  is  given  by 
Brantome,  of  a  maid  of  honour  at  the  court 
of  France,  entitled.  Mademoiselle  de  Limeuil. 
"  Durant  sa  maladie,  dont  elle  trespassa,  ja- 
mais  elle  ne  cessa,  ains  causa  tousjonrs ;  car 
elle  esioit  fort  grande  parleuse,  brocardeuse, 
et  tres-bien  et  fort  a  propos,  et  trcs-belle  avec 
cela.  Quand  1'heure  de  sa  fin  fut  venue,  elle 
fit  venir  a  soy  son  valet  (ainsi  que  le  lilies  de 
la  cour  en  ont  chacune  un).  qui  s'appelloit 
Jnlien,  et  scavoit  tres-bien  jouer  du  violon. 
'  Juhen.'lny  dit  elle.  'prenez  vostre  violon.  et 
sonnez  moy  tousjours  jusques  a  ce  que  vous 
me  voyez  morte  (car  je  m'y  en  vais)  la  dcfaite 
des  Suisses,  et  le  mieux  que  vous  pourrez,  et 
quand  voug  serez  stir  le  mot,  "  Tout  est  perdu," 
sonnez  le  par  quatre  on  cing  fois  le  plus  pi- 
teusement  que  vous  pourrez,'  cequi  fit  1'autre, 
et  elle  mesme  luy  aidoit  de  la  yoix,  et  quand 
ce  vint  'tout  est  perdu,' elle  le  reitera  par  deux 
fois ;  et  se  tournant  de  I'autre  costfi  du  chevet, 
elle  dit  a  ses  compagnes :  '  Tout  est  perdu  a 
ce  coup,  et  a  bop  escient;'  et  ainsi  deceda. 
Voila  one  morte  joyeuse  et  plaisante  Je  tiens 
ce  conte  de  deux  de  ses  compagnes  dignes  de 
foi.qui  virent  jouer  ce  mvstere."  —  Ouvres  de 
Brantome,  ili.  507.  The  tune  to  which  this  fair 
lady  chose  to  make  her  final  exit,  was  com- 
posed on  the  defeat  of  the  Swiss  at  .Marignano. 
The  burden  is  quoted  by  Panurge,  in  Rabelais, 
.  and  consists  of  these  words,  imitating  the  jar- 
I  gon  of  t  he  Swiss,  which  is  a  mixture  of  French 
and  German : 


NOTE  3X. 

Battle  of  Bear  an  Duine.—P.  195. 
A  skirmish  actually  took  place  at  a  pass 
thus  called  in  the  Trosachs,  and  closed  with 
the  remarkable  incident  mentioned  in  the  text. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.  231 


It  was  greatly  posterior  in  date  to  the  reign 
of  JamKS  V. 

'•  la  this  roughly-wooded  island.  •  the  coun- 
try people  secreted  their  wives  anil  children, 
and  their  most  valuable  effects,  from  the  rapa- 
city of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  during  their  111- 
road  into  this  country,  in  the  time  of  the 
republic.  These  invaders,  not  venturing  to 
ascend  by  the  ladders,  along  the  side  of  the 
lake,  look  a  more  circuitous  road,  throueh  the 
heart  of  the  Trnsachs,  the  most  frequented 
path  fit  tliiit  time,  which  penetrates  the  wilder- 
ness about  half  way  between  Biuean  and  the 
lake,  bv  a  tract  called  Yea-chiileach,  or  the 
Old  Wife's  Bog. 

In  one  of  the  defiles  of  this  by-road,  the 
men  of  the  country  at  that  time  hung  upon 
the  rear  of  the  invading  enemy,  and  shot  one 
of  Cromwell's  men,  whose  grave  marks  the 
scene  of  action,  and  gives  name  to  that  pass. 2 
In  reveuge  of  this  insult,  the  soldiers  resolved 
to  plunder  the  island,  to  violate  the  women, 
and  put  tl:e  children  to  death.  With  this 
brutal  intention,  one  of  the  party,  more  expert 
than  the  rest,  swam  towards  the  island,  to 
letch  the  boat  to  his  comrades,  which  had 
carried  the  women  to  their  asylum,  and  lay 
moored  in  one  of  the  creeks.  His  companions 
stood  nu  the  shore  of  [he  mainland,  in  full 
view  of  all  that  was  to  pass,  waiting  anxiously 
for  his  return  with  the  boat.  But  just  as  the 
swimmer  had  got  to  the  nearest  point  of  the 
island,  and  was  laying  hold  of  a  black  rock,  to 
get  on  shore,  a  heroine,  who  stood  on  the  very 
point  where  he  meant  to  land,  hastily  snatch- 
ing a  dagger  from  below  her  apron,  with  one 
stroke  severed  his  head  from  the  body.  His 
party  seeing  this  disaster,  and  relinquishing 
all  future  hope  of  reveuge  or  conquest,  nude 
the  best  of  their  way  out  of  their  perilous 
situation.  This  amazou's  great-grandsou  lives 
at  Bridge  of  Turk,  who,  besides  others,  attests 
the  anecdote." — Sketch  oj '  Ute  Stxtiery  Hear  Cat- 
lexilar,  Stirling,  1806,  p.  20  1  have  only  to  add 
to  this  account,  that  the  heroine's  name  was 
Helen  Stuart. 


NOTE  3  Y. 

And  Snowdoiai's  Knight  is  Scotland'!  King. 
P.  197. 

This  discovery  will  probably  remind  the 
reader  of  the  beautiful  Arabian  tale  of  // 
Bondaaud.  Yet  the  incident  is  not  borrowed 
from  that  elegant  story,  but  from  Scottish  tra- 
dition. James  V..  of  whom  we  are  treating, 
was  a  monarch  whose  good  and  benevolent 
intentions  often  rendered  his  romantic  freaks 
venial,  if  not  respectable,  since,  from  his 
anxious  attention  to  the  interests  of  the  lower 
and  most  oppressed  class  of  his  subjects,  he 
was,  as  we  have  seen,  popularly  termed  the 
King  of  the  Commons.  For  the  purpose  of 
seeing  that  justice  was  regularly  administered, 
and  frequently  from  the  less  justifiable  motive 
of  gallantry,  he  used  to  traverse  the  vicinage 
of  his  several  palaces  in  various  disguises. 
The  two  excellent  comic  songs,  entitled,  "the 
Gaberluuzie  man,''  and  "  We'll  gae  nae  mair  a 
roving,"  are  said  to  have  been  founded  upon 


itioned  iD  the  text. 


lity  of  Loeh  Katrii 


the  success  of  his  amorous  adventures  when 
travelling  in  the  disguise  of  a  beggar.  The 
latter  is  perhaps  the  best  comic  ballad  in  any 
language. 

Ano  her  adventure,  which  had  nearly  cost 
James  his  life,  is  said  to  have  taken  place  at 
the  village  of  Cramond,  near  Edinburgh, 
where  he  had  rendered  his  addresses  accept- 
able to  a  pretty  girl  of  the  lower  rank.  Four 
or  five  persons,  whether  relations  or  lovers 
of  his  mistress  is  uncertain,  beset  the  dis- 
guised monarch  as  lie  returned  from  his  ren- 
dezvous. Naturally  gallant,  and  an  admirable 
master  of  his  weapon,  the  king  took  post  on 
the  high  and  narrow  bridge  over  the  Almond 
river,  and  defended  himself  bravely  with  Ins 
sword.  A  peasant,  who  was  threshing  in  a 
neighbouring  barn,  cume  out  upon  the  noise, 
and  whether  moved  by  compassion  or  by  na- 
tural gallantry,  took  the  weaker  side,  and  hud 
about  with  his  flail  so  effectually,  as  to  dis- 
perse the  assailants,  well  threshed,  even  ac- 
cording to  the  letter.  lie  ihen  conducted  the 
king  into  his  barn,  where  his  guest  requested 
a  basin  and  a  towel,  to  remove  the  stains  of 
the  broil.  This  being  procured  with  difficulty, 
James  employed  himself  in  learning  what  was 
the  summit  of  his  dehveiei's  earthly  wishes, 
and  found  that  they  were  bounded  by  the  de- 
sire of  possessing,  in  property,  the  farm  of 
Braehead,  upon  which  he  laboured  as  a  bonds- 
man The  lauds  chanced  to  belong  to  the 
crown;  and  James  directed  him  to  come  to 
the  palace  of  Holyrood,  and  enquire  for  the 
(iuiilmau  (i.  e.  farmer}  of  Ballengiech,  a  name 
by  which  he  was  known  in  liis  excursions,  and 
\\  hicli  answered  to  the  li  Boattocaai  of  Uarouu 
Ahaschid.  He  presented  himself  accordingly, 
and  found,  with  due  astonishment,  that  lie 
had  savfd  his  monarch's  life,  aud  that  he  was 
to  be  girt,  i  lied  with  a  crown  charter  of  the 
lands  of  Braelieau,  under  the  service  of  pre- 
senting a  ewer,  liasin  aud  towel,  lor  the  king 
to  wash  his  hands  when  he  shall  happen  to 
pass  the  Bridge  of  Cramond.  This  person  was 
ancestor  of  the  Howisous  of  Braehead,  m 
Mid  Lothian,  a  respectable  family,  who  con- 
tinue to  hold  the  lauds  (now  passed  into  the 
female  hue)  under  the  same  tenure. 

Another  of  James's  frolics  is  thus  narrated 
by  .Mr.  Campbell  from  the  Statistical  Account: 
— "  Being  once  benighted  when  out  a-huiitmg, 
and  separated  from  his  attendants,  he  hap- 
pened to  enter  a  cottage  m  the  midst  of  a 
moor  at  the  foot  of  the  Ochil  hills,  near  Allou, 
where,  unknown,  he  was  kiudly  received.  In 
order  to  regale  their  unexpected  guest,  the 
gudeman  (i.  e.  landlord,  farmer)  desired  tiie 
iiudactfe  to  fetch  the  hen  that  roosted  nearest 
the  cock,  which  is  always  the  plumpest,  lor 
the  stranger's  supper.  The  king,  highly  pleased 
with  his  night's  lodging  and  hospitable  enter- 
tainment, told  lame  host  at  parting,  that  he 
should  be  glad  to  return  his  civility,  and  re- 
quested that  the  first  time  he  came  to  Stirling, 
lie  would  call  at  the  castle,  aud  enquire  for 
the  Gudeman  oj  Ballaiguich. 

Donaldson,  the  landlord,  did  not  fail  to  call 
on  the  Gudanait  of  Batlenguich.  when  his 
astonishment  at  finding  that  the  king  had  been 
his  guest  afforded  no  small  amusement  to  the 


232 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


merry  monarch  and  his  courliers;  and,  to 
carry  on  the  pleasantry,  he  was  thenceforth 
designated  by  James  with  the  title  of  King  of 
the  Moors,  which  name  and  designation  have 
descended  from  father  to  son  ever  since,  and 
they  have  continued  in  possession  of  the  iden- 
tical spot,  the  property  of  Mr.  Erskme  of  Mar, 
till  very  lately,  when  this  gentleman,  with  re- 
luctance, turned  out  the  descendant  and  re- 
presentative of  the  King  of  the  Moors,  on 
account  of  his  majesty's  invincible  indolence, 
and  great  dislike  to  reform  or  innovation  of 
any  kind,  although,  from  the  spirited  example 
of  his  neighbour  tenants  on  the  same  estate, 
he  is  convinced  similar  exertion  would  pro- 
mote his  advantage." 

The  author  requests  permission  yet  farther 
to  verify  the  subject  of  his  poem,  by  an  extract 
from  the  genealogical  work  of  Buchanan  of 
Auchmar,  upon  Scottish  surnames  : — 

"This  John  Buchanan  of  Auchmar  and 
Arnpryor  was  afterwards  termed  King  of 
Kippen,'  upon  the  following  account:  King 
James  V.,  a  very  sociable,  debonair  prince, 
residing  at  Stirling,  in  Buchanan  of  Arnpryor's 
time,  carriers  were  very  frequently  passing 
along  the  common  road,  being  near  Arnpryor's 
house,  with  necessaries  for  the  use  of  the 
king's  family  ;  and  he,  having  some  extraordi- 
nary occasion,  ordered  one  of  these  carriers 
to  leave  his  load  at  Ins  house,  and  he  would 
pay  him  for  it ;  which  the  carrier  refused  to 
do,  telling  him  he  was  the  king's  carrier,  and 
his  load  for  his  majesty's  use;  to  which  Arn- 
pryor seemed  to  have  small  regard,  compelling 
the  carrier,  in  the  end,  to  leave  his  load  ;  tell- 
ing him,  if  King  James  was  King  of  Scotland, 
he  was  King  of  Kippen,  so  that  it  was  reason- 
able he  should  share  with  his  neighbour  king 
in  some  of  these  loads,  so  frequently  carried 
that  road.  The  earner  representing  this  usage, 
and  telling  the  story,  as  Arnpryor  spoke  it,  to 
some  of  the  king's  servants,  it  came  at  length 
to  his  majesty's  ears,  who,  shortly  thereafter, 
with  a  few  attendants,  came  to  risit  his  neigh- 
bour king,  who  was  in  the  meantime  at  dinner 
King  James,  having  sent  a  servant  to  demand 
access,  was  denied  the  same  by  a  tall  fellow 
with  a  battle-axe,  who  stood  porter  at  the 
gate,  telling,  there  could  be  no  access  till 
dinner  was  over.  This  answer  not  satisfying 
the  king,  he  sent,  to  demand  access  a  second 
time ;  upon  which  he  was  desired  by  the  por- 
ter to  desist,  otherwise  he  would  find  cause 
to  repent  his  rudeness.  His  majesty  finding 
this  method  would  not  do,  desired  the  porter 
to  tell  his  master  that  the  Goodman  of  Balla- 
geich  desired  to  speak  with  the  King  of  Kip- 


1  A  small  di»trict  of  Fertbuhii 


pen.  The  porter  telling  Arnpryor  so  much, 
he,  in  all  humble  manner,  came  and  received 
the  king,  and  having  entertained  him  with 
much  siimptuousness  and  jollity,  became  so 
agreeable  to  King  James,  that  he  allowed  him 
to  take  so  much  of  any  provision  he  found 
carrying  that  road  as  he  had  occasion  for; 
and  seeing  he  made  the  first  visit,  desired 
Arnpryor  in  a  few  days  to  return  him  a  second 
to  Stirling,  which  he  performed,  and  continued 
in  very  much  favour  with  the  king,  always 
thereafter  being  termed  King  of  Kippen  while 
he  lived." — Buchanan's  Essuy  itpon  the  Family 
of  Buchanan.  Edin.  1775,  8vo.  p.  74. 

The  readers  of  Ariosto  must  give  credit  for 
the  amiable  features  with  which  he  is  repre- 
sented, since  he  is  generally  considered  as  the 
prototype  of  Zerbino,  the  most  interesting 
hero  of  the  Orlando  Furioso. 


NOTE  3  Z. 

Stirling's  touvr 

Of  yore  the  name  of  Snotcdmn  claims — P.  196. 
William  of  Worcester,  who  wrote  about  the 
middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  calls  Stirling 
Castle  Snowdoun.  Sir  David  Lindsay  bestows 
the  same  epithet  upon  it  in  his  complaint  of 
the  Papingo : 

"Adieu,  fair  Snawdoiin,  with  thy  towers  big}), 
Thy  chaj  le-royal,  park,  anil  lab],  round; 
May,  June, and  July,  would  I  d.<ell  in  thee, 
Were  I  a  man.  lo  hear  the  birdi*  sound, 
WhJlk  doth  againe  thy  royal  rock  rebound." 

Mr.  Chalmers,  in  his  late  excellent  edition  of 
Sir  David  Lindsay's  works,  has  refuted  the 
chimerical  derivation  of  Smiwdoun  from  sned- 
ding.  or  cutting.  It  was  probably  derived  from 
the  romantic  legend  which  connected  Stirling 
with  King  Arthur,  to  whtch  the  mention  of 
the  Round  Table  eives  countenance.  The  ring 
within  which  justs  were  formerly  practised, 
in  the  castle  park,  is  still  called  trie  Round 
Table.  Snawdoiin  is  the  official  title  of  one 
of  the  Scottish  heralds,  whose  epithets  seem 
in  all  countries  to  have  been  fantastically 
adopted  from  ancient  history  or  romance. 

It  appears  (See  Note  3Y.)  that  the  real 
name  by  which  James  was  actually  distin- 
guished in  his  private  excursions,  was  the 
Goodman  of  Batlentntich  ;  derived  from  a  steep 
pass  leading  up  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  so 
called.  But  the  epithet  would  not  have  suited 
poetry,  and  would  besides  at  once,  and  pre- 
maturely, have  announced  the  plot  to  many 
of  my  countrymen,  among  whom  the  tradi- 
tional stories  above  mentioned  are  still  cur- 
rent. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK.            233 

€\t  f  isinn  nf  inn  Enhrirk.1 

Quid  dignum  memorare  tuis,  Hispama,  terris, 

Vox  humana  valet  !  CLAUDIAK. 

PREFACE. 

that  unsuspicious  and  friendly  kingdom,  and 
terminates  with  the  arrival  of  the  British  suc- 

The following  Poem  is  founded  upon  a  Span- 
ish   Tradition,   particularly  detailed    in    the 

cours.    It  may  be  farther  proper  to  mention, 
that  the  object  of  the  Poem  is  less  to  comme- 

Notes ;  but  bearing,  in  general,  that  Don  Rode- 
rick, the  last  Gothic  King  of  Spain,  when  the  In- 
vasion of  the  Moors  was  impending,  had  the 

morate  or  detail  particular  incidents,  than  to 
exhibit  a  general  and  impressive  picture  of  the 
several  periods  brought  upon  the  stage. 

temerity  to  descend  into  an  ancient  vault,  near 
Toledo,  the  opening  of  which  had  been  de- 
nounced as  fatal  to  the   Spanish   Monarchy. 

I  am  too  sensible  of  the  respect  due  to  the 
Public,  especially  by  one  who  has  already  ex- 
perienced more  than  ordinary  indulgence,  to 

The  legend  adds,  that  his  rash  curiosity  was 

offer  any  apology  for  the   inferiority  of  the 

mortified  hy  an  emblematical   representation 
of  those  Saracens  who,  in   the  year  714,  de- 
featen  him  in  battle,  and  reduced  Spain  under 

poetry  to  the  subject  it  is  chiefly  designed  to 
commemorate.     Yet  I  think  it  proper  to  men- 
tion, that  while  I  was  hastily  executing  a  work, 

their  dominion.    I  have  presumed  to  prolong 

written  for  a  temporary  purpose,  and  on  pass- 

the Vision  of  the  Revolutions  of  Spain  down 

ing  events,  the  task  was  most  cruellv  inter- 

to the  present  eventful  crisis  of  the  Peninsula  ; 
and  to  divide  it.  by  a  supposed  change  of  scene, 

rupted  by  the  successive  deaths  of  Lord  Pre- 
sident Blair.2  and  Lord  Viscount  Melville.    In 

into  Three  Periods.    The  First  of  these  repre- 

those distinguished  characters,  I  had  not  only 

sents  the  Invasion  of  the  Moors,  the  Defeat 

to  regret  persons  whose  lives  were  most  im- 

and Death  of  Roderick,  and  closes  with  the 

portant  to  Scotland,  but.  also  whose  notice  and 

peaceful  occupation  of  the   country  by  the 

patronage  honoured  my  entrance  unon  active 

Victors.      The   Second  Period  embraces   the 

life;  and,  I  may  add,  with  melancholy  pride, 

state  of  the  Peninsula,  when  the  conquests  of 

who  permitted   my   more  advanced    age    to 

the  Spaniards  and  Portuguese  in  the  East  and 

claim  no  common  share  in  their  friendship. 

West  Indies  had  raised  to  the  highest  pitch 

Under  such  interruptions,  the  following  verses, 

the  renown  of  their  arms;  sullied,  however. 

which  my  best  and  happiest  efforts  must  have 

by  superstition   and  cruelty.     An  allusion  to 

left  far  unworthy  of  their  theme,  have,  I  am  | 

the  inhumanities  of  the  Inquisition  terminates 
this   picture.     The  Last    fart  of   the   Poem 

myself  sensible,  an  appearance  of  negligence 
and    incoherence,  which,  in    other   circum- 

opens with  the  state  of  Spain  previous  to  the 

stances,  I  might  have  been  able  to  remove.s 

unparalleled  treachery  of  Buonaparte  ;  gives 

a  sketch  of  the  usurpation  attempted  upon 

Edinburgh,  June  24,  1811. 

1  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  appeared  in  4to,  in  July 

letter,  just  as  I  was  packing  up  Don  Roderick  for  you. 

15,  1811  ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  same  year  was  also  in- 

This   patriotic    puppet-show   has   been    finished    under 

serted  in  the  second  volume  of  the  fcklinburgh  Annual  Re- 

wretched  auspices;  poor  Lord  Melville's  death  so  quickly 

then  publishers,  Messrs.  John  Ballantyne  and  Co. 

wisest  judges  that  ever  distributed  justice,  broke  my  spirit 

Blair,  author  of  "The  Grave."     After  long  filling  the  of- 

source  of  my  daily  admiration.     As  for  poor  dear  Lord 

his  remains  to  the  grave,  was  taken  ill  not  less  suddenly, 

tia  perpcai  itimtii.     His  loss  will  be  long  and  severely  frit 

plause  to  the  worth  which  she  maligned  while  it  walked 

3  In  a  letter  to  J.  B.  S.  Morritt,  Esq.,  Edinburgh,  July 

upon  earth." 

234 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Uisinn  nf  inn  flnlmirk. 


JOHN  WIIITMORE,  ESQ. 

AND    TO   THE 

COMMITTEE  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  FOR  RELIEF  OF  THE  PORTUGUESE    SUFFERERS, 
IN  WHICH  HE  PRESIDES, 

THIS  POEM, 
(THE  VISION  OF  DON   RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  FUND  UNDER  THEIR  MANAGEMENT, 
IS  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED  BY 

WALTEK  SCOTT. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I. 

Lives  there  a  strain,  whose  sounds  of  mount- 
ing fire 

May  rise  distinguish'd  o'er  the  din  of  wart 
Or  died  it  with  yon  Master  of  the  Lyre. 

Who  sung  heleaguer'd  Ilion's  evil  star? 
Such.  Wellington,  might  reach  thee  from  afar. 
Wafting  its  descant  wide  o'er  Ocean's  range ; 
Nor  shouts,  nor  clashing  arms,  its  mood  could 

mar. 

All  as  it  swell'd  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet- 
change. 

That  clangs  to  Britain  victory,  to  Portugal  re- 
venge ! 

II. 

Yes !  such  a  strain,  with  all  e'er-pouring  mea- 
sure, 
Might  melodize  with  each  tumultuous 

sound, 

Each  voice  of  fear  or  triumph,  woe  or  plea- 
sure, 
That   rings   Mondego's   ravaged   shores 

around ; 
The  thundering  cry  of  hosts  with  conquest 

crown'd, 
The   female   shriek,  the   rnin'd   peasant's 

moan. 

The  shout  of  captives  from  their  chains  un- 
bound. 

The  foil'd  oppressor's  deep  and  sullen  groan, 
A  Nation's   choral  hymn   for  tyranny  o'er- 
thrown. 

m. 

But  we.  weak  minstrels  of  a  laggard  day, 

Skill'd  but  to  imitate  an  elder  page, 
Timid  and  raptureless.  can  we  repay 
The  debt  thou  claim'st  in  this  exhausted 

aget 

Thou  givest  our  lyres  a  theme,  that  might  en- 
gage 


Those  that  could  send  thy  name  o'er  sea  and 

land, 
While  sea  and  land  shall  last;  for  Homer's 

rage 
A  theme;    a  theme    for  Milton's   mighty 

hand — 

How  much  unmeet  for  us,  a  faint  degenerate 
baud! 

IV. 

Ye  mountains  stern !  within  whose  ragged 

breast 

The  friends  of  Scottish  freedom  found  re- 
pose; 
Ye   torrents!    whose   hoarse    sounds    have 

soothed  their  rest. 

Returning  from  the  field  of  vanquish'd  foes; 
Say  have  ye  lost  each  wild  majestic  close, 

That  erst  the  choir  of  Bards  or  Druids  flung ; 
What  time  their  hymn  of  victory  arose. 
And  Cattraeth's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph 

rung. 

And  mystfc  Merlin  harp'd,  and  grey-hair'd  Lly- 
warch  sung ! 1 

V. 

0!  if  your  wilds  snch  minstrelsy  retain, 
As  sure  your  changeful  gales  seem  oft  to 

say. 

When  sweeping  wild  and  sinking  soft  again, 
Like  trumpet  jubilee,  or  harp's  wild  sway ; 
If  ye  can  echo  such  triumphant  lay. 
Then  lend  the  note  to  him  has  loved  you 

long! 

Who  pious  gather'd  each  tradition  grey, 
That  floats  your  solitary  wastes  along, 
And  with  affection  vain  gave  them  new  voice 
in  song. 

VI. 

For  not  till  now,  how  oft  soe'er  the  task 
Of  truant  verse  hath  lighten'd  graver  care, 

From  Muse  or  Sylvan  was  he  wont  to  ask, 
In  phrase  poetic,  inspiration  fair ; 


2  8«  Appendix,  Note  A. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


235 


Careless  he  gave  his  numbers  to  the  air, 

They  mine  unsousht  for,  if  applauses  came  ; 
Nor  lor  liunsulf  prefers  lie  now  the  prayer; 

Let  but  Ins  verse  befit  a  hero's  fame. 
Immortal  be  the  verse !  — forgot  the  poet's 
name. 

VII. 

Hark,  from  yon  misty  cairn  their  answer  tost : 

".Minstrel!    tlie  lame  of   whose   romantic 

lyre, 
Capricious-swelling  now,  may  soon  be  lost, 

Like  the  liuht  Dickering  of  a  cottage  fire  ; 
If  lo  stirti  task  presumptuous  thou  aspire, 

Seek  not  from  us  the  nice  'I  to  warrior  due : 
Age  after  age  has  gather'd  son  to  sire, 

Since  our  grey  cliffs  the  dm  of  conflict  knew, 

Or,  pealing  through  our  vales,  victorious  bugles 

blew. 

Vlll. 

"  Decay'il  our  old  traditionary  lore, 
Save  where  the  lingering  lays  renew  their 

ring, 

By  mi  I  k-in  aid  seen  beneath  the  hawthorn  hoar. 
Or  round  the  marge  of  Minchmore's  haunted 

spring ;  1 

Save  where  their  legends  grey-hair'd  shep- 
herds sing. 
That  now  scarce  win  a  listening  ear  but 

thine. 
Of  feiuls  obscure,  and  Border  ravaging. 

And  rugged  deeds  recount  in  rugged  line. 
Of  moonlight  foray  made  on  Teviot,  Tweed, 
or  Tyne. 

IX. 

"No!  search  romantic  lands,  where  the  near 

Sun 

Gives  with  unstinted  boon  ethereal  flame. 
Where  the  ruile  villager,  his  labour  done, 
In  verse  spontaneous"  chants  some  favour'd 

name. 
Whether  Olalia's  charms  his  tribute  claim, 

Her  eye  of  diamond,  and  her  locks  of  jet; 
Or  whether,  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Grame,3 

He  sing,  to  wild  Morisco  measure  set, 
Old  Alum's  red  claymore,  green  Erin's  bayo- 
net 1 

X. 

"  Explore  those  regions,  where  the  flinty  crest 

Of  wild  Nevada  ever  gleams  with  snows, 
Where  in  the  proud  Alhambra's  ruin'd  breast 

Barbaric  monuments  of  pomp  repose; 
Or  where  the  banners  of  more  ruthless  foes 
Than   the   fierce  Moor,  float  o'er  Toledo's 

fane, 
From  whose  tall  towers  even  now  the  patriot 

throws 

An  anxious  glance,  to  spy  upon  the  plain 
The  blended  ranks  of  England,  Portugal,  and 
Spain. 

XL 

"There,  of  Numantian  fire  a  swarthy  spark 
Still  lightens  in  the  sun-burnt  native's  eye; 

The  stately  port,  slow  step,  and  visage  dark, 
Still  mark  enduring  pride  and  constancy. 

And,  if  the  glow  of  feudal  chivalry 
Beam  not,  as  once,  thy  nobles'  dearest  pride, 

Iberia !  oft  thy  crestless  peasantry 


Have  seen  the  plumed  Hidalgo  quit  their 

side, 

Have  seen,  yet  dauntless  stood  —  'gainst  for- 
tune fought  and  died. 

XII. 

"  And  cherish'd  still  by  that  unchanging  race, 
Are  themes  for  minstrelsy  more  high  than 

thine; 

Of  strange  tradition  many  a  mystic  trace. 
Legend  and  vision,  prophecy  and  sign  ; 
Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 

With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade, 
Forming  a  model  meet  for  minstrel  line. 
Go,  seek   such   theme!"  —  The    Mountain 

Spirit  said : 
With  filial  awe  I  heard— I  heard,  and  I  obey'd. 


STije  Vision  of  "Don  &rf&erfcfe. 
i. 

Rearing  their  crests  amid  the  cloudless  skies. 
And  darkly  clustering  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Toledo's  holy  towers  and  spires  arise. 

As  from  a  trembling  lake  of  silver  white. 
Their  mingled  shadows  intercept  the  sisht 
Of  the  broad  burial-ground  outstretch'd  be- 
low 
And  nought  disturbs  the  silence  of  the  night ; 

All  steeps  in  sullen  shade,  or  silver  glow, 
All  save  the  heavy  swell  of  Teio's  ceaseless 
now. 

II. 

All  save  the  rushing  swell  of  Teio's  tide. 
Or,  distant   heard,   a   courser's   neigh    or 

tramp; 
Their  changing  rounds  as  watchful  horsemen 

ride, 

Toguard  the  limits  of  King  Rod  crick's  camp. 
For,  through  the  river's  night-fog  rolling  damp, 

Was  many  a  proud  pavilion  dimly  seeu. 
Which  glimmer'd  back,  against  the  moon's  fair 

lamp, 

Tissues  of  silk  and  silver  twisted  sheen, 
And  standards  proudly  pitch'd,  and  warders 
arm'd  between. 

III. 

But  of  their  Monarch's  person  keeping  ward, 
Since  hist  the  deep-mouth'd  bell  of  vespers 

toll'd, 
The  chosen  soldiers  of  the  royal  guard 

The  post  beneath  the  proud  Cathedral  hold  : 
A  bund  unlike  their  Gothic  sires  of  old, 

Who.  for  the  cap  of  steel  and  iron  mace, 
Bear  slender  darts,  and  casques  bedeck'd  with 

gold, 
While  silver-studded  belts  their  shoulders 

grace. 

Where  ivory  quivers  ring  in  the  broad  fal- 
chion's place. 

rv. 

In  the  light  lantuage  of  an  idle  court, 

Theymurmur'd  at  their  master's  Ion?  delay, 
And  held  his  lengthen'd  orisons  in  sport:— 
What !  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morn- 
ing stay, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  I 


2  Bee  Appendix,  Note  C. 


3  IbiJ,  Note  D. 


236 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 
And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 
For   fair    Flormda's   plunder'd   charrus   to 

pay  1"— » 

Then  to  the  east  their  weary  eyes  they  cast, 
Aud  wish'd  « je  lingering  dawn  would  glimmer 
forth  a:  last. 

V. 
But.  far  within,  Toledo's  Prelate  lent 

An  ear  of  fearful  wonder  to  the  King; 
The  silver  lamp  a  fitful  lustre  sent, 

So  long  that  sad  confession  witnessing : 
For  Roderick  told  of  many  a  hidden  thing, 

Such  as  are  lothly  utter'd  to  the  air. 
When  Fear,  Remorse,  and  Shame,  the  bosom 

wring, 

And  Guilt  his  secret  burden  cannot  bear, 
And  Conscience  seeks  in  speech  a  respite  from 
Despair 

VI. 

Ful.  on  the  Prelate's  face,  and  silver  hair. 

The  stream  of  failing  light  was  feebly  roll'd  : 
But  Roderick's  visage,  though  his  head  was 

bare. 

Was  shadow'd  by  his  hand  and  mantle's  fold. 
While  of  his  hidden  soul  the  sins  he  told. 

Proud  Alanc's  descendant  could  not  brook, 
That  mortal  man  his  bearing  should  behold, 
Or  boast  that  he  had  seen,  when  Conscience 

shook. 

Fear  tame  a  monarch's  brow,  Remorse  a  war- 
rior's look. 

VII. 
The  old  man's  faded  cheek  wax'd  yet  more  pale. 

As  many  a  secret  sad  the  King  bewray'd  ; 
As  sign  and  glance  eked  out  the  unfimsh'd  tale, 
When   in  the   midst   his  faltering  whisper 

staid. — 

"Thus  royal  Witiza2  was  slain,"  he  said; 
"Yet,  holy  Father,  deem  not  it  was  I." 
Thus  still   Ambition  strives    her    crimes    to 

shade. — 

'•  Oh !  rather  deem  'twas  stern  necessity  ! 
Self-preservation  bade,  and  I  must  kill  or  die. 

VIII. 
"  And  if  Florinda's  shrieks  alarmed  the  air, 

If  she  invoked  her  absent  sire  in  vain. 
And  on  her  knees  implored  that  I  would  spare, 
Yet,  reverend  priest,  thy  sentence  rash  re- 
frain!— 

All  is  not  as  it  seems— the  female  train 
Know  by  their  bearing  to   disguise   their 

mood  : — 

But  Conscience  here,  as  if  in  high  disdain. 
Sent  to  the  Monarch's  cheek  the  burning 

blood- 
He  stay'd  his  speech  abrupt — and  up  the  Pre- 
late stood. 

IX 

"  0  harden'd  offspring  of  an  iron  race  ! 
What  of  thy  crimes,  Don  Roderick,  shall  I 

say? 

What  alms,  or  prayers,  or  penance,  can  efface 
Murder's  dark  spot,  wash  treason's  stain 
away! 


For  the  foul  ravisher  how  shall  I  pray. 

Who.  scarce  repentant,  makes  his  crime  his 

boast  ? 
How  hope  Almiehty  vengeance  shall  delay, 

Unless  in  mercy  to  yon  Christian  host, 
He  spare  the  shepherd,  lest  the  guiltless  sheep 
be  lost  I" 


Then  kindled  the  dark  Tyrant  in  his  mood, 

And  to  his  brow  ret  urn 'd  its  dauntless  gloom  ; 
"  And  welcome  theu."  he  cried,  "  be  blood  for 

blood. 

For  treason  treachery,  for  dishonour  doom  ! 
Yet  will  I  know  whence  come  they,  or  by 

whom. 
Show,  for  thou  canst — give  forth  the  fated 

key, 
And  guide  me.  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room, 

Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be. 
His  nation's  future  fates  a  Soanish  King  shall 
see." — 3 

XI. 
"Ill-fated  Prince  !  recall  the  desperate  word, 

Or  pause  ere  yet  the  omen  thou  obey  ! 
Bethink,  yon  spell-bound  portal  would  afford 

Never  to  former  Monarch  entrance-way ; 
J«or  shall  it  ever  ope.  old  records  say, 

Save  to  a  Kin?,  the  last  of  all  his  line, 
What  time  his  empire  totters  to  decay, 

And  treason  digs,  beneath,  her  fatal  mine. 
And,  high  above,  impends    avenging  wrath 
divine." 

XII. 

"  Prelate !  a  Monarch's  fate  brooks  no  delay ; 
Lead  on !" — The  ponderous  key  the  old  man 

took. 

And  held  the  winkin?  lamp,  and  led  the  way. 
By  winding  stair,  dark  isle,  and  secret  nook, 
Then  on  an  ancient  gateway  bent  his  look  ; 

And,  as  the  key  the  desperate  King  essay'd. 
Low  mutter'd  thunders  the  Cathedral  shook. 
And  twice  he  stopp'd,  and  twice  new  effort 

made. 

Till  the  huge  bolts  roll'd  back,  and  the  loud 
hinges  bray'd. 

XIII. 

Long,  large,  and  lofty,  was  that  vaulted  hall ; 
Roof,  walls,  and  floor,  were  all  of  marble 

stone. 

Of  polish'd  marble,  black  as  funeral  pall, 
Carved  o'er  with  signs  and  characters  un- 
known. 

A  paly  light,  as  of  the  dawning  shone, 
Through  the  sad  bounds,  but  whence  they 

could  not  spy; 
For  window  to  the  upper  air  was  none ; 

Yet,  by  that  light,  Don  Roderick  could  descry 
Wonders  that   ne'er  till  then  were  seen  by 
mortal  eye. 

XIV. 

Grim  sentinels,  against  the  upper  wall. 
Of  molten  bronze,  two  statues  held  their 

place ; 

Massive  their  naked  limbs,  their  stature  tall, 
Their   frowning   foreheads  golden   circles 
grace. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

2  The  predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the  Spanish  throne 


md  slain  by  hii    connivance,  a«  ia  affirmed  by  Rodriguez 
>f  Toledo,  the  father  of  Spanish  history. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


237 


Moulded  they  seem'd  for  kings  of  giant  race. 
That  lived  and  sinn'd  before  the  avenging 

flood  ; 

This  grasp'd  a  scythe,  that  rested  on  a  mace ; 
This  spread  his  wings  for  flight,  that  ponder- 
ing stood. 

Each  stubborn  seem'd  and  stern,  immutable 
of  mood. 

XV. 
Fix'd  was  the  right-hand  Giant's  brazen  look 

Upon  his  brother's  glass  of  shifting  sand, 
As  if  its  ebb  he  measured  by  a  book. 

Whose  iron  volume  loaded  his  huge  hand  ; 
In  which  was  wrote  of  many  a  fallen  land, 

Of  empires  lost,  and  kings  to  exile  driven  : 
And  o'er  that  pair  their  names  in  scroll  ex- 

"LoflDESTlNY  and  TIME!  to  whom  by 

Heaven 

The  guidance  of  the  earth  is  for  a  season 
given." — 

XVI. 

Even  while  they  read,  the  sand-glass  wastes 
away ; 

And.  as  the  last,  and  lagging  grains  did  creep, 
The  right-hand  Giant  Van  his  club  upsway, 

As  one  that  startles  from  a  heavy  sleep. 
Full  on  the  upper  wall  the  mace's  sweep 

At  once  descended  with  the  force  of  thunder. 
And  hurtling  down  at  once,  in  crumbled  heap, 

The  marble  boundary  was  rent  asunder. 
And  gave  to  Roderick's  view  new  sights  of 
fear  and  wonder. 

XVII. 

For  they  might  spy,  beyond  that  mighty  breach, 

Realms  as  of  Spain  in  vision'd  prospect  laid, 
Castles  and  towers,  in  due  proportion  each. 

As  by  some  skilful  artist's  hand  portray'd  : 
Here,  cross'd  by  many  a  wild  Sierra's  shade. 

And  boundless  plains  that  tire  the  traveller's 

eye: 
There,  rich  with  vineyard  and  with  olive  glade, 

Ordeep-embrown'd  by  forests  huge  and  high, 
Or  wash'd   by   mighty  streams,  that  slowly 
murmur'd  by. 

XVIII. 

And  here,  as  erst  upon  the  antique  stage. 

Pass'd  forth  the  band  of  masquers  trimly  led, 
In  various  forms,  and  various  equipage. 

While  fitting  strains  the  hearer's  fancy  fed  ; 
So,  to  sad  Roderick's  eye  in  order  spread, 

Successive  pageants  fill'd  that  mystic  scene, 
Showing  the  fate  of  battles  ere  they  bled. 

And  issue  of  events  that  had  not  been ; 
And,  ever  and    anon,  strange    sounds  were 
heard  between. 

XIX. 

First  shrill'd  an  unrepeated  female  shriek  ! — 
It  seem'd  as  if  Don  Roderick  knew  the  call, 

For  the   bold   blood   was    blanching    in    his 

cheek. — 
Then  answer'd  kettle-drum  and  atabal. 

Gong-peal  and  cymbal-clank  the  ear  appal. 
Tiie  Tecbir  war-cry,  and  the  Lehe's  yell,' 

Ring  wildly  dissonant  along  the  hall. 


I  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 


2  Ibid,  Hole  H. 


Needs  not  to  Roderick  their  dread  import 

tell— 

"The  Moor !"  he  cried,  "the  Moor ! — ring  out 
the  Tocsiu  bell ! 

XX. 

"  They  come !  they  come  !  I  see  the  groaning 

lands 

White  with  the  turbans  of  each  Arab  horde ; 
Swart  Zaarah  joins  her  misbelieving  bands, 

Alia  and  Mahomet  their  battle-word, 
The   choice   they  yield,  the   Koran   or   the 

Sword- 
See   how   the    Christians    rush    to    arms 

amain!— 
In  yonder  shout  the  voice  of  conflict  roar'd. 

The  shadowy  hosts  are  closing  on  the  plain — 
Now,  God  and  Saint  [ago  strike,  for  the  good 
cause  of  Spain ! 

XXI. 

"  By  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail !  the  Chris- 
tians yield  ! 

Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign ! 
The  sceptred  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 

Is  not  yon  steed  Orelio  7 — Yes,  'tis  mine  ! 2 
But  never  was  she  turn'd  from  battle-line  : 
Lo !  where  the  recreant  spurs  o'er  stock  and 

stone ! 

Curses  pursue  the  slave,  and  wrath  divine ! 
Rivers  ingulph  him  !" — "Hush,"  in  shudder- 
ing tone. 

The  Prelate  said  ; — "  rash  Prince,  yon  vision'd 
form's  thine  own." 

XXII. 

Just  then,  a  torrent  cross'd  the  flier's  course ; 
The  dangerous  ford  the  Kingly  Likeness 

tried ; 
But  the  deep  eddies  whelm'd  both  man  and 

horse. 

Swept  like  benighted  peasant  down  the  tide ; 
And  the  proud  Moslemah  spread  far  and  wide, 

As  numerous  as  their  native  locust  band  ; 
Berber  and  Ismael's  sons  the  spoils  divide. 
With  naked  scimitars  mete  out  the  land, 
And    for   the  bondsmen    base    the   freeborn 
natives  brand. 

XXIII. 

Then  rose  the  grated  Harem,  to  enclose 

The  loveliest  maidens  of  the  Christian  line  ; 
Then,  menials,  to  their  misbelieving  foes, 

Castile's  young  nobles  held  forbidden  wine  ; 
Then,  too,  the  holy  Cross,  salvation's  sign, 

By  impious  hands  was  fnun  the  altar  thrown, 
And  the  deep  aisles  of  the  polluted  shrine 

Echo'd,  for  holy  hymn  and  organ-tone. 
The  Sant  on's  frantic  dance,  the  Fakir's  gibber- 
ing moan. 

XXIV. 

How  fares  Don  Roderick  ?  —  E'en  as  one  who 

spies 
Flames  dart  their  glare  o'er  midnight's  sable 

woof, 
And  hears  around  his  children's  piercing  cries, 

And  sees  the  pale  assistants  stand  aloof; 
While  cruel    Conscience    brings    him    bitter 

proof, 

His  folly  or  his  crime  have  caused  his  grief; 
And  while  above  him  nods  the  crumbling  roof, 


238 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He  curses  earth  and  Heaven  —  himself  in 

chief- 
Desperate  of  earthly  aid,  despairing  Heaven's 
relief! 

XXV. 

That  scythe-arm'd  Giant  turn'd  hfs  fatal  glass, 
And  twilight  on  the  landscape  closed  her 

wings ; 
Far  to  Asturian  hills  the  war-sounds  pass, 

And  in  their  stead  rebeck  or  timbrel  rings: 
And    to    the  sound    the  bell-deck'd   dancer 

springs. 
Bazaars  resound  as  when  their  marts  are 

met. 
In  tourney  light  the  Moor  his  jerrid  flings, 

And  on  the  land  as  evening  seem'd  to  set. 
The  Iniaum's  chant  was  heard  from  mosque 
or  minaret. 

XXVI. 
So  pass'd  that  pageant.     Kre  another  came, 

The  visionary  scene  was  wrapp'd  in  smoke. 
Whose  sulph'rous  wreaths  were  cross'd  by 

sheets  of  flame ; 

With  every  flash  a  bolt  explosive  broke. 
Till  Foderick  deem'd  the  fiends  had  burst 

their  yoke. 
And  waved  'gainst  heaven  the  infernal  gon- 

falone ! 

For  War  a  new  and  dreadful  language  spoke, 
Never  by  ancient  warrior  heard  or  known ; 
Lightning  and  smoke  her  breath,  and  thunder 
was  her  tone. 

XXVII. 

From  the  dim  landscape  roll  the  clonds  away — 

The  Christians  have  regain'd  their  heritage ; 

Before  the  Cross  has  waned  the  Crescent's  ray, 

And  many  a  monastery  decks  the  stage, 
And  lofty  church,  and  low-brow'd  hermitage. 
The  land  obeys  a  Hermit  and  a  Knight, — 
The  Genii  those  of  Spain  for  many  an  age ; 

This  clad  in  sackcloth,  that  in  armour  bright. 
And  that  was  VALOUR  named,  this  BIGOTKY 
was  bight. 

XXVIII. 

VALOUR  was  harness'd  like  a  Chief  of  old, 
Arm'd  at  all  points,  and  prompt  for  knightly 

gest; 

His  sword  was  temper'd  in  the  Ebro  cold, 
Morena's  eagle  plume  adorn'd  his  crest, 
'1  he  spoils  of  Afric's  lion  bound  his  breast. 
Fierce  he  stepp'd  forward  and  flung  down 

his  gage ; 
As  if  of  mortal  kind  to  brave  the  best. 

Him  follow'd  his  Companion,  dark  and  sage, 
As  he,  my  Master,  sung  the  dangerous  Archi- 
inage. 

XXIX. 

Hanghty  of  heart  and  brow  the  Warrior  came, 
In  look  and  language  proud  as  proud  might 

be. 
Vaunting   his   lordship,  lineage,   fights,  and 

fame : 
Yet  was  that  barefoot  monk  more  proud 

than  he : 
And  as  the  ivy  climbs  the  tallest  tree. 

So  round  the  loftiest  soul  his  toils  he  wound. 
And  with  his  spells  sulxlued  the  fierce  and 

free. 
Till  ermined  Age  and  Youth  in  arms  re- 

nown'd, 

Honouring  his  scourge  and  hair-cloth,  meekly 
kiss'd  the  ground. 


XXX. 

And  thus  it  chanced  that  VALOUR,  peerless 

knight, 

Who  ne'er  to  King  or  Kaiser  veil'd  his  crest, 
Victorious  still  in  bull-feast  or  in  fight, 

Since  first  his  limbs  with  mail  he  did  invest, 
Stoop'd  ever  to  that  Anchoret's  behest ; 

Nor  reason'd  of  the  right,  nor  of  the  wrong, 
But  at  his  bidding  laid  the  lance  in  rest. 
And  wrought  fell  deeds  the  troubled  world 

along, 

For  he  was  fierce  as  brave,  and  pitiless  as 
strong. 

XXXT. 

Oft  his  prond  galleys  sought  some  new-found 

world, 

1'hat  latest  sees  the  sun,  or  first  the  morn  ; 
Still  at  that  Wizard's   feet  their  spoils  he 

hurl'd  — 

Ingots  of  ore  from  rich  Potosi  borne. 
Crowns    by  Caciques,    aigrettes    by  Omrahs 

worn, 
Wrought  of  rare  gem?,  but  broken,  rent, 

and  foul ; 

Idols  of  gold  from  heathen  temples  torn. 
Bedabbled   all  with   blood. —  With   grisly 

scowl 

The  Hermit  mark'd  the  stains,  and  smiled  be- 
nea  h  his  cowl. 

XXXII. 

Then  did  he  bless  the  offering,  and  bade  make 

Tribuie  to  Heaven  of  gratitude  and  praise ; 

And  at  his  word  the  choral  hymns  awake,  - 

And  many  a  hand  the  silver  censer  sways, 

But  with  the  incense-breath    these   censers 

raise, 
Mix  steams  from  corpses  smouldering  in  the 

fire; 

The  groans  of  prison'd  victims  mar  the  lays. 
And  shrieks  of  agony  confound  the  quire  ; 
Whole,  'mid  the  mingled  sounds,  the  darkeu'd 
scenes  expire. 

XXXIII. 

Preluding  light,  were  strains  of  music  heardr 
As  once  again  revolved  that  measured  sand  ; 
Such  sounds  as  when,  for  sylvan  dance  pre- 
pared. 

Gay  Xeres  summons  forth  her  vintage  band : 
When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 

The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met,' 
He  conscious  of  his  broider'd  cap  and  hand, 
i-he  of  her  netted  locks  and  light  corseite, 
Each  tiptoe  perclrd  to  spring,  and  shake  the 
Castanet. 

XXXIV. 

And  well  such  strains  the  opening  scene  be- 
came : 

For  VALOUR  had  relax' d  his  ardent  look, 
And  at  a  lady's  feet,  like  lion  tame, 
Lay  stretch'd,  full  loth  the  weight  of  arms 

to  brook ; 
And  soften'd  B1GOTR  V  upon  his  book, 

Patter'd  a  task  of  hitle  good  or  ill : 
But  the  blithe  peasant  plied  his  pruning-hook, 

Whistled  the  muleteer  oVr  vale  and  hill. 
And  rung  from  village-green  the  merry  segui- 
difle. 


1  See  Appfmlir,  Jio 


THE    VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK.            239 

XXXV. 

XL. 

Grey  Royalty,  grown  impotent  of  toil, 

Before  that  Leader  strode  a  shadowy  Form  ; 

Let  the  grave  sceptre  slip  his  lazy  hold  ; 

Her  limbs  like  mist,  her  torch  like  meteor 

And,  careless,  saw  his  rule  become  the  spoil 

show'd, 

Of  a  loose  Female  and  her  minion  bold. 

With  which  she  beckon'd  him  through  fight 

But  peace  was  on  the  cottage  and  the  fold. 

and  storm. 

From  court  intrigue,  from  bickering  faction 

And  all  he  crush'd  that  cross'd  his  desperate 

far; 

road, 

Beneath  the  chestnut-tree  Love's  tale  was 

Nor  thought,  nor  fear'd,  nor  look'd  on  what  he 

told, 

trode. 

And  to  the  tinkling  of  the  light  guitar, 
Sweet  stoop'd  the  western  sun,  sweet  rose  the 
evening  star. 

Realms  could  not  glut  his  pride,  blood  could 
not  slake. 
So  oft  as  e'er  she  shook  her  torch  abroad  — 

XXXVI. 

It  was  AMBITION  hade  her  terrors  wake, 

As  that  sea-cloud,  in  size  like  human  hand. 

Nor  deign'd  she,  as  of  yore,  a  milder  form  to 

When  first  from  Carmel  by  the  Tishbite 
seen. 

XLI. 

Came  slowly  overshadowing  Israel's  land, 

No  longer  now  she  spurn  'd  at  mean  revenge, 

A  while,  perchance,  bedeck'd  with  colours 

Or  staid  her  hand  for  conquer'd  foernan's 

sheen, 

moan  ; 

While  yet  the  sunbeams  on  its  skirts  had  been, 
Limning  with   purple   and  with   gold   its 

As  when,  the  fates  of  aged  Rome  to  change, 
By  Ciesar's  side  she  cross'd  the  Rubicon. 

shroud. 

Nor  joy'd  she  to  bestow  the  spoils  she  won. 

Till  darker  folds  obscured  the  blue  serene. 

As  when  the  banded  powers  of  Greece  were 

And  blotted  heaven  with  one  broad  sable 

task'd 

cloud, 

To  war  beneath  the  Youth  of  Macedon  : 

Then  sheeted  rain  burst  down,  and  whirl- 

No seemly  veil  her  modern  minion  ask'd. 

winds  howl'd  aloud  :— 

He  saw  her  hideous  face,  and  loved  the  fiend 

XXXVII. 

unmask'd. 

Even  so,  upon  that  peaceful  scene  was  pour'd, 

XLTI. 

Like  gathering  clouds,  full  many  a  foreign 

That  Prelate  mark'd  his  march  —  On  banners 

band, 
And  HE,  their  Leader,  wore  in  sheath  his 

blazed 
With  battles  won  in  many  a  distant  Innd, 

sword, 
And  offer'd  peaceful  front  and  open  hand, 
Veiling  the  perjured  treachery  he  plann'd, 

On  eagle-standards  and  on  arms  he  gazed  ; 
''And  hopest  thou  then,"  he  said,  "  thy  power 
shall  stand  ' 

By  friendship's  zeal  and  honour's  specious 

0,  thou  hast  huilded  on  the  shifting  sand. 

guise, 
Until  he  won  the  passes  of  the  land  : 

And  thou  hast  temper'd  it  with  slaughter's 
flood  : 

Thedi  burst  were  honour's  oath,  and  friend- 

And know,  fell  scourge  in  the  Almighty's  hand, 

ship's  ties  ! 
He  clutch'd  his  vulture-grasp,  and  call'd  fair 
-     Spain  his  prize. 

Gore-moisten'd  trees  shall  perish  nf  the  bud, 
And  by  a  bloody  death,  shall  die  the  man  of 
Blood  !" 

xxxvm. 

XLIII. 

An  Iron  Crown  his  anxious  forehead  bore  ; 
And  well  such  diadem  his  heart  became, 
Who  ne'er  his  purpose  for  remorse  gave  o'er. 
Or  check'd  his  course  for  piety  or  shame  ; 

The  ruthless  Leader  beckon'd  from  his  train 
A  wan  fraternal  Shade,  and  bade  him  kneel, 
And  paled   his  temples  with   the  crown  of 

Who,  train'd  a  soldier,  deem'd  a  soldier's  fame 
Might  flourish  in  the  wreath  of  battles  won. 

Spain, 
While  trumpets  rang,  and  heralds   cried, 

Though  neither  truth  nor  honour  deck'd  his 

"  Castile  !"  * 
Not  that  he  loved  him  —  No!  —  In  no  man's 

name  ; 
Who,  placed   by  fortune  on  a  Monarch's 
throne, 

weal, 
Scarce  in  his  own,  e'er  joy'd  that  sullen 

Reck'd  not  of  Monarch's   faith,  or  Mercy's 
kingly  tone. 

heart  ; 
Yet  round  that  throne  he  bade  his  warriors 
wheel, 

XXXIX. 

That  the  poor  Puppet  might  perform  his  part. 

From  a  rude  isle  his  ruder  lineage  came. 

And  be  a  sceptred  slave,  at  liis  stern  beck 

The    spark,    that,    from    a    suburb-hovel's 

to  start. 

hearth 

XLIV. 

Ascending,  wraps  some  capital  in  flame, 
Hath  not  a  meaner  or  more  sordid  birth. 

But  on  the  Natives  of  that  Land  misused, 

And  for  the  soul  that  bade  him  waste  the 

Not  long  the  silence  of  amazement  hung, 

earth  — 

Nor  brook'd   they  long  their    friendly   faith 

The  sable  land-flood  from  some  swamp  ob- 

abused ; 

scure, 

For,  with  a  common  shriek,  the  general 

That   poisons   the   glad    husband-field  with 

tongue 

dearth, 

Exclaim'd,  •'  To  arms  !"—  and  fast  to  arms  thev 

And  by  destruction  bids  its  fame  endure, 

sprung. 

impure. 

1  SM  Appendix,  Note  K. 

240 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  VALOUR  woke,  that  Genius  of  the  Land! 
Pleasure,  and  ease,  and  sloth,  aside  he  flung, 

As  burst  Ih'  awakening  Nuzarile  his  band, 
When  'gainst  his  treacherous  foes  he  clench 'd 
his  dreadful  hand.  1 

XLV. 

That  Mimic  Monarch  now  cast  anxious  eye 

Upon  the  Satraps  that  begirt  him  round, 
Now  dofFd  his  royal  robe  in  act  to  fly, 

And  from  his  brow  the  diadem  unbound. 
So  oft,  so  near,  the  Patriot  bugle  wound, 

From  Tarick's  walls  to  Bilboa's  mountains 

blown. 
These  martial  satellites  hard  labour  found, 

To  tjuard  awhile  his  substituted  throne — 
Light  recking  of  his  cause,  but  battling  for 
their  own. 

XLVL 

Prom  Alpuhara's  peak  that  bugle  run?. 

And  it  was  echo'd  from  Corunna's  wall ; 
Stately  Seville  responsive  war-shout  flung^, 

Grenada  caught  it  in  her  Moorish  hall; 
Galicia  bade  her  children  fight  or  fall. 

Wild  Biscay  shook  his  mountain-coronet, 
Valencia  roused  her  at  the  battle-call, 

Aud,  foremost  still  where  Valour's  sons  are 

met, 
first  started  to  his  gun  each  fiery  Miquelet. 

XLVH. 

But  unappall'd  and  burning  for  the  fight, 

The  Invaders  march,  of  victory  secure; 
Skilful  their  force  to  sever  or  unite. 

And  tram'd  alike  to  vanquish  or  endure. 
Nor  skilful  less,  cheap  conquest  to  ensure, 

Discord  to  breathe,  and  jealousy  to  sow. 
To  quell  by  boasting,  and  by  bribes  to  lure ; 

While  nought  against  them  bring  the  un- 
practised foe. 

Save  hearts  for  Freedom's  cause,  and  hands 
for  Freedom's  blow. 

XLVIII. 

Proudly  they  march — but,  0 !  they  march  not 

forth 

By  one  hot  field  to  crown  a  brief  campaign, 
As  when  their  Eagles,  sweeping  through  the 

North, 

Destroy'd  at  every  stoop  an  ancient  reign  ! 

Far  other  fate  had  Heaven  decreed  for  Spain ; 

In  vain  the  steel,  in  vain  the  torch  was  plied, 

New  Patriot  armies  started  from  the  slain. 

High  Mazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and 

wi<le,2 

And  ofi  Hie  God  of  Battles  blest  the  righteous 
siJe. 

XLIX. 

Nor  unatoned,  where  Freedom's  foes  prevail. 
Kemain'd  their  savage  waste.    With  blade 

and  brand. 
By  day  the  Invaders  ravaged  hill  and  dale. 

But,  with  the  darkness,  the  Guerilla  band 
Came  like  night's  tempest,  and  avenged  the 

land. 

And  claim'd  for  blood  the  retribution  due. 
Probed  the  hard  heart,  and  lopp'd  the  mur- 
d'rous  baud ; 


Aud  Dawn,  when  o'er  the  scene  her  beams 

she  tiirew. 

Midst   ruins   they  had   made,  the   spoilers' 
corpses  knew. 

L. 

What  minstrel  verse  may  sing,  or  tongue  may 

tell. 

Amid  the  visiou'd  strife  from  sea  to  sea, 
How  oft  the  Patriot  banners  rose  or  fell, 

Still  honour'd  in  defeat  as  victory  ! 
For  that  sad  pageant  of  events  to  be, 
Show'd  every  form  of  fight  by  field  and 

flood; 
Slaughter  and  Ruin,  shouting  forth  their  glee, 

Beheld,  while  riding  on  the  tempest  scud. 
The  waters  choked  with  slain,  the  earth  be- 
dreuch'd  wilh  blood ! 

LI. 

Then  Zaragoza — blighted  be  the  tongue 
That  names  thy  name  without  the  honour 
due! 

For  never  hath  the  harp  of  Minstrel  rung. 
Of  faith  so  felly  proved,  so  firmly  true  ! 

Mine,  sap,  and  bomb,  thy  shatter'd  ruins  knew, 


Each  art  of  war's  extremity  had  room, 
from  thy  half-sack'd  streets 
vithdrew  ; 


the  foe 


And  when  at  length  stern  fate  decreed  thy 

doom, 

They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's 
bloody  tomb.  3 

LIT. 

Yet  raise  thy  head,  sad  city !  Though  in  chains. 
Enthrall'd  thou  canst  not  be !  Arise,  and 

claim 
Reverence  from  every  heart  where  Freedom 

reigns, 
For  what  thou  worshippest !  —  tny  sainted 

dame. 

She  of  the  Column,  honour'd  be  her  name, 
By  all,  whale'er  their  creed,  who  honour 

love! 
And  like  the  sacred  relics  of  the  flame. 

That  gave  some  martyr  to  the  bless'd  above, 
To  every  loyal  heart  may  thy  sad  embers 
prove ! 

LIT!. 
Nor  thine  alone  such  wreck.    Gernna  fair ! 

Faithful  to  death  thy  heroes  shall  be  sung. 
Manning  the  towers  w'hile  o'er  their  heads  the 

air 
Swart  as  the  smoke  from  raging  furnace 

hung; 
Now  thicker  dark'ning  where  the  mine  was 

sprung, 

Now  briefly  lighten'd  by  the  cannon's  flare. 
Now  arch'd  with  fire-sparks  as  the  bomb  was 

flung. 

And  redd'ning  now  with  conflagration's  glare, 
While  by  the  fatal  light  the  foes  for  storm  pre- 
pare. 

LIV. 

While  all  around  was  danger,  strife  and  fear, 
While  the  earth  shook,  and  darken'd  was 
the  sky, 

And  wide  Destruction  stunn'd  the  listening  ear. 
Appall'd  the  heart,  and  stupified  the  eye,— 


1  See  Book  of  Judges,  Chap. 


2  See  Appendix,  -Note  L. 


8  I  .I.!,  Note  M. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK.            241 

Afar  was  heard  that  thrice-repeated  cry, 

The  rugged  form  may  mark  the  mountain  i 

In  which  old  Albion's    heart  and   tongue 

band, 

unite, 

And   harsher  features,  and   a  mien    more 

Whene'er  her  soul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high, 

grave  ; 

Whether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  the  fight, 

But  ne'er  in  battle-field  throbb'd  heart  so 

And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart 

brave. 

be  light. 

As  that  which  beats  beneath  the  Scottish 

plaid  ; 

LV. 

And  when  the  pibroch  bids  the  battle  rave. 

Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  as  the  shout  grew 
jouj  

And  level  for  the  charge  your  arms  are  laid, 
Where  lives  the  desperate  foe  that  for  such 

A  varied  scene  the  changeful  vision  show'd, 

onset  staid  ! 

For,  where  the  ocean  mingled  with  the  cloud, 

LX. 

A  gallant,  navy  stemm'd  the  billows  broad. 

From   must  and    stern  St.   George's  symbol 

Hark  !  from  yon  stately  ranks  what  laughter 

flow'*, 

Blent  with  the  silver  cross  to  Scotland  dear; 

rings, 
Mingling  wild  mirth  with  war's  stem  min- 

Mottling the  sea  their  landward  barges  row'd. 

strelsy, 

And  flash'd  the  sun  on  bayonet,  brand,  and 

His  jest  while  each  blithe  comrade  round  him 

spear, 

flings, 

And  the  wild  beach  return  'd  the  seaman's  jo- 

And moves  to  death  with  military  glee  : 

vial  cheer. 

Boast,  Erin,  boast  them  !  tameless,  frank,  and 

LVI. 

free, 
In  kindness  warm,  and  fierce   in   danger 

It  was  a  dread,  yet  spirit-stirring  sight! 

known. 

The  billows  foam'd  beneath  a  thousand  oars. 

Rough  Nature's  children,  humorous  as  she  : 

Fast  as  they  land  the  red-cross  ranks  unite, 

And  He,  yon  Chieftain  —  strike  the  proudest 

Legions  on  lezions  brigbt'ning  all  the  shores. 

tone 

Then  banners  rise,  and  cannon-signal  roars. 

Of  thy  bold  harp,  green  Isle  !  —  the  Hero  is 

Then  peals  the  warlike  thunder  of  the  drum, 

thine  own. 

Thrills    the    loud    fife,  the    trumpet-flourish 

pours, 

LXI. 

And  patriot  hopes  awake,  and  doubts  are 

Now  on  the  scene  Vimeira  should  be  shown, 

dumb, 
For,  bold   in  Freedom's  cause,  the  bands  of 

On  Talavera's  fight  should  Roderick  gaze, 
And  hear  Corunna  wail  her  battle  won. 

Ocean  come  ! 

And    see    Busaco's    crest    with    lightning 

LVII. 

blaze  :  — 
But  shall  fond  fable  mix  with  heroes'  praise? 

A  various  host  they  came  —  whose  ranks  dis- 

Hath Fiction's  stage  for  Truth's  long  tri- 

play 

umphs  room  ? 

Each  mode  in  which  the  warrior  meets  the 

And  dare  her  wild-flowers  mingle  with  the 

fight. 

hays. 

The  deep  battalion  locks  its  firm  array, 
And  meditates  his  aim  the  marksman  light; 

That  claim  a  long  eternity  to  bloom 
Around  the  warrior's  crest,  and  o'er  the  war- 

Far glance  the  light  of  sabres  flashing  bright, 

rior's  tomb? 

Where  mounted  squadrons  shake  the  echo- 
ing mead. 

LXII. 

Lacks  not  artillery  breathing  flame  and  night, 
Nor  the  fleet  ordnance  whirl'd  by  rapid  steed, 

Or  may  I  give  adventurous  Fancy  scope. 
And  stretch  a  bold  hand  to  the  awful  veil 

That  rivals  lightning's   flash  iu   rum  and  in 

That  hides  futurity  from  anxious  hope. 

speed. 

Bidding  beyond  it  scenes  of  glory  hail, 

LVIII. 

And  painting  Europe  rousing  at  the  tale 
Of  Spain's  invaders  from  her  confines  hurl'd, 

A  various  host  —  from  kindred  realms  they 

While  kindling  nations  buckle  on  their  mail, 

name, 

And  Fame,  with  clarion-blast  and  wings  un- 

Brethren  in  arms,  but  rivals  in  renowa  — 

furl'd, 

For  yon  fair  bands  shall  merry  England  claim. 

To  Freedom  and  Revenge  awakes  an  injured 

And  with   their  deeds  of  valour  deck  her 

World? 

crown. 
Hers  their  bold  port,  and  hers  their  martial 

LXIII. 

frown. 
And  hers  their  scorn  of  death  in  freedom's 

O  vain,  though  aniious,  is  the  glance  I  cast, 
Since  Fate  has  mark'd  futurity  her  own  : 

cause, 
Their  eves  of  azure,  and  their  locks  of  brown, 
And  (he  blunt  speech  that  bursts  without  a 

Yet  fate  resigns  to  worth  the  glorious  past, 
The  deeds  recorded,  and  the  laurels  won. 
Then,  though  the  \  ault  of  Destiny  1  be  gone, 

pause, 
And  freeborn  thoughts,  which  league  the  Sol- 

King, Prelate,  all  the  phantasms  of  my  brain, 
Melted  away  like  mi«t-wreaths  in  the  sun. 

dier  with  the  Laws. 

Yet  grant  for  faith,  for  valour,  and  for  Spain, 

One  note  of  pride  and  fire,  a  Patriot's  parting 

L1X. 

strain  ! 

And,  0  !  loved  warriors  of  the  Minstrel's  land  ! 
Yonder  your  bonnets  nod,  your  tartans  wave  ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

i  242                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

V. 

Wot  Vision  of  Don  &<rtrerfcft. 

Four  moons  have  heard  these  thunders  idly 
roll'd, 

Have  seen  these  wistful  myriads  eye  their 

prey. 

CONCLUSION. 

As  famish  'd  wolves  survey  a  guarded  fold  — 

But  in  the  middle  path  a  Lion  lay  ! 

^~^~" 

At  length  they  move  —  but  not  to  battle-fray, 

. 

Nor  blaze  yon  fires  where  meets  the  manly 

• 

fight: 

"Who  shall  command  Estrella's  mountain- 

Beacons  of  infamy,  they  light  the  way 

tide 

Where  cowardice  and  cruelty  unite 

Back  to  the  source,  when  tempest-chafed,  to 

To  damn  with  double  shame  their  ignominious 

hie? 

flight! 

Who,  when  Gaseogne's  vex'd  gulf  is  raging 

VI. 

wide. 
Shall  hush  it  as  a  nurse  her  infant's  cry? 
His  magic  power  let  such  vain  boaster  try, 
And  when  the  torrent  shall  his  voice  obey, 

O  triumph  for  the  Fiends  of  Lust  and  Wrath  ! 
Ne'er  to  be  told,  yet  ne'er  to  be  forgot. 
What  wanlon  horrors  mark'd  their  wreck  ful 

And  Biscay's  whirlwinds  list  his  lullaby. 
Let  him  stand  forth  and  bar  mine  eagles' 

path! 
The  peasant  butcher'd  in  his  ruin'd  cot, 

The  hoary  priest  even  at  the  altar  shot. 

And  they  shall  heed  his  voice,  and  at  his  bid- 

Childhood and  age  given  o'er  lo  sword  and 

ding  stay. 

flame. 
Woman  to  infamy;  —  no  crime  forgot, 

II. 

By  which  inventive  demons  might  proclaim 

"  Else  ne'er  to  stoop,  till  high  on  Lisbon's 

Immortal  hate  to  man,  and  scorn  of  God's 

towers 

great  name  ! 

They  close  their  wings,  the  symbol  of  our 
yoke, 

V1L 

And  their  own  sea  hath  whelm'd  yon  red- 

The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  bom, 

cross  Powers  I"1 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done. 

Thus,  on  the  summit  of  Alverca's  rock. 

Gave   his   poor  crust  to  feed    some   wretch 

To  Marshal,  Duke,  and  Peer,  Gaul's  Leader 

forlorn.* 

spoke. 

Wiped  his  stern  eye,  then  fiercer  grasp'd  his 

While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions 

gun. 

press, 

Nor  with  less  zeal  shall  Britain's  peaceful  son 

Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock. 

Exult  the  debt  of  sympathy  to  pay  ; 

And    smiled    like    Eden   in    her   summer 

Riches  nor  poverty  the  tax  shall  shun, 

dress  ;  — 

Nor  prince  nor  peer,  the  wealthy  nor  the  gay, 

Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wil- 

Nor the  p<x>r  peasant's  mite,  nor  bard's  more 

derness,  i 

worthless  lay. 

ra. 

VIII. 

And  shall  I  he  boastful  Chief  maintain  his  word. 

But  thou  —  nnfoughten  wilt  thoa  yield  to  Fate, 

Though  Heaven  hath  heard  the  waitings  of 

Minion  of  Fortune,  uow  miscall'd  in  vain  ! 

the  land. 

Can  vantage-ground  no  confidence  create. 

'  Though  Lusitania  whet  her  vengeful  sword, 

Murcella's    pass,  nor    Guarda's    mountain- 

Though  Britons  arm,  and  Wellington  com- 

chain ? 

mand  ! 

Vainglorious  fugitive  !  3  yet  turn  again  ! 

No  !  grim  Busaco's  iron  ridge  shall  stand 

Behold,  where,  named   by  some   prophetic 

An  adamantine  barrier  to  his  force  ; 

Seer, 

And  from  its  base  shall  wheel  his  shatter'd 

Flows  Honour's  Fountain,*  as  foredoom  "d  the 

band. 

slain 

As  from  the    unshaken  rock  the   torrent 

From  thy  dislionour'd  name  and  arms  to 

hoarse 

clear  — 

Bears  off  its  broken  waves,  and  seeks  a  de- 

Fallen Child  of  Fortune,  turn,  redeem  her 

vious  course. 

favour  here  ! 

TV. 

IX. 

Yet  not  because  Alcoba's  mountain-hawk 

Yet.  ere  thon  turn'st.  collect  each  distant  aid  ; 

Hath  on  his  best  and  bravest  made  her  food, 

Those  chiefs  that  never  heard  the  lion  roar  i 

In  numbers  confident,  yon  Chief  shall  baulk 
His  Lord's  imperial  thirst  for  spoil  and  blood  : 

Within  whose  souls  lives  not  a  trace  portray  'd, 
Of  Talavera,  or  Mondego's  shore  ! 

For  full  in  view  the  promised  conquest  stood, 

Marshal  each  band  thou  hast,  and  summon 

And  Lisbon's  matrons  Jroru  their  walls,  might 

more: 

sum 

Of  war's  fell  stratagems  exhaust  the  whole  ; 

The  myriads  that  had  half  the  world  subdued. 

Rank  upon  rank,  squadron  on  squadron  pour, 

And  hear  the  distant  thunders  of  the  drum, 

Legion  on  legion  on  thy  foemun  roll, 

That  bids  the  bands  of  France  to  storm  and 

And  weary  out  his  arm  —  thou  cans',  not  quell 

havoc  come. 

his  soul. 

1  See  Appndix,  Note  O. 

S  S»e  Appmdii,  Note  Q. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

4  The  literal  translation  of  T*t*ta  f  H,,»oro. 

THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


243 


0  vainly  gleams  with  steel  Agueda's  shore, 

Vainly  thy  squadron's  hide  Assuava's  plain. 
And  front  the  tlyinsr  thunders  as  they  mar, 
With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in 

Viiin !  i 
And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  CAMERON 

slain,* 
Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was 

given — 
Vengeance  and  grief  gave  mountain-rage  the 

rein, 
And,  at  the  bloody  spear-point   headlong 

driven. 

Thy  Despot's  giant  guards  fled  like  the  rack 
of  heaven. 

XI. 
Go.  baffled  boaster !  teach  thy  haughty  mood 

To  plead  at  thine  imperious  master's  throne. 
Say,  thou  hasl  left  his  legions  in  their  blood. 

Deceived  his  hopes,  and  frustrated  thine  own  ; 
Sav,  that  thine  utmost  skill  ;iud  valour  shown. 

By  British  skill  and  valour  were  outvied  ; 

Last  say.  thy  conqueror  was  WELLINGTON  ! 

And  if  lie  cliafe.  be  his  own  fortune  tried — 

God  and  our  cause  to  friend,  the  venture  we'll 

abide . 

XII. 
But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day, 

How  shall  a  bard,  unknowing  and  unknown, 
His  meed  to  each  victorious  leader  pay. 

Or  bind  on  every  brow  the  laurels  won? 
Yef  fain  my  harp  would  wake  its  boldest  tone, 
O'er  the  wide  sea  to  hail  CADOGAM  brave  ; 
And  he,  perchance,  the  minstrel-note  might 

own. 

Mindful  of  meeting  brief  that  Fortune  gave 
'Mid  yon  far  western  isles   that    hear   the 
Atlantic  rave. 

XIII. 

Yes !  hard  the  task,  when  Bntons  wield  the 

sword, 

To  give  each  Chief  and  every  field  its  fame  : 
Hark!  Albuera  thunders  BERESFORD. 
And     Red     Barosa    shouts    for    dauntless 

GR.EME  ! 
0  for  a  ver*e  of  tumult  and  of  flame. 

Bold  as  the  bursting  of  their  cannon  sound, 
To  bid  the  world  re-echo  to  their  fame! 

For  never,  upon  gory  battle-ground, 
With   conquest's   wel'l-bought  wreath   were 
braver  victors  crowu'u ! 

XIV. 
0  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays. 

Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Roused  them  to  emulate  their  fathers'  praise, 

Temper'd  their  headlong  rage,  their  courage 

steel'd.3 
And  raised  fair  Lusitauia's  fallen  shield, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


2  Ibid,  Note  8. 


And  gave  new  edge  to  Lusitania's  sword. 
And  taught  her  sons  forgotten  arms  to  wield— 

Shiver'd  my  harp,  and  hurst  its  every  chord. 
If  it  forget  thy  worth,  victorious  BERESFORD ! 

XV. 

Not  on  that  bloody  field  of  battle  won. 
Though  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist 

away. 

Was  half  his  self-devoted  valour  shown, — 
He  gaged  but  life  on  that  illustrious  day  ; 
But  when  he  toil'd  those  squadrons  to  array. 

Who  fought  like  Britons  in  the  bloody  game, 
Sharper  than  Polish  pike  or  assagay, 
He  braved  the  shafts  of  censure  and  of 

shame, 

And,  dearer  far  than  life,  he  pledged  a  soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 

Nor  be  his  praise  o'erpast  who  strove  to  hide 

Beneath  the  warrior's  vest  affection's  wound. 

Whose  wish   Heaven   for  his  country's  weal 

denied ; 

Danger  and  fate  he  sought,  but  glory  found. 
From  clime  to  clime,  where'er  war's  trumpets 

sound. 

The  wanderer  went ;  yet,  Caledonia !  still 
Thine  was  his  thought  in  march  and  tented 

ground ; 
He  dream'd  'mid  Alpine's  cliffs  of  Athole's 

hill, 

And  heard  in  Ebro's  roar  his  Lyndoch's  lovely 
rill. 

XVII. 

0  hero  of  a  race  renown'd  of  old. 

Whose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle- 
swell. 

Since  first  distinguished  in  the  onset  bold. 
Wild  sounding  when  the   Roman  rampart 

fell ! 

By  Wallace'  side  it  rung  the  Southron's  knell, 
Alderne,   Kilsythe,  and   Tibber,  own'd   its 

lame, 
Tummell's  rude  pass  can  of  its  terrors  tell. 

But  ne'er  from  prouder  field  arose  the  name, 
Than  wiien  wild  Ronda  learu'd  the  conquering 
shout  of  GRAEME'  1 

XVHI. 

But  all  too  long,  through  the  unknown  and 
dark. 

(With  Spenser's  parable  I  close  my  tale.) 
By  shoal  and  rock  hatli  steer'd  my  venturous 
bark. 

And  landward  now  I  drive  before  the  gale. 
And  now  the  blue  and  distant  shore  1  hail, 

And  nearer  now  I  see  the  port  expand, 
And  now  1  gladly  furl  my  weary  sail. 

And  as  the  prow  light  touches  on  the  strand, 

1  strike  my  red-cross  flag  and  bind  my  skilf  to 

land. 


3  See  Appendix,  Sole  T. 


244 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

And  Cattreath's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph 

ruruj. 

And   mystic   Merlin    harp'd,    and    grey-hair'd 
JJywarch  sung  !—?.  234. 

This  locality  may  startle  those  readers  who 
do  not  recollect  that  much  of  the  ancient 
poetry  preserved  in  Wales  refers  less  to  the 
history  of  the  Principality  to  which  that  name 
is  now  limited,  than  to  events  which  happened 
in  the  norih-west  of  England,  and  sooth- west 
of  Scotland,  where  the  Britons  for  a  Ion?  time 
made  a  si  and  against  the  Saxons.  The  battle 
of  Cattreath,  lamented  by  the  celebrated  Aneu- 
nn,  is  supposed,  by  the  learned  Dr.  Leyden,  to 
have  been  fought,  on  the  skirts  of  Ettrick 
Forest.  It  is  known  to  the  English  reader  by 
the  paraphrase  of  Gray,  beginning. 


But  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the 
champions  mourned  in  this  beautiful  dirge, 
were  the  British  inhabitants  of  Edinburgh, 
who  were  cut  off  by  the  Saxons  of  Deiria,  or 
Northumberland,  about  the  latter  part  of  the 
sixth  century. — Turner's  History  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  edition  1799,  vol.  i.  p.  222.  Llywarch. 
the  celebrated  bard  and  monarch,  was  Prince 
of  Argood,  in  Cumberland  ;  and  his  youthful 
exploits  were  performed  upon  the  Border, 
although  in  his  age  he  was  driven  into  Powys 
by  the  successes  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  As  for 
Merlin  W'yllt,  or  the  Savage,  his  name  of  Cale- 
donia, and  his  retreat  into  the  Caledonian 
wood,  appropriate  him  to  Scotland.  Pardon 
dedicates  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  the  third 
book  of  his  Scoio-Chronicon,  to  a  narration  of 
the  death  of  this  celebrated  bard  and  prophet 
near  Drumelzier,  a  village  upon  Tweed,  which 
is  supposed  to  have  derived  its  name  (quasi 
Tumutus  Merlini)  from  the  event.  The  par- 
ticular spot  in  which  he  is  buried  is  still  shown, 
and  appears,  from  the  following  quotation,  to 
have  partaken  of  his  prophetic  qualities  : — 
"  There  is  one  thing  remarkable  here,  which 
is,  that  the  burn  called  Pausayl  runs  by  the 
east  side  of  this  churchyard  into  the  Tweed  ; 
at  the  side  of  which  burn,  a  little  below  the 
churchyard,  the  famous  prophet  Merlin  is  said 
to  be  buried.  The  particular  place  of  his 
grave,  at  the  root  of  a  thorn  tree,  was  shown 
me,  many  years  ago,  by  the  old  and  reverend 
minister  of  the  place,  Mr.  Richard  Brown; 
and  here  was  the  old  prophecy  fulfilled,  de- 
livered in  Scots  rhyme,  to  this  purpose  : — 


'•  For,  the  same  day  that  our  King  James  the 
Sixth  was  crowned  King  of  England,  the  river 
Tweed,  by  an  extraordinary  flood,  so  far  over- 
flowed its  banks,  that  it  met  and  joined  with 
the  Pausayl  at  the  said  grave,  which  was  never 


j  before  observed  to  tall  out  "— Pennyanck's  De- 
scription of  Twceddale.    Edin.  1715,  iv.  p.  26. 


NOTE  B. 

Minchmore's  haunted  spring. — P.  235. 

A  belief  in  the  existence  and  nocturnal 
revels  of  the  fairies  still  lingers  among  the  1 
vulgar  in  Selkirkshire.  A  copious  fountain 
upon  the  ridge  of  Minchmore.  called  the 
Cheesewell,  is  supposed  to  be  sacred  to  these 
fanciful  spirits,  and  it  was  customary  in  pro- 
pitiate them  by  throwing  in  something  upon 
passing  it.  A  pin  was  the  usual  oblation ;  and 
the  ceremony  is  slnl  sometimes  practised, 
though  rather  in  jest  than  earnest. 


NOTE  C. 

The  rude  villager,  his  labour  done. 

In    verse    spontaneous   chants    some   favoured 
name.— P.  235. 

The  flexibility  of  the  Italian  and  Spanish 
languages,  and  perhaps  the  liveliness  of  their 
genius,  renders  these  countries  distinguished 
for  the  talent  of  improvisation,  which  is  found 
even  among  the  lowest  of  the  people.  It  is 
mentioned  by  Baretti  and  other  travellers. 


NOTE  D. 

Kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Grtetne. — P.  235. 

Over  a  name  sacred  for  ages  to  heroic  verse, 
a  poet  may  be  allowed  to  exercise  some  power. 
1  have  used  the  freedom,  here  and  elsewhere, 
to  alter  the  orthography  of  the  name  of  my 
gallant  countryman,  n  order  to  apprize  the 
Southron  reader  of  its  legitimate  sound  ; — 
Grahame  being,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tweed, 
usually  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable. 


NOTE  E. 

What!  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morniny 

stay, 

To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 
And  are  his  hours  tn  such  dull  pejumce  past. 
For  fair  Florinda's  p/unn'er'd  charms  to  pay! — 
P.  236. 

Almost  all  the  Spanish  historians,  as  well  as 
the  voice  of  tradition,  ascribe  the  invasion  of 
the  Mnors  to  the  forcible  violation  committed 
by  Roderick  upon  Florinda,  called  by  the 
Moors,  Caba  or  Cava.  Sne  was  the  daughter 
of  Count  Julian,  one  of  the  Gothic  monarch's 
principal  lieutenants,  who,  when  the  crime 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK.       245 


was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  the  defence 
of  Ceuta  against  ihe  Moors.  In  his  indigna- 
tion at  tue  ingratitude  of  his  sovereign,  and 
the  dishonour  of  his  daughter,  Count  Julian 
forgot  the  duties  of  a  Christian  and  a  pal  riot, 
and  forming  an  alliance  willi  Musa.  then  the 
Caliph's  lieutenant  in  Africa,  he  countenanced 
Hit:  invasion  of  Spain  liy  a  lioily  of  Saracens 
and  Africans,  commanded  by  the  celebrated 
T.irik;  tlie  issue  of  winch  was  ihe  defeat  and 
death  of  Roderick,  and  the  occupation  of 
almost  the  whole  peninsula  by  the  Moors. 
Voltaire,  in  his  General  History,  expresses  his 
doubts  of  this  popular  story,  and  Gibbon  gives 
him  some  countenance:  but  the  universal 
tradition  is  quite  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of 
poetry.  The  Spaniards,  in  detestation  of  Flo- 
rindii's  memory,  are  said,  by  Cervantes,  never 
to  bestow  that  name  upon  any  human  female, 
reserving  it  for  their  dogs.  Nor  is  the  tradi- 
tion less  inveterate  among  the  Moors,  since 
the  same  author  mentions  a.  promontory  on 
Ihe  coast  of  Barbary,  called  "The  Cape  of  the 
Cuba  Kumia,  which,  in  our  tongue,  is  the 
Cape  of  the  Wicked  Christian  Woman;  and  it 
is  a  tradition  among  the  Moors,  that  Caba,  the 
daughter  of  Count  Julian,  who  was  the  cause 
of  ihe  loss  of  Spam,  lies  buried  there,  and 
they  think  it  ominous  to  be  forced  into  that 
bay  ;  for  they  never  go  in  otherwise  than  by 
necessity." 


NOTE  F. 

And  guide  me,  Priest,  to  Hint  mysterious  room. 

Where,  ifuwiht  true,  in  oil.  tradition  be. 
His  nation's  Julure  fate  a  Spanish  KIIUJ  s/in/l  be. 
P.  236. 

The  transition  of  an  incident  from  history  to 
tradition,  and  from  tradition  to  fable  and  ro- 
mance, becoming  more  marvellous  at  each 
step  from  its  original  simplicity,  is  not  ill  ex- 
emplified in  the  account  of  the  "  Fated  Cham- 
ber" of  Don  Roderick,  as  given  by  his  name- 
sake, the  historian  of  Toledo,  contrasted  with 
subsequent  and  more  romantic  accounts  of 
the  same  subterranean  discovery.  I  give  the 
Archbishop  of  Toledo's  tale  in  the  words  of 
Nonius,  who  seems  to  intimate,  (though  very 
modestly.)  that  the  .fatale  pa/u/iuni  of  winch  so 
much  had  been  said,  was  only  the  ruins  of  a 
Roman  amphitheatre. 

•'  Extra  muros,  septentrionem  versus,  vesti- 
gia masni  olirn  theatri  sparsa  visuntur.  Auctor 
est  Rodericns,  Toletanus  Archiepiscopus  ante 
Arahnm  in  Hispanias  irruplionem,  hie  fatale 
palfiliuin  fuisse ;  quod  mvicti  vectes  jeterna 
ferri  robora  claudebant.  ne  reseratum  Hispa- 
niaiexcidiumadferretjquod  in  faiisnon  vuigus 
soliim.  sed  et  prudeniissimi  quiqiiecredebant. 
Sed  Roderici  ultimi  Golhorum  Kegis  am  mum 
infelix  curiositus  subiit,  sciendi  quid  sub  tot 
vetitis  c.laustns  observaretur ;  ingentes  ibi  su- 
periorum  regum  opes  et  aicanos  thesauros 
servari  ratus.  Seras  et  pessulos  perfringi 
curat,  invitis  omnibus;  nihil  prater  arculam 
repertum,  et  in  ea  linteum.  quo  expjicato  novas 
et  insolentes  hominum  facies  hahitusque  ap- 
paruere,  cum  inscriptions  Latina,  h/sjmni(K 
exadmm  at>  ilia  gente  immincre ;  Vultus  habit- 
usque  Maurorumeranl.  Quamobrem  ex  Africa 
tantam  cladem  instare  regi  ca3tensque  per- 

aT* 


suasum  ;  necfalsn  ut  Hispania?  annales  etiam- 
num  queruntur."  —  Hispama  Luiiovic.  Nonij. 
cap.  hx. 

But,  about  the  term  of  the  expulsion  of  the 
Moors  from  Grenada,  we  find,  in  the  "  Histnria 
!  Verdadf.yra  del  Rry  Dim  Rmiriuo,"  a  (pretended) 
translation  from  toe  Arabic  of  the  sage  Alcayde 
Abulcacim  Tanf  Abenlarique,  a  legend  which 
puts  to  shame  the  modesty  of  the  historian 
Roderick,  with  his  chest  and  prophetic  picture. 
The  custom  of  ascribing  a  pretended  Moorish 
!  original  to  these  legendary  histories,  is  ridi- 
culed by  Cervantes,  who  affects  to  translate 
the  History  of  the  Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure, 
from  the  Arabic  of  the  sase  Cid  Hamet  Benen- 
geli.  As  I  have  been  indebted  to  the  Historia. 
Verdadeyra  for  some  of  the  imagery  employed 
in  the  text,  the  following  literal  translation 
from  the  work  itself  may  gratify  the  inquisi- 
tive reader : — 

••  One  mile  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  of 
Toledo,  among  some  rocks,  was  situated  an 
ancient  tower,  of  a  magnificent  structure, 
I  though  much  dilapidated  by  time,  which  con- 
I  sumes  all:  four  estadoes  (i.e.  four  times  a 
I  man's  height)  below  it,  there  was  a  cave  with 
a  very  narrow  entrance,  and  a  gate  cut  out  of 
the  solid  rock,  lined  with  a  strong  covering  of 
iron,  and  fastened  with  many  locks ;  above 
the  gate  some  Greek  letters  are  engraved, 
which,  although  abbreviated,  and  of  doubtful 
meaning,  were  thus  interpreted,  according  to 
the  exposition  of  learned  men  :  —  •  The  King 
who  opens  I  his  cave,  and  can  discover  the 
wonders,  will  discover  both  good  and  evil 
things.'  — Many  Kings  desired  to  know  the 
mystery  of  this  tower,  and  sought,  to  find  out 
the  manner  with  much  care:  but  when  they 
opened  the  gate,  such  a  tremendous  noise 
arose  in  the  cave,  that  it  appeared  as  if  the 
earth  was  bursting;  many  of  those  present 
sickened  with  fear,  and  others  lost  their  lives. 
In  order  to  prevent  such  great  perils,  (as  they 
supposed  a  dangerous  enchantment  was  con- 
tained within.)  they  secured  the  gate  with 
new  locks,  concluding,  that,  though  a  King 
was  destined  to  open  it.  the  fated  time  was 
not  yet  arrived  At  last  King  Don  Rodngo,  led 
on  by  his  evil  fortune  and  unlucky  destiny, 
opened  the  tower;  and  some  bold  attendants, 
whom  he  had  brought  with  htm,  entered,  al- 
though agitated  with  fear.  Having  proceeded 
a  good  way,  they  fled  hack  to  the  entrance, 
terrified  with  a  frightful  vision  which  they  had 
beheld.  The  King  was  greatly  moved,  and 
ordered  many  torches,  so  contrived  that,  the 
tempest  in  the  cave  could  not  extinguish  them, 
to  be  lighted.  Then  the  King  entered;  not 
without  fear,  before  all  the  others.  They 
j  discovered,  by  degrees,  a  splendid  hall,  appa- 
rently built  in  a  very  sumptuous  manner;  in 
;  tha  middle  stood  a  Bronze  Statue  oi  very  fero- 
:  cious  appearance,  which  held  a  battle-axe  in 
I  its  hands.  With  this  he  struck  the  floor  vio- 
j  lently,  giving  it  such  heavy  blows,  that  the 
!  noise  in  the  cave  was  occasioned  by  the  mo- 
tion of  the  air.  The  King,  greatly  affrighted 
and  astonished,  began  to  conjure  this  terrible 
vision,  promising  that  lie  would  return  with- 
out doing  any  injury  in  the  cave,  alter  he  had 
;  obtained  a  sight  of  what  was  contained  in  it. 
;  The  statue  ceased  to  sinke  the  floor,  and  the 
'  King,  with  his  followers,  somewhat  assured, 
1  and  recovering  their  courage,  proceeded  into 


246 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  hall;  and  on  the  left  of  the  slalne  they 
found  this  inscription  mi  the  wall :  '  Unfortu- 
nate Km?,  thou  h;ist  entered  here  in  evil 
hour.7  On  the  right  side  of  the  wall  these 
words  were  inscribed :  '  By  strange  nations 
tliou  shall  he  dispossessed,  and  thy  subjects 
foully  degraded.'  On  the  shoulders  of  the 
statue  other  words  were  written,  which  said, 
'I  call  upon  the  Arabs.'  And  upon  his  breast 
was  written,  •  1  do  my  office  '  At  the  entrance 
of  the  hall  there  was  placed  a  round  bowl, 
from  which  a  great  noise,  like  the  full  of 
waters,  proceeded.  They  found  no  other 
thing:  in  the  hall :  and  when  the  King,  sorrow- 
ful  and  greatly  affected,  had  scarcely  turned 
about  to  leave  the  cavern,  the  statue  again 
commenced  its  accustomed  blows  upon  tin- 
floor.  After  they  had  mutually  promised  to 
conceal  what  they  had  seen,  they  again  closed 
the  tower,  and  blocked  up  the  gale  of  the 
cavern  with  earth,  that  no  memory  might  re- 
mam  in  the  world  of  such  a  ponenious  and 
evil-boding  prodigy.  The  ensuing  midnight 
they  heard  great  cries  and  clamour  from  tlie 
cave,  resounding  like  the  noise  of  battle,  and 
the  ground  shaking  with  a  tremendous  roar; 
the  whole  edifice  of  the  old  tower  fell  to  the 
ground,  by  which  they  were  greatly  affrighted, 
the  vision  which  they  had  beheld  appearing  to 
them  as  a  dream. 

••  The  King  having  left  the  tower,  ordered 
wise  men  Hi  explain  what  the  inscriptions 
signified ;  and  having  consulted  upon  and 
studied  their  meaning,  they  declared  that  the 
statue  of  bronze,  with  the  motion  which  it 
made  with  its  battle-axe,  signified  Time:  and 
that  its  office,  alluded  to  in  the  inscription  on 
its  breast,  was,  that  he  never  res:s  a  single 
moment.  The  words  on  the  shoulders,  •  I  call 
upon  the  Ar.ibs,'  they  expounded,  that,  in 
time,  Spain  would  be  conquered  by  the  Arabs. 
The  words  upon  the  left  wall  signified  the  de- 
struction of  King  Rodrigo;  those  on  the  right, 
the  dreadful  calamities  which  were  to  fall 
upon  the  Spaniards  and  (joins,  and  that  the 
unfortunate  King  would  be  dispossessed  of  all 
his  slates.  Finally,  the  letters  on  the  portal 
indicated,  that  good  would  betide  to  the  con- 
querors, and  evil  to  the  conquered,  of  which 
experience  proved  the  truth."  —  Historia  Ver- 
dadeyra  del  Rey  Don  Rodnao.  Qumta  impres- 
sion. Madrid,  1664,  iv.  p.  23. 


NOTE  G. 

The  Tecbir  war-cry  and  the  Lelie's  yfU.—P.  237. 

The  Tecbir  (derived  from  the  words  Alia 
acbar,  God  is  most  mighty)  was  the  original 
war-cry  of  the  Saracens.  It  is  celebrated  by 
Hughes  in  the  Siege  of  Damascus  : — 


••  We  heard  the  Tecbil 
Thrir  ihout  of  onset,  > 
They  challenge  Henvei 


me  Arahu  call 
:th  load  appeal, 
^emaujing  conquest." 


The  Lelie,  well  known  to  the  Christians 
during  the  crusades,  is  the  shout  of  Alia  ilia 
Alia,  the  Mahomedan  confession  of  faith  It 
is  twice  used  in  poetry  by  my  friend  Mr.  W. 
Stewart  Rose,  in  the  romance  of  Partenopex, 
*nd  in  the  Crusade  of  St.  Lewis. 


NOTE  II. 

By  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail '  the  Christians 

Their  coieard  trader  gives  for  flight  the  sign! 
nit  sceptrrd  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 

Is  not  yon  steed  Orelia  7 —  Yes,  'tis  mine .' 

P.  237. 

Count  Julian,  the  father  of  the  injured  Flo- 
rinda,  with  the  connivance  and  assistance  of 
Oppas.  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  invited,  in  713, 
the  Saracens  into  Spain.  A  considerable  army 
arrived  under  the  command  of  Tarik,  or  Tarif, 
who  bequeathed  the  well-known  name  of 
Gibraltar  (Gibel  al  Tarik,  or  the  mountain  of 
Tank)  to  the  place  of  his  landing.  He  was 
joined  by  Count  Julian,  ravaged  Andalusia, 
and  took  Seville.  In  714,  they  returned  with 
a  still  greater  force,  and  Roderick  marched 
into  Andalusia  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  to 
sive  them  battle.  The  field  was  chosen  near 
Xeres,  and  Mariana  gives  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  action : — 

"Both  armies  being  drawn  up.  the  King, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  Gothic  kings 
when  they  went  to  battle,  appeared  in  an 
ivory  chariot,  clothed  in  cloth  of  gold,  en- 
couraging his  men ;  Tarn",  on  the  other  side, 
did  the  same.  The  armies,  thus  prepared, 
wailed  only  for  the  signal  to  fall  on;  the 
Goths  gave  the  charge,  their  drums  and  trum- 
pets sounding,  and  the  Moors  received  it  with 
the  noise  of  kettle-drums.  Such  were  the 
shouts  and  cries  on  both  sides,  that  the  moun- 
tains and  valleys  seemed  to  meet.  First,  they 
liegan  with  slings,  darts,  javelins,  and  lances, 
then  came  to  the  swords;  a  long  time  the 
batile  w.is  dubious;  but  the  Moors  seemed  to 
have  the  worst,  till  D  Oppas,  the  archbishop, 
Having  to  that  tune  concealed  his  treachery, 
in  the  heat  of  the  light,  with  a  great  body  of 
his  followers,  went  over  to  the  infidels  He 
joined  Count  Julian,  with  whom  was  a  great 
number  of  G.iths,  and  both  together  frll  upon 
the  flank  of  our  army.  Our  men,  terrified  with 
that  unparalleled  treachery,  and  tired  with 
fighting,  conlij  no  longer  sustain  that  charge, 
but  were  easily  put  to  flight.  The  King  per- 
formed the  part  not  only  of  a  wise  general, 
but  of  a  resolute  soldier,  relieving  the  weak- 
est, briniring  on  fresh  men  in  place  of  those 
that  were  tired,  and  stopping  those  that 
turned  their  backs.  At  length,  seeing  no 
ho|ies  left,  he  alighted  out  of  his  chariot  for 
fear  of  being  taken,  and  mounting  on  a  horse 
called  Orelia,  he  withdrew  out  of  the  battle. 
The  Goths,  who  still  stood,  missing  him,  were 
most  part  put  to  the  sword,  the  rest  betook 
themselves  to  flight.  The  camp  was  imme- 
diately entered,  and  the  baggage  taken.  What 
number  was  killed  was  not  known  :  I  suppose 
they  were  so  many  it  was  hard  to  count  them  , 
for  this  single  battle  roblied  Spain  of  all  its 
:lory.  and  in  it  perished  tlie  renowned  name 
if  the  Goths.  The  King's  horse,  upper  gar- 
nent.  and  buskins,  covered  with  pearls  and 
precious  stones,  were  found  on  the  bank  of 
Lhe  river  Guadelite,  and  there  being  no  news 
of  him  afterwards,  it  was  sup|>osed  he  was 
drowned  passing  the  river."  —  Mariana's  His- 
tory of  Spain,  book  vi.  chap.  9 

Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  men- 
tioned in  the  text,  anil  in  the  above  quotation, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION   OF  DON  RODERICK.     247 


was  celebrated  for  her  speed  and  form.  She 
is  mentioned  repeatedly  iu  Spanish  roumuce, 
and  also  by  Cervantes. 


NOTE  I. 

Whfn  for  the  lioht  bolero  ready  stand. 
The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met. 

P.  238. 

The  bolero  is  a  very  light  and  active  dance, 
much  practised  by  the  Spaniards,  in  which 
castanets  are  always  used.  Mozo  and  mticha- 
cfia  are  equivalent  to  our  phrase  of  lad  and 
lass. 


NOTE  K. 

While  trumprts  rang,  and  heralds  cried  "  Cas- 
tile!"— P.  239. 

The  heralds,  at  the  coronation  of  a  Spanish 
monarch,  proclaim  his  name  three  times,  and 
repeat  three  times  the  word  Cnstiila,  Caslitla, 
Castilla;  which,  with  all  other  ceremonies, 
was  carefully  copied  in  the  mock  inauguration 
of  Joseph  Bonaparte. 


NOTE  L. 

High  blazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and  wide. 
P.  240. 

Those  who  were  disposed  to  believe  that 
mere  virtue  and  energy  are  able  of  themselves 
to  work  forth  the  salvation  of  an  oppressed 
people,  surprised  in  a  moment  of  confidence, 
deprived  of  their  officers,  armies,  and  for- 
tresses, who  had  every  means  of  resistance  to 
seek  in  the  very  moment  when  they  were  to 
be  made  use  of,  and  whom  the  numerous  trea- 
sons among  the  higher  orders  deprived  of 
confidence  in  their  natural  leaders,  —  those 
who  entertained  this  enthusiastic  butdelu>ive 
opinion  may  be  pardoned  for  expressing  their 


disappointment  at  the  protracted  warfare  in 


of  amis  and  discipline,  is  surely  not  to  be 
wondered  at  But  that  a  nation,  under  the 
circumstances  of  repeated  discomfiture,  in- 
ternal treason,  and  the  mismanagement  inci- 
dent to  a  temporary  and  hastily  adopted  go- 
vernment, should  have  wasted,  by  its  stubborn, 
uniform,  and  prolonged  resistance,  myriads 
after  myriads  of  those  soldiers  who  had  over- 
run the  world — that  some  of  its  provinces 
should,  like  Galicia,  after  being  abandoned  by 
their  allies,  and,  overrun  l>y  their  enemies, 
have  recovered  their  freedom  by  their  own 
unassisted  exertions;  that  others,  like  Cata- 
lonia, undismayed  by  the  treason  which  be- 
trayed some  fortresses,  and  the  force  which 
subdued  others,  should  not  only  have  con- 
tinued their  resistance,  hut  have  attained 
over  their  victorious  enemy  a  superiorly, 
which  is  even  now  enabling  them  to  besiege 
and  retake  the  places  of  strength  which  had 
been  wrested  from  them,  is  a  tale  hitherto 
untold  in  the  revolutionary  war.  To  say  that 
such  a  people  cannot  be  subdued,  would  be 
presumption  similar  to  that  of  those  who  pro- 
tested that  Spain  could  not  defend  herself  for 
a  year,  or  Portugal  for  a  month  ;  but  that  a 
resistance  which  lias  been  continued  for  so 
long  a  space,  when  the  usurper,  except  during 
the  short  lived  Austrian  campaign,  had  no 
other  enemies  on  the  continent,  should  be 
now  less  successful,  when  repeated  defeats 
have  broken  the  reputation  of  the  French 
armies,  and  when  they  are  likely  (it  would 
seem  almost  in  desperation)  to  seek  occupa- 
tion elsewhere,  is  a  prophecy  as  improbable  as 
ungracious.  And  while  we  are  in  the  humour 
of  severely  censuring  our  allies,  gallant  and 
devoted  as  they  have  shown  themselves  in 
the  cause  of  national  liberty,  because  the; 
may  not  instantly  adopt  those  measures  whici 
ve  in  our  wisdom  may  deem  essential  to  suc- 
cess, it  might  be  well  if  we  endeavoured  first 
to  resolve  the  previous  questions. —  1st,  Whe- 
ther we  do  not  at  this  moment  know  much 
less  of  the  Spanish  armies  than  those  of  Por- 
tugal, which  were  so  promptly  condemned  as 
totally  inadequate  to  assist  in  the  preservation 
of  their  country  ?  2d,  Whether,  independently 
of  any  right  we  have  to  offer  more  than  advice 
and  assistance  to  our  independent  allies,  ' 


hry 
licil 


While  these  gentlemen  plead  for  deference  to  guch  a  ,.ongurtinmtioll  is  ,ikely  ,o  ^  produced 
Bonaparte,  and  crave  by  !lhusins  ,nem  in  newspapers  and  periodical  ; 

"R<-sp«t  for  his  great  place,  and  bid  the  devil  publications?      Lastly,  since   the   undoubted 

Be  duly  honour'd  for  hn  buruiug  throne."  authority  of  British  officers  makes   us   now 

it  may  not  be  altogether  unreasonable  to  ,  acquainted  with  part  of  the  horrors  that  attend 
claim  some  modification  of  censure  upon  those  j  invasion,  and  winch  the  providence  of  God, 
who  have  been  long  and  to  a  great  extent  the  valour  of  our  navy,  and  perhaps  the  very 
successfully  resisting  this  great  enemy  of  man-  efforts  of  these  Spaniards,  have  hitherto 
kind.  That  the  energy  of  Spain  has  not  um-  diverted  from  us,  it  may  be  modestly  ques- 
formly  been  directed  by  conduct  equal  to  its  I  tioned  whether  we  ought  to  ie  too  forward  to 
vigour,  has  been  too  obvious;  that  her  armie--,  j  estimate  and  condemn  the  selmg  of  tempo- 
under  their  complicated  disadvantages,  have  '  r.iry  stupefaction  which  they  create;  lest,  in 
shared  the  fate  of  such  as  were  defeated  after  so  doing,  we  should  resemble  the  worthy 
taking  the  field  with  every  possible  advantage  i  clergyman  who,  while  he  bad  himself  never 


248 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


snuffed  a  candle  with  Ins  fingers,  was  disposed 
severely  to  criticise  the  conduct,  of  a  martyr, 
who  winced  a  little  among  his  flames. 


NOTE  M. 

They   won    not   Zarngoza,  but    her   children's 
bloody  tomb— P.  240. 

The  interesting;  account  of  Mr.  Vaughan  has 
made  most  read<vs  acquainted  with  the  first 
siege  of  Zaragoza. >  The  last,  and  fatal  siege 
of  that  gallant  and  jevoted  city  is  detailed 
with  great  eloquence  and  precision  in  the 
'•Kdinburgh  Annual  Register"  for  18(19,  — a 
work  in  which  the  affairs  of  Spain  have  been 
treated  of  with  attention  corresponding  to 
their  deep  interest,  and  to  the  peculiar  sources 
of  information  open  to  the  historian.  The  fol- 
lowing are  a  few  brief  extracts  from  this 
splendid  historical  narrative  :  — 

"  A  breacli  was  soon  made  in  the  mud  walls, 
and  then,  :is  in  the  former  siege,  the  war  was 
carried  on  in  the  streets  and  houses ;  hut  the 
French  had  been  taught  by  experience,  that  in 
this  species  of  warfare  the  ZaregozaiM  derived 
a  superiority  from  the  feeling  and  principle 
which  inspired  them,  and  the  cause  for  which 
they  fought.  The  only  means  of  conquering 
Zaragoza  was  to  destroy  it  house  by  house, 
nnd  street  by  street ;  and  upon  this  system  of 
destruction  they  proceeded.  Three  companies 
of  miners,  and  eight  companies  of  sappers,  car- 
ried on  this  subterraneous  war;  I  he  Spaniards. 
it  is  said,  attempted  to  oppose  them  by  coun- 
termines; these  were  operations  to  which 
they  were  wholly  unused,  and.  according  to 
the  French  statement,  their  miners  were 
every  day  discovered  and  suffocated.  Mean- 
time, the  bombardment  was  incessantly  kept 
up.  'Within  the  last  48  hours,' Bait]  1'alafox 
in  a  letter  to  his  friend  General  Doyle.  '6000 
shells  have  been  thrown  in.  Two- thirds  of 
the  town  are  in  ruins,  hut  we  shall  perish  un- 
der the  rums  of  the  remaining  third  rather 
than  surrender.'  In  the  course  of  the  siege, 
above  17.00U  bombs  were  thrown  at  the  town ; 
the  stock  of  powder  with  winch  Zaragoza  had 
been  stored  was  exhausted  :  they  had  none  at 
last  but  what  they  manufactured  day  by  day  ; 
and  no  other  cannon-balls  than  those  which 
were  shot  into  the  town,  and  which  they  col- 
lected and  tired  back  upon  the  enemy." 

In  the  midst  of  these  horrors  and  privations, 
the  pestilence  broke  out  in  Zaragoza  To  va- 
rious causes,  enumerated  by  the  annalist,  he 
adds,  "scantiness  of  food,  crowded  quarters, 
unusual  exertion  if  body,  anxiety  of  mind, 
and  the  impossibility  of  recruiting  their  ex- 
hausted strength  by  needful  rest,  in  a  city 
which  wits  almost  incessantly  bombarded,  and 
where  every  hour  their  sleep  was  broken  by 
the  tremendous  explosion  of  mines.  There 
was  now  no  respite,  either  by  day  or  night,  for 
this  devoted  city;  even  the  natural  order  of 
light  and  darkness  was  destroyed  in  Zaragoza; 
by  day  it  was  involved  in  a  red  sulphurous 
atmosphere  of  SHU  ke,  which  hid  the  face  of 
heaven ;  by  night  the  fire  of  cannons  and 


1  Seo  Na.-rmive  of  the  sirge  of  Zarngo/a,  by  Richard 
Churl™  Vaughan,  Ksq  160J.  The  Riel.t  Honourable  R. 
O.  Vaughan  in  now  Brir.sh  Minister  at  Washington.  !Ki3. 


mortars,  and  the  flames  of  burning  houses, 
kept  it.  in  a  state  of  terrific  illumination. 

"  When  once  the  pestilence  hod  begun,  it 
was  impossible  to  check  its  progress,  or  confine 
it  to  one  quarter  of  the  city.  Hospitals  were 
immediately  established.  —  there  were  above 
thirty  of  them  ;  as  soon  as  one  was  destroyed 
by  the  bombardment,  the  patients  were  re- 
moved to  another,  and  thus  the  infection  was 
carried  to  every  part  of  Zaragoza.  Famine 
aggravated  the  evil ;  the  city  had  probably  not 
been  sufficiently  provided  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  siege,  and  of  the  provisions  which 
it  contained,  much  was  destroyed  in  the  daily 
ruin  which  the  mines  and  bombs  effected". 
Had  the  Zaragozans  and  their  garrison  pro- 
ceeded according  to  military  rules,  they  would 
have  surrendered  before  the  end  of  January  ; 
their  batteries  had  then  been  demolished. 
there  were  open  breaches  in  many  parts  of 
theirweak  walls,  and  the  enemy  were  already 
within  the  city.  On  the  30th,  above  sixty 
houses  were  blown  up,  and  the  French  ob- 
tained possession  of  Inn  monasteries  of  the 
Augustines  and  I-as  Monicas,  which  adjoined 
each  other,  two  of  the  last  defensible  places 
left.  The  enemy  forced  their  way  into  the 
church ;  every  column,  every  chapel,  every 
altar,  became  a  point  of  defence,  which  was 
repeatedly  attacked,  taken,  and  retaken;  the 
pavement  was  covered  with  blood,  the  aisles 
and  body  of  the  church  strewed  with  the  dead, 
who  were  trampled  under  foot  by  the  com- 
batants. In  the  midst  of  this  conflict,  the 
roof,  shattered  by  repeated  bombs,  fell  in  ;  the 
few  who  were  not  crushed,  after  a  short 
pause,  which  this  tremendous  shock,  and  their 
own  unexpected  escape,  occasioned,  renewed 
the  fight  with  rekindled  fury:  fresh  parties 
of  the  enemy  poured  in  ;  monks,  and  citizens, 
and  soldiers,  came  to  the  defence,  and  the 
contest  was  continued  upon  the  ruins,  and  the 
bodies  of  the  dead  and  the  dying." 

Yet,  seventeen  days  after  sustaining  these 
extremities,  did  the  heroic  inhabitants  of  Za- 
ragoza continue  their  defence;  nor  did  they 
then  surrender  until  their  despair  hail  ex- 
tracted from  the  French  generals  a  capitula- 
tion, more  honourable  than  has  been  granted 
to  fortresses  of  the  first  order. 

Who  shall  venture  to  refuse  the  Zaragozans 
the  eulogium  conferred  upon  them  by  the  elo- 
quence of  Wordsworth  I—  "Most  gloriously 
have  the  citizens  of  Zaragoza  proved  that  the 
true  army  of  Spain,  in  a  contest  of  this  nature, 
is  the  whole  people.  The  same  city  has  also 
exemplified  in  a  melancholy,  yea.  a  dismal 
truth,  —  yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy.  —  that 
when  a  people  are  called  suddenly  to  fight  for 
their  liberty,  and  are  sorely  pressed  upon, 
their  best  field  of  battle  is  the  floors  upon 
which  their  children  have  played  ;  the  cham- 
bers where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept, 
(his  own  or  his  neighbours';)  upon  or  under 
the  roofs  by  which  they  have  been  sheltered  : 
in  the  gardens  of  their  recreation;  in  the 
street,  or  in  the  market-place;  before  the 
altars  of  their  temples,  and  among  their  con- 
gregated dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooted. 

"  The  government  of  Spain  must  never  for- 
get Zaragoza  for  a  moment.  Nothing  is  want- 
ing to  produce  the  same  effects  everywhere, 
but  a  leading  mind,  such  as  that  city  was 
blessed  with."  In  the  latter  contest  this  has 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK.      249 


been  proved  ;  for  Zaragoza  contained,  at  that 
time,  bodies  of  men  from  almost  ail  parts  of 
Spain.  The  narrative  of  those  two  sieges 
should  be  the  manual  of  every  Spaniard.  He 
may  add  to  it  the  ancient  stories  of  Numantia 
and  Saguntum ;  let  him  sleep  upon  the  hook 
as  a  pillow,  and.  if  he  be  a  devout  adherent  to 
the  religion  of  his  country,  let  him  wear  it  in 
his  bosom  for  his  crucifix  to  rest  upon."  — 
Wordsworth  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra. 


NOTE  N. 

The  Vault  of  Destiny.— P.  211. 

Before  finally  dismissing  the  enchanted  ca- 
vern of  Don  Roderick,  it  may  he  noticed,  that 
the  leeend  occurs  in  one  of  Calderon's  plays, 
entitled,  La  Virgin  tie!  Satjrario.  The  scene 
opens  with  the  noise  of  the  chase,  and  Keci- 
smido,  a  predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the 
Gothic,  throne,  enters  pursuing  a  stag.  The 
animal  assumes  the  form  of  a  man,  and  defies 
the  king  to  enter  the  cave,  which  forms  the 
bottom  of  the  scene,  and  engage  with  him  in 
single  combat.  The  king  accepts  the  chal- 
lenge, and  they  engage  accordingly,  but  with- 
out advantage  on  either  side,  which  induces 
the  Genie  to  inform  Recisundo,  that  he  is  not 
the  monarch  for  whom  the  adventure  of  the 
enchanted  cavern  is  reserved,  and  he  proceeds 
to  predict  the  downfall  of  the  Gothic  mon- 
archy, and  of  the  Christian  religion,  which 
shall  attend  the  discovery  of  its  mysteries. 
Recisundo,  appalled  by  these  prophecies,  or- 
ders the  cavern  to  be  secured  by  a  gate  and 
bolts  of  iron.  In  the  second  part  of  the  same 
play,  we  are  informed  that  Don  Roderick  had 
removed  the  barrier,  and  transgressed  the  pro- 
hibition of  his  ancestor,  and  had  been  apprized 
by  the  prodigies  which  lie  discovered  of  the 
approaching  ruin  of  his  kingdom. 


NOTE  0. 

While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock, 

And  smiled  like  Eden  in  her  summer  dress;  — 

Behind  thtir  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilderness 

P.  242 

I  have  ventured  to  apply  to  the  movements 
of  the  French  army  that  sublime  passage  in 
the  prophecies  of  Joel,  which  seems  applicable 
to  them  m  more  respects  than  that  I  have 
adopted  in  the  text.  One  would  think  their 
ravages,  their  military  appointments,  the  ter- 
ror which  they  spread  among  invaded  nations, 
their  military  discipline,  their  arts  of  political 
intrigue  and  deceit,  were  distinctly  pointed  out 
in  the  following  verses  of  Scripture  :  — 

"2.  A  day  of  darknesse  and  of  gloorninesse. 
a.  day  of  clouds  and  of  thick  darkiiesse,  as  the 
morning  spread  upon  the  mountains:  a  great 
people  and  a  strong,  there  hath  not  been  ever 
the  like,  neither  shall  be  any  more  after  it. 
even  to  the  yeares  of  many  generations.  3.  A 
fire  devoureth  before  thein,  and  behind  them 
a  (lame  hurnelh  :  the  land  is  as  the  garden  of 
Eden  before  them,  and  behinde  them  a  deso- 
late wilderness,  yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape 


hem.  4.  The  appearance  of  them  is  as  the 
ippearance  of  horses  and  as  horsemen,  so 
hall  they  runne.  ft.  Like  the  noise  of  cha- 
riots on  the  tops  of  mountains,  shall  they  leap, 
like  the  noise  of  a  flame  of  fire  that  devoureih 
the  stubbie,  as  a  strong  people  set  in  battel 
»rray.  6.  Before  their  face  shall  the  people 
he  much  pained  ;  all  faces  shall  gather  black- 
nesse.  7.  They  shall  run  like  mighty  men, 
they  shall  climb  the  wall  like  men  of  warre. 
and  they  shall  march  every  one  in  his  waves, 
and  they  shall  not  break  their  ranks.  8.  Nei- 
ther shall  one  thrust  another,  they  shall  walk 
every  one  in  his  path :  and  wtien  they  fall 
upon  the  sword,  they  shall  not  be  wounded. 
9.  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in  the  citie ;  they 
shall  run  upon  the  wall,  they  shall  climbe  up 
upon  the  houses :  they  shall  enter  in  at  the 
windows  like  a  thief.  10.  The  earth  shall 
quake  before  them,  the  heavens  shall  tremble, 
the  sunne  and  the  moon  shall  be  dark,  and  the 
starres  shall  withdraw  their  shining." 

In  verse  20th  also,  which  announces  the  re- 
treat of  the  northern  army,  described  in  such 
dreadful  colours,  into  a  "land  barren  and 
desolate,"  and  the  dishonour  with  which  God 
afflicted  them  for  having  "  magnified  them- 
selves to  do  great  things,"  there  are  particu- 
lars not  inapplicable  to  the  retreat  of  Masse- 
na;  —  Divine  Providence  having,  in  ail  ages, 
attached  disgrace  as  the  natural  punishment 
of  cruelty  and  presumption. 


NOTE  P. 

The  rudest  sentmct,  in  Britain  born, 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  forlorn. 
P.  242. 

Even  the  unexampled  gallantry  of  the 
British  army  in  the  campaign  of  1810-11,  al- 
though they  never  fought  hut  to  conquer,  will 
do  them  less  honour  in  history  than  their  hu- 
manity, attentive  to  soften  to  the  utmost  of 
their  power  the  horrors  which  war,  in  its 
mildest  aspect,  must  always  inflict  upon  the 
defenceless  inhabitants  of  tile  country  in  which 
it  is  waged,  and  which,  on  this  occasion,  were 
tenfold  augmented  by  the  barbarous  cruelties 
of  the  French.  Soup-kitchens  were  esta- 
blished by  subscription  among  the  officers, 
wherever  the  troops  were  quartered  for  any 
length  of  time.  The  commissaries  contri- 
buted the  heads,  feet,  &c.  of  the  cattle  slaugh- 
tered for  the  soldiery  :  rice,  vegetables,  and 
bread,  where  it  could  be  had.  were  purchased 
by  the  officers.  Fifty  or  sixty  starving  pea- 
sants were  daily  fed  at  one  of  these  regimental 
establishments,  and  carried  home  the  relics  to 
I  heir  famished  households.  The  emaciated 
wretches,  who  could  not  crawl  from  weak- 
ness, were  speedily  employed  in  pruning  their 
vines.  While  pursuing  Massena,  the  soldiers 
evinced  the  same  spirit  of  humanity,  and  in 
many  instances,  when  reduced  themselves  to 
short  allowance,  from  having  out-marched 
their  supplies,  they  shared  their  pittance  with 
the  starving  inhabitants,  who  had  ventured 
back  to  view  the  ruins  of  their  habitations, 
burnt,  by  the  retreating  enemy,  and  to  bury 
the  bodies  of  their  relations  whom  they  had 
butchered.  Is  it  possible  to  know  such  facts 


250 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


without  feeling  asort  of  confidence,  that  those  |to  absolute  rout.     A  colonel  or  major  of  their 
•••ho  so  well  deserve  victory  are  most  likely  to  i  cavalry,  and  many  prisoners,  (almost  all  in- 


atiam  it?—  It  is  no!  the  least  of  Lord  Welling- 
ton's military  merits,  that  the  slightest  dispo- 
sition towards  marauding  meets  immediate 
punishment.  Independently  of  all  moral  obli- 
ation, the  army  which  is  most  orderly  in  a 
riendly  country,  has  always  proved  most 
formidable  to  an  armed  enemy. 


ga 
fri 


NOTE  Q. 

Vain-glorious  fugitive  !  —  P.  242. 

The  French  conducted  this  memorable  re- 
treat with  much  of  the  fanfarronade  proper  to 
their  country,  by  which  they  attempt  to  im- 


toxicated.)  remained  in  our  possession.  Those 
who  consider  for  a  moment  the  difference  of 
the  services,  and  how  much  an  artilleryman  is 
necessarily  and  naturally  led  to  identify  his 
own  safety  and  utility  with  abiding  hv  the 
tremendous  instrument  of  war,  to  the  exercise 
of  which  he  is  chiefly,  if  not  exclusively, 
trained,  will  know  how  to  estimate  the  pre- 
sence of  mind  which  commanded  so  bold  a 
manoeuvre,  and  the  steadiness  and  confidence 
with  which  it  was  executed. 


NOTE  S. 

And  what  mails  thee  that  for  Cameron  slain. 


Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  i 
The  gallant  Colonel  Cameron 


rounded 


pose  upon  others,  and  perhaps  on  themselves, 
a  l>elief  lhat  they  are  triumphing  in  the  very 
moment,  of  their  discomfiture.  On  the  30th 

March.  1811,  their  rear-guard  was  overtaken  1  mortally  during  the  desperate  contest  in  the 
near  Pega  by  the  British  cavalry.  Being  well  {  streets  of  the  village  called  Fuentes  d'  Honoro. 

He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  native  Highlanders,  the 
71st  and  ?9th,  who  raised  a  dreadful  shriek  of 
grief  and  rage.  They  charged  with  irresistible 
fury,  the  finest  body  of  French  grenadiers  ever 
seen,  being  a  part  of  Bonaparte's  selected 
guard.  The  officer  who  led  the  French,  a 
man  remarkable  for  stature  and  symmetry, 
was  killed  on  the  spot.  The  Frenchman  who 
stepped  out  of  his  rank  to  take  aim  at  Cojonel 

sudden,  and  the  rout  complete  ;  for  the  artillery  !  Cameron  was  also  bayoneted,  pierced  with  a 
and  cavalry  did  execution  upon  them  for  about  i  thousand  wounds,  and  almost  torn  to  pieces 
four  miles,  pursuing  at  the  gallop  as  often  as  by  the  furious  Highlanders,  who,  under  the 

command  of  Colonel  f'adogan,  bore  the  enemy 
out  of  the  contested  ground  at  the  [mint  of  the 
bayonet.  Massena  pays  my  countrymen  a 
singular  compliment  in  his  account  of  the 
attack  and  defence  of  this  village,  in  which 


posted,  and  conceiving  themselves  safe  from 
infantry,  (who  were  indeed  many  miles  in  the 
rear,)  and  from  artillery,  they  indulged  them- 
selves in  parading  their  hands  of  music,  and 
actually  performed  "God  save  the  King." 
Their  minstrelsy  was,  however,  deranged  by 
the  undcsired  accompaniment  of  the  British 
horse-artillery,  on  whose  part  in  the  concert 
they  had  not  calculated  The  surprise  was 


they  got  beyond  the  range  of  the  guns. 


NOTE  R. 

Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide,  Asmara's  plain. 
Ami. front  the  flytng  thunders  as  thty  roar. 

With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds  in  vain ! 
P.  243. 

In  the  severe  action  of  Fuentes  d'  Honoro. 
upon  5th  May,  1811,  the  grand  mass  of  the 
French  cavalry  attacked  the  right  of  the 
British  position,  covered  by  two  guns  of  the 
horse-artillery,  and  two  squadrons  of  cavalry. 
Afler  suffering  considerably  from  the  fire  of 
the  guns,  which  annoyed  them  in  every  attempt 
at  formation,  the  enemy  turned  their  wrath 
entirely  towards  them,  distributed  brandy 
among  their  troopers,  and  advanced  to  carry 


he   says  the  British  lost  many  officers,  and 
Scotch. 


NOTE  T. 

O  who  shall  grudge  him  Albvera's  bays. 
Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Roused  them  to  enni/ate  their  fathers'  praise, 
Teniper'd    their   headlong  rage,    their    couraye 

steel' d, 
And  raised  fail  Lusitania's  fallen  shield. 

P.  243. 

Nothing  during  the  war  of  Portugal  seems, 

to  a  distinct  observer,  more  deserving  of  praise, 


the  field-pieces  with  the  desperation  ofdrunken  ;  than  the  self  devotion  of  Field-Marshal  Beres- 
fury.  They  were  in  nowise  checked  by  the  i  ford,  who  was  contented  to  undertake  all  the 
heavy  loss  which  they  sustained  in  this  daring  hazard  of  obloquy  which  might  have  been 
attempt,  hut  closed,  and  fairly  mingled  with  :  founded  upon  any  miscarriage  in  the  highly 
the  British  cavalry,  to  whom  they  bore  the  ,  important  experiment  of  training  the  Portu- 
proportion  of  ten  to  one.  Captain  Ramsay, :  guese  troops  loan  improved  state  of  discipline, 
(let  me  be  permitted  to  name  a  gallant  coun- ;  In  exposing  his  military  reputation  to  the  cen- 
tryman,)  who  commanded  the  two  guns,  dis- !  sure  of  imprudence  from  the  most  moderate, 
missed  them  at  the  gallop,  and  putting  him-  :  and  all  manner  of  unutterable  calumnies  from 
self  at  the  head  of  the  mounted  artillerymen,  I  the  ignorant  and  malignant,  he  placed  at  stake 
!  ordered  them  to  fall  upon  the  French,  sabre-  the  dearest  pledge  which  a  military  man  had 
in-hand.  This  very  unexpected  conversion  of  to  offer,  and  nothing  hut  the  deepest  conviction 
artillerymen  into  dragoons,  contributed  greatly  of  the  high  and  essential  importance  attached 
to  the  defeat  of  the  enemy,  already  discon-  to  success  can  be  supposed  an  adequate  motive, 
certed  by  the  reception  they  had  met  from  the  j  How  great  the  chance  of  miscarriage  was  sup- 
two  British  squadrons;  and"  the  appearance  of  '  posed,  may  he  estimated  from  the  general 
some  small  reinforcements,  notwithstanding  '•  opinion  of  officers  of  unquestioned  talents 
the  immense  disproportion  of  force,  put  them  '  and  experience,  possessed  of  every  opportu- 


HOKEBY. 


251 


nity  of  information  ;  how  completely  the  ex- 
periment has  succeeded,  and  how  much  the 
spirit  and  patriotism  of  our  ancient  allies  had 
been  underrated,  is  evident,  not  only  from 
those  victories  in  which  they  have  borne  a 
distinguished  share,  but  from  the  liberal  and 
highly  honourable  manner  in  which  these 
opinions  have  been  retracted.  The  success 
of  this  plan,  with  all  its  important  conse- 
quences, we  owe  to  the  indefatigable  exertions 
of  Field-Marshal  Beresford. 


Whose  war-cry  oft  ha 


NOTE  TJ. 

'd  of  old, 


vailed  the  baMe-swell, 


the  conquering  shout  of  Grasme.—P.  243. 

This  stanza  alludes  to  the  various  achieve- 
ments of  the  warlike  family  of  Grseme,  or  Gra- 
hame.  They  are  said,  by  tradition,  to  have 


descended  from  the  Scottish  chief,  under 
whose  command  his  countrymen  si  ormed  the 
wall  huilt  bv  the  Emperor  Severns  between 
the  Friths  of  Forth  and  Clyde,  the  fragments 
of  which  are  still  popularly  called  Grannie's 
Dyke.  Sir  John  the  Graeme, "  the  hardy.  wight, 
and  wise,"  is  well  known  as  the  friend  of  Sir 
William  Wallace.  Alderne,  Kilsythe,  and 
Tibhermuir.  were  scenes  of  the  victories  of  the 
heroic  Marquis  of  Monlrose.  The  pass  of 
Killycrankie  is  famous  for  the  action  between 
King  William's  forces  aud  the  Highlanders  in 
1689, 

"  Where  glad  Dundee  in  faint  huzzas  expired." 

It  is  seldom  that  one  line  can  number  so 
many  heroes,  and  yet  more  rare  when  it  can 
appeal  to  the  glory  of  a  living  descendant  in 


upport  of  its  ancient  renown 
The 


IB  allusions  to  the  private  history  and 
character  of  General  Graliame  may  be  illus- 
trated by  referring  to  the  eloquent  and  affect- 
ing speech  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  upon  the  vote  of 
thanks  to  the  Victor  of  Barosa. 


21  n  k  ?  ii  tf : 

A  POEM,  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  commenced  the  composition 
of  Ro/teby  at  Abbotsford.  on  the  15th  of  Sep- 
tember 1812.  and  mushed  it  on  the  last  day  of 
the  following  December. 

The  reader  may  be  interested  with  the  fol- 
lowing extracts  from  his  letters  to  his  friend 
and  printer,  Mr.  Ballantyne. 

Abbolsford,  28th.  Oct.  1812. 
"  Dear  James,— I  send  you  to-day  better  than 
the  third  sheet  of  Canto  II..  and  I  trust  to  send 
the  other  three  sheets  in  the  course  of  the 
week.  I  expect  that  you -will  have  three 
cantos  complete  before  I  quit  this  place — on 
the  llth  of  November.  Surely,  if  you  do  your 
part,  the  poem  may  be  out  by  Christmas  ;  but 
you  must  not  daudle  over  your  typographical 
scruples.  I  have  too  nmch  respect  for  the 
public  to  neglect  any  thing  in  my  poem  to  at- 
tract their  attention  ;  and  you  misunderstood 
me  much,  when  you  supposed  that  I  designed 
any  new  experiments  in  point  of  composition. 
I  only  meant  to  say.  that  knowing  well  that  the 
said  public  will  never  be  pleased  with  exactly 
the  same  thing  a  second  time.  1  saw  the  ne- 
cessity of  giving  a  certain  degree  of  novelty, 
by  throw  ins  the  interest  more  on  character 
than  in  my  former  poems,  without  certainly 
meaning  to  exclude  either  incident  or  descrip- 
tion 1  think  you  will  see  the  same  sort  of 
difference  taken  in  all  my  former  poems,  of 


which  I  would  say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  lo  say 
any  thing,  that  the  force  in  the  Lay  is  thrown 
on  style,  in  Marmion  on  description,  and  in  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake  on  incident." 

3d  November.—"  As  for  my  story,  the  conduct 
of  the  plot,  which  must  he  made  natural  and 
'  easy,  prevents  my  introducing  any  thing  light 
for  some  time.  You  must  advert,  that  in  order 
to  give  poetical  effect  to  any  incident,  1  am 
often  obliged  to  be  much  longer  than  I  expected 
in  the  detail.  You  are  too  much  like  the 
country  squire  in  the  what  d'ye  call  it,  who 
commands  that  the  play  should  not  only  be  a 
tragedy  and  comedy,  hut  that  it  should  be 
crowned  with  a  spice  of  your  pastoral  As  for 
what  is  popular,  and  what  people  like,  and  so 
forth,  it  is  all  a  joke.  Be  interesting ;  do  the 
thing  well,  and  the  only  difference  will  be.  that 
people  will  like  what  they  never  liked  before, 
and  will  like  it  so  much  the  better  for  the  no- 
velty of  their  feelings  towards  it.  Dulness 
and  lameness  are  the  only  irreparable  faults." 

December  3\st. — "With  kindest  wishes  on 
the  return  of  the  season,  I  send  you  the  last 
of  the  copy  of  Rokeby.  If  you  are  not  engaged 
at  home,  and  like  to  call  in,  we  will  drink 
good  luck  to  it;  but  do  not  derange  a  family 
party. 

"There  is  something  odd  and  melancholy  in 
concluding  a  poem  with  the  year,  and  I  could 
be  almost  silly  and  sentimental  about  it.  I 


252 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


hope  you  think  I  have  done  my  best.  I  assure 
you  of  rny  wishes  the  work  may  succeed  ;  and 
my  exertions  to  get  out  in  time  were  more  in- 
spired by  your  interest  and  John's,  than  ray 
own.  And  so  voyue  La  galere.  W.  S." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

Between  the  publication  of  "The  Lady  of 
the  Lake."  which  was  so  eminently  successful, 
and  that  of  "Rokeby,"in  1813,  three  years  had 
intervened.  I  shall  not.  1  believe,  be  accused 
of  ever  bavin?  attempted  to  usurp  a  superiority 
over  many  men  of  genius,  my  contemporaries; 
hut,  in  point  of  popularity,  not  of  actual  talent, 
the  caprice  of  the  public  had  certainly  given 
me  such  a  temporary  superiority  over  men.  of 
whom,  in  regard  to  poetical  fancy  and  feeling. 
I  scarcely  thought  myself  worthy  to  loose  the 
shoe-latch.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be 
absurd  affectation  in  me  to  deny,  that  I  con- 
ceived myself  to  understand,  more  perfectly 
than  many  of  my  contemporaries,  the  manner 
most  likely  to  interest  the  great  mass  of  man- 
kind. Yet,  even  with  this  belief,  I  must  truly 
and  fairly  say,  that  I  always  considered  my- 
self rather  as  one  who  held  the  bets,  in  time 
to  be  paid  over  to  the  winner,  than  as  having 
any  pretence  to  keep  them  in  my  own  right. 

in  the  meantime  years  crept  on,  and  not 
without  their  usual  depredations  on  the  pass- 
ing generation.  My  sons  had  arrived  at  the 
age  when  the  paternal  home  was  no  longer 
their  best  abode,  as  both  were  destined  to  ac- 
tive life.  The  field-sports,  to  which  1  was  pe- 
culiarly attached,  had  now  less  interest,  and 
were  replaced  by  other  amusements  of  a  more 
quiet  character ;  and  the  means  and  opport  u- 
tunity  of  pursuing  these  were  to  be  sought  for. 
1  had,  indeed,  for  some  years  attended  to  farm- 
ing, a  knowledge  of  which  is.  or  at  least  was 
then,  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  a  family 
residing  in  a  solitary  country-house ;  but  al- 
though this  was  the  favourite  amusement  of 
many  of  my  friends,  I  have  never  been  ;ible  to 
consider  it  as  a  source  of  pleasure.  I  never 
could  think  it  a  matter  of  passing  importance, 
that  my  cattle  or  crops  were  belter  or  more 
plentiful  than  those  of  my  neighbours,  and 
nevertheless  I  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of 
some  more  quiet  out-door  occupation,  different 
from  those  I  h;id  hitherto  pursued.  I  pur- 
chased a  small  farm  of  about  one  hundred 
acres,  with  the  purpose  of  planting  and  im- 
proving it,  to  which  property  circumstances 
afterwards  enabled  me  to  make  considerable 
additions;  and  thus  an  era  took  place  in  rny 
life,  almost  equal  to  the  important  one  men- 
tioned by  the  Vicnr  of  Wakefield,  when  he  re- 
moved from  the  Blue-room  to  the  Brown.  In 
point  of  neighbourhood,  at  least,  the  change 
of  residence  made  little  more  difference.  Ab- 
botsford,  to  which  we  removed,  was  only  six 
or  seven  miles  down  the  Tweed,  and  lay  on 
the  same  beautiful  stream.  It  did  not  possess 
the  romantic  character  of  Ashestiel.  my  former 
residence;  but  it  had  a  stretch  of  meadow- 
land  along  the  river,  and  possessed,  in  the 
phrase  of  the  landscape-gardener,  considerable 
capabilities.  Above  all,  the  land  was  my  own, 
like  Uncle  Toby's  Bowling-green,  to  do  what 
1  would  with.  It  had  been,  though  the  grati- 


ricalion  was  long  postponed,  an  early  wish  of 
mine  to  connect  myself  with  my  mother  earth, 
and  prosecuie  those  experiments  by  which  a 
species  of  creative  power  is  exercised  over  the 
face  of  nature.  I  can  trace  even  tochildhood, 
a  pleasure  derived  from  Dodsley's  account  of 
Shenstone's  Leasowes,  and  I  envied  the  poet 
much  more  for  the  pleasure  of  accomplishing 
the  objects  detailed  in  his  friend's  sketch  of 
his  grounds,  than  for  the  possession  of  pipe, 
crook,  flock,  and  Phillis  to  hoot.  My  memory, 
also,  tenacious  of  quaint  expressions,  still  re- 
tained a  phrase  which  it  had  gathered  from  an 
old  almanack  of  Charles  the  Second's  time 
(when  every  thing  down  to  almanacks  affected 
to  be  smart),  in  which  the  reader,  in  the  month 
of  June,  is  advised  for  health's  sake  to  walk  a 
mile  or  two  every  day  before  breakfast,  and, 
it  he  can  possibly  so  manage,  to  let  his  exercise 
be  taken  upon  his  own  land. 

With  the  satisfaction  of  having  attained  the 
fulfilment  of  an  early  and  long-cherished  hope, 
I  commenced  my  improvements,  as  delightful 
in  Iheir  progress  as  those  of  the  child  who 
first  makes  a  dress  for  a  new  doll.  The  na- 
kedness of  the  land  was  in  time  hidden  by 
woodlands  of  considerable  extent — the  small- 
est of  possible  cottages  was  progressively  ex- 
panded into  a  sort  of  dream  of  a  mansion- house, 
whimsical  in  the  exterior,  but  convenient 
within.  Nor  did  I  foreet  what  is  the  natural 

Fleasure  of  every  man  who  has  been  a  reader ; 
mean  the  filling  the  shelves  of  a  tolerably 
i  large  library.  All  these  objects  I  kept  in  view, 
to  be  executed  as  convenience  should  serve ; 
I  and,  although  I  knew  many  years  must  elapse 
'  before  they  could  be  attained,  I  was  of  a  dis- 
!  position  to  comfort  myself  with  the  Spanish 
I  proverb,  "Time  and  I  against  any  two." 
i  The  difficult  and  indispensable  point,  of 
I  finding  a  permanent  subject  of  occupation,  wns 
now  at  length  attained  ;  but  there  was  annexed 
to  it  the  necessity  of  becoming  again  a  candi- 
date for  public  favour;  for,  as  I  was  turned 
improver  on  the  earth  of  the  every-day  world, 
it  was  under  condition  that  the  small  tenement 
of  Parnassus,  which  might  be  accessible  to  my 
labours,  should  not  remain  uncultivated. 

I  medilated.  at  first,  a  poern  on  the  subject 
of  Bruce,  in  which  I  made  some  progress,  but 
afterwards  judged  it  advisable  to  lay  it  aside, 
supposing  that  an  English  story  might  have 
more  novelty ;  in  consequence,  the  precedence 
j  was  given  to  "  Rokeby-  " 

If  subject  and  scenery  could  have  influenced 
I  the  fate  of  a  poem,  that  of  "  Rokeby  "  should 
)  have  been  eminently  distinguished :   for  the 
grounds  belonged  to  a  dear  friend,  with  whom 
i  I  had  lived  in  habits  of  intimacy  for  many 
vears,  and  the  place  itself  united  the  romantic 
I  beauties  of  the  wilds  of  Scotland   with   the 
1  rich  and  smiling  aspect  of  the  southern  portion 
of  the  island.   'But  the  Cavaliers  and  Round- 
heads, whom  I  attempted  to  summon  up  to 
tenant  this  beautiful  region,  had  for  the  public 
neither  the  noveltv  nor  the  peculiar  interest 
of  the  primitive  Highlanders.    This,  perhaps, 
was  scarcely  to  be  expected,  considering  that 
the  general  mind  sympathizes  readily  and  at 
once  with  the  stamp  which  nature  herself  has 
affixed  upon  the  manners  of  a  people  living  in 
a  simple  and  patriarchal  state;  whereas  it  has 
more  difficulty  in  understanding  or  interesting 
itself  in  manners  founded  upon  those  peculiar 


R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


253 


habits  of  thinking  or  acting,  which  are  pro- 
duced hy  the  progress  of  society.  We  could 
read  with  pleasure  the  tale  of  the  adventures 
of  a  Cossack  or  a  Mongol  Tartar,  while  we 
only  wonder  and  stare  over  those  of  the  lovers 
in  the  "  Pleasing  Chinese  History."  where  the 
embarrassments  turn  upon  difficulties  arising 
oin  of  unintelligible  delicacies  peculiar  to  the 
customs  and  manners  of  tint  affected  people. 
The  cause  of  my  failure  had,  however,  a  far 
deeper  root.  The  manner,  or  style,  which,  by 
its  novelty,  attracted  the  public  in  an  unusual 
degree,  had  now,  after  having  been  three 
times  before  them,  exhausted  the  patience  of 
the  reader,  and  began  in  the  fourth  to  lose  its 
charms.  The  reviewers  may  be  said  to  have 
apostrophized  Ihe  author  iu  the  language  of 
Panieirs  Edwin:— 


' 


The  ga 


The  licentious  combination  of  rhymes,  in  a 
manner  not  perhaps  very  congenial  to  our  lan- 
guage, had  not  been  confined  to  the  author. 
Indeed,  in  must  similarcases.  the  inventors  of 
such  novelties  have  their  reputation  destroyed 
by  their  own  imitators,  as  Aclaeon  fell  under 
the  fury  of  his  own  dogs.  The  present  author, 
like  Bohadil,  had  taught  his  trick  offence  to  a 
hundred  gentlemen,  (and  ladies.)  who  could 
fence  very  nearly,  or  quite  ax  well  as  himself. 
for  this  there  was  no  remedy;  the  harmony 
became  tiresome  and  ordinary,  and  both  tlie 
original  inventor  and  his  invention  must  have 
fallen  into  contempt,  if  he  had  not  found  out 
another  road  to  public  favour.  What  has  been 
said  of  the  metre  only,  must  be  considered  to 
apply  equally  to  the  structure  of  the  Poem 
and  of  the  style.  The  very  best  passages  of 
any  popular  style  are  not,  perhaps,  susceptible 
of  imitation,  but  they  may  be  approached  by 
men  of  talent  ;  and  those  who  are  less  able  to 
copy  them,  at  least  lay  hold  of  their  peculiar 
features,  so  as  to  produce  a  strong  burlesque. 
In  either  way.  the  effect  of  the  manner  is  ren- 
dered cheap  and  common;  and,  in  the  latter 
case,  ridiculous  to  boot.  The  evil  consequences 
to  an  author's  reputation  are  at  least  as  fatal 
as  those  which  come  upon  the  musical  com- 
poser, when  his  melody  falls  into  the  hands  of 
the  street  ballad-singer. 

Of  the  unfavourable  species  of  imitation, 
the  author's  style  gave  room  to  a  very  large 
number,  owing  to  an  appearance  of  facility  to 
which  some  of  those  who  used  the  measure 
unquestionably  leaned  too  far.  The  effect  of 
I  lie  more  favourable  imitations,  composed  by 
persons  of  talent,  was  almost  equally  unfortu- 
nate to  the  original  minstrel,  by  showing  that 
they  could  overshoot  him  with  his  own  how.  In 
short,  the  popularity  which  once  attended  the 
Srhonl,  as  it  was  called,  was  uow  fast  de- 

Besides  all  this,  to  have  kept  his  ground  at 
the  crisis  when  "  Rokeby"  appeared,  its  author 
ought  to  have  put  forth  his  utmost  strength, 
and  to  have  possessed  at  least  all  his  original 
advantages,  for  a  mighty  and  unexpected  rival 
was  advancing  on  the  stage—  a  rival  not  in 
poetical  powers  only,  but  in  that  art  of  attract- 
ing popularity,  iu  which  the  present  writer 
had  hitherto  preceded  better  men  than  hirn- 


self.  The  reader  will  easily  see  that  Byron  is 
here  meant,  who,  after  a  little  valuation  of  no 
great  promise,  now  appeared  as  a  serious  can- 
didate, in  the  "First  I  wo  Cantos  of  Childe 
Harold."  1  was  astonished  at  the  power 
evinced  liy  that  work,  which  neither  the 
"Hours  of  Idleness,"  nor  the  "  English  Bards 
and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  hud  prepared  me  to 
expect  from  its  author.  There  was  a  depth  iu 
his  thought,  an  eager  abundance  in  his  diet  ion, 
winch  argued  full  confidence  m  the  inexhausti- 
ble resources  of  which  he  felt  himself  pos- 
sessed ;  and  there  was  some  appearance  of 
that  labour  of  the  file,  which  indicates  that 
the  author  is  conscious  of  the  necessity  of 
doing  every  justice  to  his  work,  that  it  may 
pass  warrant.  Lord  Byron  was  also  a  traveller, 
a  man  whose  ideas  were  lired  by  having  seen, 
in  distant  scenes  of  difficulty  and  danger,  the 
places  whose  very  names  are  recorded  111  our 
bosoms  as  the  shrines  of  ancient  poetry.  For 
his  own  misfortune,  perhaps,  but  certainly  to 
the  high  increase  of  his  poetical  character, 
nature  had  mixed  in  Lord  Byron's  system  those 
passions  which  agitate  the  human  heart  with 
most  violence,  and  which  may  be  said  to  have 
hurried  his  bright  career  to  an  early  close. 
There  would  have  been  little  wisdom  in 
measuring  my  force  with  so  formidable  an  an- 
tagonist ;  and  1  was  as  likely  to  tire  of  playing 
the  second  fiddle  iu  the  concert,  as  my  audi- 
ence of  hearing  me.  Age  also  was  advancing. 
I  was  growing  insensible  to  those  subjects  of 
excitation  by  which  youth  is  agitated.  1  had 
around  rue  the  most  pleasant  but  least  exciting 
of  all  society,  that  of  kind  friends  and  an 
affectionate  family.  My  circle  of  employments 
was  a  narrow  one  :  it  occupied  me  constantly, 
and  it  became  daily  more  difficult  for  me  to 
interest  myself  iu  poetical  composition  : — 

"  How  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  went  by  I" 

Yet,  though  conscious  that  I  must  be,  in  the 
opinion  of  good  judges,  inferior  to  the  place  I 
had  for  four  or  five  years  held  in  letters,  and 
feeling  alike  that  the  latter  was  one  to  which 
1  had  only  a  temporary  right,  1  could  not  brook 
the  idea  of  relinquishing  literary  occupation, 
which  had  been  so  long  my  chief  diversion. 
Neither  was  I  disposed  to  choose  the  alterna- 
tive of  sinking  into  a  mere  editor  and  com- 
mentator, though  that  was  a  species  of  labour 
which  I  had  practised,  and  to  which  I  was 
attached.  But  I  could  not  endure  to  think 
that  I  might  not.  whether  known. or  concealed, 
do  something  of  more  importance.  My  inmost 
thoughts  were  those  of  the  Trojan  Captain  in 
the  galley  race, — 

Quauquam  O  1— 8«d  supereut,  quibus  hoc,  Neptune,  ileiimti ; 
Kxtremos  pudeat  rediisse:  hoc  vincile,  civen, 
El  prohibete  i,efos."--.Eii.  lib.  v.  194. 

I  had,  indeed,  some  private  reasons  for  my 
Qnanqiiam  O !"  which  were  not  worse  than 
those  of  Mnestheus.  I  have  already  hinted 
that  the  materials  were  collected  for  a  poem 
on  the  subject  of  Bruce,  and  fragments  of  it 
had  been  shown  to  some  of  my  friends,  and 
received  with  applause.  Notwithstanding, 
therefore,  the  eminent  success  of  Byron,  and 
the  great  chance  of  his  taking  the  wind  out 
of  my  sails,  there  was,  I  judged,  a  species  of 


254 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  'WORKS. 


cowardice  in  desisting  from  the  task  which  I 
had  undertaken,  and  it  was  time  enough  to 
retreat  when  the  battle  should  be  more  de- 
cidedly lost.  The  sale  of  "Rokeby."  excepting 
as  compared  with  that  of  "  The  Lady  of  the 


Luke,"  was  in  the  highest  degree  respectable ; 
and  as  it  included  tifteen  hundred  quartos,!  j,, 
those  quarto-reading  days,  the  traUu  had  no 
reasou  to  be  dissatisfied.  \V.  S. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


A  POEM  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


JOHN   B.   S.   MORRITT,  ESQ., 
THIS  POEM, 

THE  SCENE  OF  'WHICH  IS  LAID  IN  HIS  BEAUTIFUL  DEMESNE  OF  ROKEBY, 

IS  INSCRIBED,  IN  TOKEN  OF  SINCERE  FRIENDSHIP,  BY 

WALTER  SCOTT.s 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  Scene  of  this  Poem  «  biid  at  Roheby,  near  Greta  Bridge,  m  Yorkshire,  and  shifts  to  the 
adjacent  fortress  of  Barnard  Castle,  and  to  other  places  in  that  Vicimlv. 

The  Time  occupied  by  the.  Actiim  is  a  sjtace  of  Five  days.  Three  of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse, 
between  the  end  of  the  Fifth  and  beginning  of  the  Sixth  Canto. 

The  dale  of  the  supposed  events  is  immtdiatfly  subsequent  to  the  grtat  Battle  of  Marston  Moor, 
3d  July,  1644.  This  period  of  public  confusion  has  been  chosen,  without  any  purpose  of  combining 
the  Fable  with  the  Military  or  Political  Events  of  the  Civil  War,  but  only  as  affording  a  deyree  of 
probability  to  the  Fictitious  Narrative  now  presented  to  the  Public, 


Hears,  upon  turret-roof  and  wall. 
By  fits  the  plashing  ram-drop  fall, 
Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound, 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 

II. 

Those  towers,  which  in  the  changeful  gleam 
Throw  murky  shadows  on  the  stream. 
Those  towers  of  Barnard  hold  a  guest, 
The  emotion  of  whose  troubled  breast, 
In  wild  and  strange  confusion  driven, 
Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 
Ere  sleep  stern  Oswald's  senses  tied, 
Oft  had  he  changed  his  weary  side. 
Composed  his  limbs,  and  vainly  sought 
By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 
Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 
Of  feelings  true  and  fancies  vain, 
Mingling,  in  wild  disorder  cast, 
The  expected  future  wiih  the  past 
Conscience,  anticipating  time. 
Already  rues  the  enacted  crime, 
And  calls  her  furies  forth,  to  shake 
The  sounding  scourge  and  hissing  snake ; 
While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 
Bear  wimc.»s  to  his  mental  woes. 
And  show  what  lessons  may  be  read 
Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed. 


CANTO   FIRST. 


I. 

The  Moon  is  in  her  summer  slow, 
But  hoarse  and  high  the  breezes  blow, 
And,  rackine  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud ; 
On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees's  stream,* 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream. 
When  conscience,  with  remorse  and  fear, 
Gorsds  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame. 
Seems  now  fierce  anser's  darker  flame, 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go. 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow; 
Then  sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air. 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north. 


R  0  K  E  B  Y.                                          255 

in. 

And  to  the  torch  glanced  broad  and  clear 

Thus  Oswald's  labouring  feeling's  trace 
Strange  changes  in  his  sleeping  face, 
Rapid  and  ominous  as  these 

The  corslet  uf  a  cuirassier; 
Then  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew, 
And  from  the  dank  plume  dash'd  the  dew, 

With  which  the  moonbeams  tinge  the  Tees. 

From  gloves  of  mail  relieved  his  hands. 

There  might  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush, 

And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands, 

There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush, 

And,  turning  to  the  genial  board, 

\Vhile  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand, 
Seem'd  grasping  dagger-knife,  or  brand. 
Relax'd  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye. 

Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 
Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said, 
Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed  ; 
As  free  from  ceremony's  sway, 

The  pallid  cheek  and  brow,  confess'd 

As  famisli'd.  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast  ; 

Nor  paused  that  mood—  a  sudden  start 

VII. 

Impell'd  the  life-blood  from  the  heart  : 
Features  convulsed,  and  muttenngs  dread, 
Show  terror  reigns  in  sorrow's  stead. 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke, 
And  Oswald  with  a  start  awoke. 

With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer. 
And  quaff  the  full  carouse,  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 

IV. 

Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 

He  woke,  and  fear'd  again  to  close 

In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 

His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose  ; 
He  woke,  —  to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 

Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast. 

From  hour  to  hour  the  castle-bell. 

Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  last 

Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry, 
Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by. 
Or  catch,  by  fits,  the  tuneless  rhyme 

The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast, 
Almost  he  seem'd  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  his  train  withdrew. 

With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  time, 
And  envying  think,  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done, 
Couch  'd  on  his  straw,  and  fancy  free, 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

And  left  him  with  the  stranger,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A.  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

V. 

VIII. 

Far  town-  ward  sounds  a  distant  tread, 
And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed, 
Halh  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear, 
Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear. 
Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank, 
Until  it  reach'd  the  castle  bank. 
Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 
The  warder's  challenge  now  he  hears,1 
Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell. 
That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell, 
And,  in  the  castle  court  below. 
Voices  are  heard  and  torches  glow, 
As  marshalling  the  stranger's  way, 
Straight  for  the  room  where  Oswald  lay  ; 
The  cry  was,  —  '•  Tidings  from  the  host, 
Of  weight  —  a  messenger  comes  post." 
Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast, 
His  answer  Oswald  thus  express'd  — 
"  Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire  ; 
Admit  the  stranger,  and  retire." 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears, 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 
And  toil,  had  done  (he  work  of  time, 
Roughen'd  the  brow,  the  temples  bared, 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared. 
Yet  left  —  what  age  alone  could  tame  — 
The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame  ; 
The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  ourl'd. 
The  eye,  that  seem'd  to  scorn  the  world. 
That  lip  had  terror  never  blench'd  ; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  tear-drop  quench'd 
The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow. 
That  mock'd  at  pain,  and  knew  not  woe. 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm, 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow,  ' 
By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  hall, 
Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scorn  'd  them  all. 

VI. 

IX. 

The  stranger  came  with  heavy  stride, 

But  yet,  (hough  Bertram's  harden'd  look, 

The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide. 

Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 

And  the  buff-coat,  an  ample  fold. 

Still  worse  than  apathv  had  place 

Mantles  his  form's  eigantic  mould.3 

On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face  ; 

Full  slender  answer  deigned  he 

For  evil  passions,  cherish'd  long, 

To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy. 

Had  plough  'd  them  with  impressions  strong. 

But  niark'd,  by  a  disdainful  smile, 

All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 

He  saw  and  scorn'd  the  petty  wile, 

Light  folly,  past  with  youth  away, 

When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place, 

But  rooted  stood,  in  manhood's  hour. 

Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face 

The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 

Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown, 

And  yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew. 

To  show  his  looks,  yet.  hide  his  own. 

Had  it  been  tamed  when  life  was  new, 

His  guest,  the  while,  laid  low  aside 
The  ponderous  cloaK  of  lough  bull's  hide, 

Had  depth  and  vigour  to  bring  forth 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  C.               3  Ibid,  Note  D. 

256 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Not  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
Tlie  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone  ; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  homily  in  his  chasten'd  mind, 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  tci  feed, 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed, 
And.  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 

X. 

Even  now,  by  conscience  iinrestrain'd. 
Clogg'd  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stain'd, 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar. 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  lie  bore; 
For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  hard, 
Quail'd  beneath  Bertram's  hold  regard. 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train, 
To  lure  Ins  sullen  guest  to  show, 
Unask'd,  the  news  he  long'd  to  know, 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  falter'd  from  his  tongue. 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  su^st  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain, 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort, 
Roturn'd  him  answer  dark  and  short, 
Or  started  from  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange. 
And  forced  the  embarrass'd  host  to  buy, 
By  query  close,  direct  reply. 


A  while  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 

Of  Commons.  Covenant,  and  Laws, 

And  Church  Reform'd— but  felt  rebuke 

Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look, 

Then  stammer'd — "Has  a  field  been  fought! 

Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought? 

For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war. 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host. 

Until  the  field  were  won  and  lost." 

"  Here,  in  your  towers  by  circling  Tees, 

You,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  rest  at  ease  ; 

Why  deem  it  strange  that  others  come 

To  share  such  sate  and  easy  home, 

From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toil, 

Are  the  reward  of  civil  broil  ?"— 

"  Nay.  mock  not,  friend  !  since  well  we  know 

The  near  advances  of  the  foe. 

To  mar  our  uorthern  army's  work, 

Encamp'd  before  beleaguer'd  York  ; 

Thy  horse  with  valiant  Fairfax  lay. 

Anil  must  have  fought — how  went' the  day  ?"— 

XII. 

"Wouldst  hear  the  tale  ?— On  Marston  heatM 
Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death; 
Flourish'd  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now 
Fired  was  each  eye,  and  flush'd  each  brow ; 
On  either  side  loud  clamours  ring, 
'God  and  the  Cause !'—' God  and  the  King!' 
Right  English  all,  they  rush'd  tci  blows, 
With  nought  to  win.  and  all  to  lose. 
I  could  have  laugh'd— but  lack'd  the  time- 
To  see.  in  phrenesy  sublime. 
How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled, 
For  king  or  state,  as  humour  led  ; 
Some  for  a  dream  of  public  good, 
Some  for  church-tippet,  gown  and  hood, 
Draining  their  veins,  in  death  to  claim 
A  patriot's  or  a  martyr's  name. — 


1  Sec  Appendix,  Note  E. 


I*d  Bertram  RiMinrhani  the  hearts, 

That  counter'd  there  i/n  adverse  parts, 

No  superstitious  lool  had  I 

Sough'  El  Dorados  in  the  >ky  ! 

Chili  had  heard  me  through  her  states, 

And  Lima  oped  her  silver  gates, 

Kich  Mexico  1  had  march'd  through. 

And  sack'd  the  splendours  of  Peru, 

Till  sunk  Pizarro's  daring  name, 

And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame." 

"Still  from  the  purpose  wilt  thou  stray! 

Good  gentle  friend,  how  went  the  day  ?" — 

XIII. 

"  Good  am  I  deem'd  at  trumpet-sound. 
And  good  where  goblets  dance  the  round, 
Though  gentle  ne'er  was  join'd,  till  now, 
With  rugged  Bertram's  breast  and  brow.— 
But  I  presume.    The  battle's  rage 
Was  like  the  strife  which  currents  wage, 
Where  Orinoco,  in  his  pride, 
Rolls  to  the  main  no  tribute  tide, 
But  'gainst  broad  ocean  urges  far 
A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war ; 
While,  in  ten  thousand  eddies  driven. 
The  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain, 
Where  rolls  the  river,  where  the  main. 
Even  thus  upon  the  bloody  field. 
The  eddying  tides  of  conflict  wheel'd 
Ambiguous,  till  that  heart  of  flame, 
Hot  Kupert.  on  our  squadrons  came, 
Hurlimr  against  our  spears  a  line 
Of  gallants,  tiery  as  their  wine ; 
Then  ours,  !  hough  stubborn  in  their  zeal, 
In  zeal's  despite  began  to  reel. 
What  wonldsl  thou  more  ?  —  in  tumult  tost, 
Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost. 
A  thousand  men,  who  drew  the  sword 
For  both  the  Houses  and  the  Word, 
Preach'd  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down, 
To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown, 
Now,  stark  and  stiff,  lie  stre;ch'd  in  gore, 
And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitre  more. — 
Thus  fared  it,  when  I  left  the  figlit, 
W'lth  the  good  Cause  and  Commons'  right." — 

XIV. 

"Disastrous  news!"  dark  Wvcliffe  said; 

Assumed  despondence  bent  Kis  head. 

While  troubled  joy  was  in  his  eye, 

The  well-feign'd  sorrow  to  belie. — 

"  Disastrous  news ! — when  needed  most, 

Told  ye  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost  ? 

Complete  the  woful  tale,  and  say, 

Who  fell  upon  that  fatal  day; 

What  leaders  of  repute  and  name 

Bought  by  their  death  a  deathless  fame. 

If  such  my  direst  foeman's  doom. 

My  tears  shall  dew  his  honour'd  tomb. — 

No  answer?  —  Friend,  of  all  our  host, 

Thou  know'st  whom  I  should  hate  the  most, 

Whom  thou  too.  once,  wert  wont  to  hate, 

Yet  leavest  me  doubtful  of  his  fate."— 

With  look  unmoved.—"  Of  friend  or  foe. 

Aught,"  answer'd   Bertram,  " would 'st   thou 

know. 

Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain, 
A  soldier's  answer  shall  tliou  gain  ;  — 
For  question  dark,  or  riddle  high, 
I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply." 

XV. 

The  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppress'd. 
Now  blazed  at  once  in  Wycliffe's  breast ; 


ROKEBY.                                          257 

And  brave,  from  man  so  meanly  born, 

Lost  was  the  war  in  inward  strife, 

Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 

Debating  Mortham's  death  or  life. 

i  "  Wretch  !  hast  thou  paid  thy  bloody  debt  ? 

'Twas  then  I  thought,  how,  lured  to  come. 

Philip  of  Mortham,  lives  he  yet  ? 

As  partner  of  his  wealth  and  home, 

False  to  thy  patron  or  thine  oath, 

Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er, 

Trail'rous  or  perjured,  one  or  both. 

With  him  1  sought  our  native  shore. 

Slave  !  hast  thou  kept  thy  promise  plight, 

But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 

To  slay  thy  lender  in  the  fight  ?"— 

From  the  bold  heart  with  whom  he  ranged  ; 

Then  from  his  seat  the  soldier  sprung, 

Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears, 

And  Wycliffe  's  hand  he  strongly  wrung; 

Sadden'd  and  dimm'd  descending  years  ; 

His  grasp,  as  hard  as  glove  ot  mail, 
Forced  the  red  hlood-<irop  from  the  nail  — 

The  wily  priests  iheir  victim  sought. 
And  damn'd  each  free-born  deed  and  thought. 

"  A  health  !"  he  cried  ;  and.  ere  he  quaff  d, 

Then  must  I  seek  another  home, 

Flung  from  him  Wycliffu's  hand,  and  laugh'd  : 

My  license  shook  his  sober  dome  ; 

—••Now,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  speaks  thy  heart  ! 

If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 

Now  plav'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part  1 

I  revell'd  thrice  the  sum  away. 

Worthy,  'but  for  thy  craven  fear, 

An  idle  outcast  then  I  stray'd, 

Like  me  to  roam  a  bucanier. 

Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade. 

What  reck'st  thou  of  the  Cause  divine, 

Deem'd,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  lance, 

If  Mortham's  wealth  and  lands  be  thine? 

Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 

What  caresl  thou  for  beleaguer'd  York, 

The  women  fear'd  my  hardy  look. 

If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work? 

At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook  ; 

Or  what,  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 

The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame. 

Are  reddening  Marston's  swarthy  breast, 

And  lock'd  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came; 

If  Philip  Mortham  with  them  lie, 

Each  cliild  of  coward  peace  kept  far 

Lending  his  hfe-blood  to  the  dye?  — 

From  the  neglected  son  of  war. 

Sit,  then  !  and  as  'mid  comrades  free 

Carousing  after  victory, 

XVIII. 

When  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear, 

"  But  civil  discord  gave  the  call. 

That  boys  and  women  shrink  to  hear, 

And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  all. 

From  point  to  point  I  frankly  tell 

By  Mortham  urged,  I  came  again 

The  deed  of  death  as  it  befell. 

His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  tram. 

What  guerdon  waited  on  my  care? 

XVI. 

I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer  ; 

"  When  purposed  vengeance  I  forego, 
Term  me  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe  ; 

Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtaiu'd, 
And  1.  dishonour'd  and  disdain'd, 

And  when  un  insult  1  forgive, 

Gain'd  but  the  high  and  happy  lot, 

Then  brand  me  as  a  slave,  and  live  !  — 

In  these  poor  arms  to  front  tiie  shot!  — 

Philip  of  Mortham  is  with  those 

All  this  thou  know'st,  thy  gestures  tell  ; 

Whom  Bertram  Hisirigliarn  calls  foes; 

Vet  hear  it  o'er,  and  mark  it  well. 

Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends, 

'Tis  honour  bids  me  now  relate 

If  nuniber'd  with  ungrateful  friends. 

Each  circumstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

As  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glow'd, 

Along  the  marshall'd  ranks  lie  rode, 

XIX. 

And  wore  his  vizor  up  the  while. 

"  Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  that  slowly  part, 

I  saw  his  melancholy  smile, 

Glance  quick  as  lightning"  through  the  heart. 

When,  full  opposed  in  front,  he  knew 

As  my  spur  press'd  my  courser's  side, 

Where  Rokeby's  kindred  banner  flew. 

Philip  of  Mortham's  oause  was  ti  ied, 

'And  thus,'  he  said,  '  will  friends  divide  !  — 

And,  ere  the  charging  squadrons  mix'd, 

heard,  and  thought  how,  side  by  side, 

His  plea  was  cast,  his  doom  was  fix'd. 

We  two  had  turn'd  the  battle's  tide. 

I  watch'd  hi.m  through  the  doubtful  fray, 

In  many  a  well-debated  field. 

That  changed  as  March's  moody  day, 

Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield. 

Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  bank, 

I  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale, 

Fierce  Rupert  thunder'd  on  our  flank. 

Where  death  bestrides  the  evening  gale. 

'Twas  then,  midst  tumult,  smoke  and  strife. 

How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  1  threw, 

Wiiere  each  man  fought  for  death  or  life, 

And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew; 

'Twas  then  I  fired  my  petronel. 

1  thought  on  Quariana's  cliff, 

And  Mortham,  steed  and  rider,  fell. 

Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff, 

One  dying  look  he  upward  cast. 

Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  1  bore 

Of  wrath  and  anguish—  'twas  his  last. 

Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore  ; 

Think  not  that  there  1  sfopp'd,  to  view 

And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found. 

What  of  the  battle  should  ensue; 

1  suck'd  the  Indian's  venom'd  wound. 

But  ere  1  clear'd  that  bloody  pies*. 

These  thoughts  like  torrents  rush'd  along, 

Our  northern  horse  ran  masterless  ; 

To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong. 

Moncliton  and  Mitton  told  the  news, 

. 

How  troops  of  roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

XVII.                        % 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast. 

"Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent; 
Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 
When  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  vore, 

Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past, 
Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 
First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed.' 
Yet,  when  I  reach'd  the  banks  of  Swale, 

Be  near  him  in  the  battle's  roar, 

Had  rumour  learn'd  another  tale  ; 

1  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 

I  scarcely  heard  the  trumpets  blow  ; 

1  S*e  Appendix,  Note  F. 

258 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


With  his  bnrb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say. 
Stout  Cromwell  has  retleem'd  the  day  :• 
But  whether  false  the  news,  or  true, 
Oswald,  I  reck  as  light  as  yuu. " 

XX. 

Not  then  hy  Wycliffe  might  be  shown, 
How  his  pride  startled  at  the  tone 
In  which  his  'complice,  fierce  and  free, 
Asserted  eoilt's  equality. 
In  smoothest  terms  his  speech  he  wove, 
Of  endless  friendship,  faith,  and  Jove; 
Promised  and  vow'd  in  courteous  sort, 
But  Bertram  broke  professions  short. 
"  Wyeliffe.  be  sure  not  here  I  stay, 
No,  scarcely  till  the  risini  day  ; 
Warn'd  by  the  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  not  an  associate's  truth. 
I)o  not  my  native  dales  prolong 
Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 
Train'd  forward  to  his  bloody  fall, 
By  Girsonfield.  that  treacherous  Hall  ?» 
Oft,  by  the  Prmgie's  haunted  side. 
The  shepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 
Ami  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  fiismgham, 
Where  Reed  npon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodbume's  cottages  and  trees, 
Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone  ;3 
Unniateh'd  in  strength,  a  giant  he. 
With  qniver'd  back,  and  kirtled  knee. 
Ask  how  he  died,  that  hunter  bold. 
The  tameless  monarch  of  the  wold, 
And  age  and  infancy  can  tell. 
By  brother's  I  reachery  he  fell. 
Thus  warn'd  by  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  to  no  associate's  truth. 

XXI. 

"  When  last  we  reason'd  of  this  deed, 
Nought,  1  bethink  me.  was  agreed, 
Or  by  what  rule,  or  when,  or  where. 
The  wealth  of  Mortham  we  should  share ; 
Then  list,  while  1  the  portion  name. 
Our  differing  laws  give  each  to  claim. 
Thou,  vassal  sworii  to  England's  throne, 
Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own  : 
They  deal  thee.  as  to  nearest  heir. 
Thy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  f;iir, 
And  Ihese  I  yield  : — do  thou  revere 
The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier.* 
Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 
To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne, 
When  falls  a  mate  in  bailie  broil. 
His  comrade  hc.irs  his  portion 'd  spoil ; 
When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe, 
He  claims  his  wealth  who  s'ruck  the  blow  : 
And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 
Those  S|Hiils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines, 
Hoarded  in  Mort  ham's  caverns  dark ; 
Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark, 
Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne, 
And  gems  from  shriekinz  beauty  torn. 
Each  string  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war. 
I  go  to  search,  where,  dark  and  deep. 
Those  Trans-atlantic  treasures  sleep. 
Thon  must  alons — for.  lackms  thee. 
The  heir  will  scarce  find  entrance  free  ; 


And  then  farewell.     I  haste  to  try 
Each  varied  pleasure  wealth  can  buy  : 
When  cloyed  each  wish,  these  wars  afford 
Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword." 

XXII. 

An  undecided  answer  hung 
On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 
Despite  his  craft,  he  heard  with  awe 
This  ruffian  slabber  fii  the  law  ; 
While  his  own  troubled  passions  veer 
Through  hatred,  joy.  regret,  and  fear : — 
Joy'd  at  the  soul  that  Bertram  flies. 
He  grudged  the  murderer's  mighty  prize, 
Hated  his  pride's  presumptuous  tone, 
And  fear'd  to  wend  with  him  alone. 
At  length,  that  middle  course  to  steer. 
To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear, 
"  His  charge,"  he  said,  "  would  ill  allow 
His  absence  from  the  fortress  now  ; 
Wilfrid  on  Bertram  should  attend, 
His  son  should  journey  with  his  frieisd." 

xxni. 

Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anser  down, 

And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 

"  Wilfrid,  or  thoa— tis  one  to  me, 

Whichever  bears  the  golden  key. 

Yet  think  not  hut  I  mark,  and  smile 

To  mark,  thy  poor  and  selfish  wile ! 

If  injury  from  me  you  fear. 

What,  Oswald  Wyeliffe,  shields  thee  here  ? 

I've  sprung  from  walls  more  hish  than  these, 

I've  swam  through  deeper  streams  than  Tees. 

Miaht  I  not  stab  thee,  ere  one  yell 

Could  rouse  the  distant  sentinel  1 

Start  not— it  is  not  my  design. 

But.  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine : 

And,  trust  me.  that,  in  time  of  need, 

This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed, 

Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  sou ; 

Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone. 

XXIV. 

Nought  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 
Polluted  Wilfrid's  eentle  heart ; 
A  heart  too  soft  from  early  life 
To  hold  with  fortune  needful  strife. 
His  sire,  while  yet  a  hardier  race 
Ot  numerous  sons  were  Wycliffe's  grace, 
On  Wilfred  set  contemptuous  brand, 
For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand ; 
But  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 
Were  centred  in  her  sickly  boy. 
No  touch  of  childhood's  frolic  mood 
Show'd  the  elastic  spring  of  blood ; 
Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore. 
But  tnrn'd  from  martial  scenes  and  light, 
From  £alstaffs  feast  and  Percy's  fight, 
To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain. 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain : 
And  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 


In  youth  lie  sought  not  pleasures  found 
By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound, 
i  Bin  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 
By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake ; 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 


id.  Hole  II. 


3  See  Appendix.  Note  I. 


R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


259 


It   Deepdale's  solitude  to  lie. 
Where  all  is  cliff  and  copse  and  sky; 
To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak, 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek. 
Such  was  his  wont ;  and  there  his  dream 
Soar'd  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme, 
Of  faithful  love,  or  ceaseless  spring, 
Till  Contemplation's  weaned  wing 
The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain, 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

XXVI. 

He  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  tell. 
Preserved  in  Stamnore's  lonely  dell; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 
He  loved— his  soul  did  nature  frame 
For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame ; 
Vainly  he  loved — for  seldom  swam 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again ; 
Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 
Was  passion,  friendship  in  his  phrase. 
So  mused  his  life  away— till  died 
His  brethren  all,  their" father's  pride. 
Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 
Of  all  his  stratagems  and  care, 
And  destined,  darkling,  to  pursue 
Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  clue. 

XXVII. 

Wilfrid  must  love  and  woo  the  bright 
Matilda,  heir  of  Rokeby's  knight. 
To  love  her  was  an  easy  best. 
The  secret  empress  of  his  breast; 
To  woo  her  was  a  harder  task 
To  one  that  durst  not  hope  or  ask. 
Yet  all  Matilda  could,  she  gave 
In  pity  to  her  gentle  slave ; 
Friendship,  esteem,  and  fair  regard. 
And  praise,  the  poet's  best  reward  ! 
Site  read  the  tales  his  taste  approved, 
And  sung  the  lays  he  framed  or  loved; 
Yet.  loth  to  nurse  the  fatal  (lame 
Of  hopeless  love  in  friendship's  name, 
In  kind  caprice  she  oft  withdrew 
The  favouring  glance  to  friendship  due, 
Then  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain, 
And  gave  the  dangerous  smiles  again. 

XXV1I1. 

So  did  the  suit  of  Wilfrid  stand. 
When  war's  loud  summons  waked  the  land. 
Three  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Tees, 
The  wo-forebciilin?  peasant  sees; 
In  concert  oft  they  braved  of  old 
The  bordering  Scot's  incursion  bold; 
Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride. 
Their  vassals  now  and  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  hall  on  Greta  banks, 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks, 
To  aid  the  valiant  northern  Earls, 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles. 
Mortham.  by  marriage  near  allied, — 
His  sister  had  been  Kokuby's  biide, 
Though  long  before  the  civil  fray, 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay.— 
Philip  uf  Marl  ham  raised  his'band. 
And  march'd  at  Fairfax's  command  ; 
While  Wycliffe,  bound  by  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane 
Less  prompt  to  brave  the  bloody  field. 
Made  Barnard's  battlemenls  Ins  shield. 
Secured  them  with  his  Lunedale  powers, 
And  for  the  Commons  held  the  towers. 


XXIX. 


The  lovely  heir  of  Rokeby's  Knisht 

Waits  in  his  hulls  the  event  of  fight; 

For  England's  war  revered  the  claim 

Of  every  unprotected  name, 

And  spared,  amid  its  fiercest  rage. 

Childhood  and  womanhood  and  age. 

But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokeby's  foe, 

Must  the  dear  privilege  forego. 

By  Greta's  side,  in  evening  grey, 

To  steal  upon  Mali  Ida's  way, 

Striving,  with  fond  hypocrisy, 

For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye ; 

Camiingeach  anxious  look  and  glance, 

To  give  the  meeting  allto  chance, 

Or  framing,  as  a  fair  excuse, 

The  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  mase : 

Something  to  Kive,  to  sing,  to  say. 

Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 

Then,  while  the  !ong'd-for  minutes  last, — 

Ah  !  minutes  quickly  over-past ! — 

Recording  eacli  expression  free, 

Of  kind  or  cureless  courtesy, 

Each  friendly  look,  each  softer  tone, 

As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 

All  this  is  o'er— but  still.  Unseen, 

Wilfred  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green, 

To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round, 

While  springs  Ins  heart  at  every  sound. 

She  comes! — 'tis  but  a  passing  sight, 

Yet  serves  to  cheat,  his  weary  inghl  ; 

She  comes  not— He  will  wait  the  hour, 

When  her  lamp  lightens  in  the  tower; 

'Tis  something  yet.  if,  as  she  past, 

Her  shade  is  o'er  tlie  lattice  cast. 

"  What  is  my  life,  my  hope  <"  lie  said  ; 

"  Alas !  a  transitory  shade  " 

XXX. 

Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love, 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present,  woe  and  ills  to  come, 
While  still  he  turn'd  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued. 
In  all  but  this,  unmoved  he  view'd 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good  : 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  nnil  mild. 
Was  Fancy's  spoil'd  and  wayward  child; 
In  her  bright  car  she  bade  him  ride. 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side, 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat. 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat, 
Bathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread, 
For  him  her  opiates  awe  to  flow. 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 
From  every  stern  reality. 
Till,  to  the  Visionary,  seem 
Her  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXI. 

Woe  to  the  youth  whom  Fancy  gains. 
Winning  from  Reason's  hand  the  reins, 
Pity  and  woe  !  !«r  such  ..  jimd 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind; 
And  woe  to  those  who  train  such-youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengthen  and  anneal. 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  fcteel ! 


260                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

O  teach  him.  while  your  lessons  last, 

Or  sleeping  on  their  mossy  cell. 

To  judge  the  present  by  the  past  ; 

Or  quivering  on  the  lattice  bright, 

Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued, 

Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  rich  it  glow'd  with  promised  good  ; 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night! 

Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoy'il. 

How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloy'd! 

XXXIV. 

Tell  him,  we  play  unequal  game, 

He  starts  —  a.  step  at  this  lone  hour  ! 

Whene'er  we  shoot  by  Fancy's  aim  ; 

A  voice  !  —  his  father  seeks  the  tower, 

And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race. 

With  haggard  look  and  troubled  sense, 

Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase. 

Fresh  from  his  deadful  conference. 

Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set. 

"  Wilfrid  !  —  what,  not  to  sleep  address'dt 

Cold  Disappointment  and  Regret; 

Thon  hast  no  cares  to  chase  thy  rest. 

One  disenchants  the  winner's  eyes, 

Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston-moor; 

And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize. 

Bertram  brings  warrant  to  secure 

While  one  augments  its  gaudy  show, 

His  treasures,  bought  by  spoil  and  blood, 

More  to  enhance  the  loser's  woe. 

For  the  Slate's  use  and  public  good. 

The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold. 

'['he  menials  will  thy  voice  obey  ; 

Translbrm'd.  when  won,  to  drossy  mold, 

Let  his  commission  have  its  way, 

But  still  the  vanqnish'd  mourns  his  loss, 

In  every  point,  in  every  word."  — 

And  rues,  as  gold,  that  glittering  dross. 

Then,  in  a  whisper,  —  "Take  thy  sword  ! 

Bertram  is  —  what  I  must  not  tell. 

XXXII. 

I  hear  his  hasty  step—  farewell  !" 

Afore  wouldst  thou  know  —  yon  tower  survey, 

Yon  couch  nnpress'd  since  parting  day, 

Yon  nntrimm'd  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 

*SX^^VS^V/N/N^^~V**XW~ 

Is  mingling  with  the  cold  moonbeam, 

And  yon  thin  form  !—  the  hectic  red 

9"*        fe       fltl 

On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread  ; 

iiOKtuP. 

The  head  reclined,  the  loosen'd  hair, 

The  limbs  relax'd,  the  mournful  air.  — 

~~  ~~~" 

See,  he  looks  up  ;—  a  woful  smile 

C  AUTO    SECOND. 

Lightens  his  wo  worn  cheek  a  while,  — 

^^~™~ 

'Tis  Fancy  wakes  some  idle  thought, 

I. 

To  gild  the  ruin  she  has  wrought; 
For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes. 
Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 
And  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain. 
She  drinks  his  life-blood  from  the  vein. 
Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes, 

Far  in  the  chambers  of  the  west, 
The  gale  had  sigh'd  itself  to  rest  : 
The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear, 
But  pale,  and  soon  to  disappear. 
The  thin  grey  clouds  wax  dimly  light 
On  Brusleton  and  Houghton  height  ; 

The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast. 
Still  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast  ; 
Another  hour  must  wear  away, 
Ere  the  East  kindle  into  day. 
And  hark  !  to  waste  that  weary  hour, 
He  tries  the  minstrel's  magic  power. 

And  the  rich  dale,  that  eastward  lay, 
Waited  the  wakening  touch  of  day, 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain, 
And  towers  and  spires,  to  light  again. 
But.  westward,  .Sianmore's  shapeless  swell, 
And  Lunedale  wild,  and  Kelton-fell, 
And  rock-begirdled  Gilmanscar, 

X  YX1II 

And  Arkingarth.  lay  dark  afar: 

While,  as  a  livelier  twilight  falls. 

SON  O. 

Emerge  proud  Barnard's  banner'd  walls. 

High  crown'd  he  sits,  in  dawning  pale, 

TO  THE  MOON. 

The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 

Hail  to  thv  cold  and  clouded  beam. 

Pale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky  ! 

II. 

Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 

What  prospects,  from  his  watch-tower  high, 

Lend  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye  ! 

Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye  !  — 

How  should  thy  pure  and  peaceful  eye 

Far  sweeping  to  the  east,  he  sees 

Untroubled  view  our  scenes  below, 

Down  his  deep  woods  the  course  of  Tees,' 

Or  how  a  tearless  beam  supply 

And  tracks  his  wanderings  by  the  steam 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  woe  ! 

Of  summer  vapours  from  the  stream  ; 

And  ere  he  paced  bis  destined  hour 

Fair  Queen  !  I  will  not  blame  thee  now, 

By  Brackenbury's  dungeon-tower. 

As  once  by  Greta's  fairy  side  ; 

These  silver  mists  shall  melt  away. 

Each  little  cloud  that  dimm'd  thy  brow 

And  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 

Did  then  an  angel's  beauty  hide. 

Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  shown 

And  of  the  shades  I  then  could  chitle. 

That  mighty  trench  of  living  stone. 

Still  are  the  thoughts  to  memory  dear. 

And  each  huge  trunk  that,  from  the  side. 

For.  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried. 

Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide. 

They  hid  my  blush,  and  calm'd  my  fear. 

Where  Tees,  full  many  n  fathom  low. 

Wears  with  his  rage  no  common  foe; 

Then  did  I  swear  thy  ray  serene 

For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 

VV;,s  form'd  !<•  light  some  lonely  dell, 

Nor  clay-mound,  checks  his  fierce  career, 

Reflected  from  the  crystal  well, 

1  Sue  Appendix,  Note  L. 

ROKEBY. 


261 


Condemn'd  to  mine  a  channeled  way, 
O'er  solid  sheets  of  marble  grey. 


Nor  Tees  alone,  in  dawning  bright, 

Shall  rush  upon  the  ravish'd  sight ; 

But  many  a  tributary  stream 

Each  from  its  own  dark  dell  shall  gleam : 

Staindrop,  who,  from  her  silvan  bowers, 

Salutes  proud  Ruby's  battled  towers; 

The  rural  brook  of  Kgliston. 

And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son  ; 

And  Greta,  to  whose  hanks  ere  long 

We  lead  the  lovers  of  the  sons; 

And  silver  Lune,  from  Stanmore  wild, 

And  fairy  Thorsgill's  murmuring  child, 

And  last  and  least,  hut  loveliest  still, 

Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 

Who  in  that  dim-wood  glen  hath  stray'd, 

Yet  long'd  for  Roslin's  magic  glade? 

Who,  wandering  there,  hath  sought  to  change 

Even  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange, 

Where  Cartland's  Crags,  fantastic  rent. 

Through  her  green  copse  like  spires  are  sent  7 

Yet,  Albin,  yet  the  praise  he  thine, 

Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine ! 

Thou  bid'st  him,  who  by  Roslin  strays, 

List  to  the  deeds  of  other  davs ;  ' 

'Mid  Cartland's  Crags  thou  show'st  the  cave, 

The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave;2 

Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 

Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale. 

Knitting,  as  wilh  a  moral  band. 

Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land, 

To  lend  each  sense  the  interest  high 

Which  genius  beams  from  Beauty's  eye. 

IV. 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Which  sun  rise  shows  from  Barnard's  height, 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day, 

With  Wilfrid  took  his  early  way. 

While  misty  dawn,  and  moonbeam  pale, 

Still  mingled  in  the  silent  dale. 

By  Barnard's  bridge  of  stately  stone. 

The  southern  hank  of  Tees  they  won ; 

Their  winding  path  then  eastward  cast. 

And  Egliston's  grey  rums  pass'd  ;3 

Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent, 

Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 

Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood, 

To  Wilfrid  savage  seem'd  and  rude; 

Well  may  vou  think  bold  Risingham 

Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame  ; 

And  small  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 

Such  uncongenial  souls  between. 

V. 

Stern  Bertram  shunn'd  the  nearer  way, 
Throueh  Rokeby's  park  and  chase  that  lay, 
And.  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge. 
They  cross'd  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge; 
Descending  where  her  waters  wind 
Free  for  a  space  and  unconfinfd. 
As.  '.scaped  from  Brignall's  dark-wood  glen, 
She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 
There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o'er  the  mound. 
Raised  by  that  Legion  *  long  renown'd, 

1  See  Note*  to  the  «ong  of  Fair  Ronabelle,  in  the  Lay  of 
the  I, ant  Minstrel 

3  Cartland  Craga,  near  Lanark,  celebrated  as  among  the 
favourite  retreats  of  Sir  William  Wallace. 


Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim. 
Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame. 
"Stern  sons  of  war!"  sad  Wilfrid  sigh'd, 
"  Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride ! 
What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known? 
A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone  !" — 
This  to  himself;  for  moral  strain 
To  Bertram  were  address'd  ill  vain. 

VI. 

Of  different  mood,  n  deeper  sigh 
Awoke,  when  Rokehy's  turrets  high  * 
Were  northward  in  the  dawning  seen 
To  rear  them  o'er  the  thicket  green. 
0  then,  though  Spenser's  self  had  stray'd 
Beside  him  through  the  lovely  glade, 
Lending  his  rich  luxuriant  glow 
Of  fancy,  all  its  charms  to  show. 
Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free, 
As  captive  set  at  liberty. 
Flashing  her  sparkling  waves  abroad, 
And  clamouring  joyful  on  her  road  ; 
Pointing  where,  up  the  sunny  banks, 
The  trees  retire  in  scatter'd  ranks, 
Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest. 
On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest, 
Lmiely  and  huge,  the  giant  Oak, 
As  champions,  when  their  hand  is  broke, 
Stand  forth  to  guard  the  rearward  post, 
The  bulwark  of  the  scatter'd  host — 
All  this,  and  more,  might  Spenser  say, 
Yet  waste  in  vain  his  magic  lay, 
While  Wilfrid  eyed  the  distant,  tower. 
Whose  lattice  lights  Matilda's  bower. 


The  open  vale  is  soon  passed  o'er, 

Rokeby,  though  nigh,  is  seen  no  more ; 

Sinking  'mid  Greta's  thickets  deep. 

A  wild  and  darker  course  they  keep, 

A  stern  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road, 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  Minstrel  trode  !  • 

Broad  shadows  o'er  their  passage  fell, 

Deeper  and  narrower  grew  the  dell ; 

It  seem'd  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 

A  channel  for  the  stream  had  given, 

So  high  the  cliffs  of  limestone  grey 

Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 

Yielding,  along  their  rugged  base, 

A  flinty  footpath's  niggard  space, 

Where  he,  who  winds  'twixl  rock  and  wave, 

May  hear  the  headlong  torrent  rave, 

And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit. 

That  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit, 

May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spray, 

O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  way. 

Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride. 

Thick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride 

That  down  life's  current  drive  amain, 

As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain  1 

VIII. 

The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 
High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed, 
Were  now  all  naked,  wild,  and  grey, 
Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray  ; 
Here  trees  to  every  crevice  clung, 
And  o'er  the  dell  their  branches'hung; 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 
R  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 


262 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  there,  all  splinter'd  and  uneven, 

The  shiver'U  rocks  ascend  to  heaven  ; 

Oft,  too.  tlie  ivy  swafh'd  their  breast, 

And  wreathed  its  garland  round  tlieir  crest, 

Or  from  the  spires  hade  loosely  flare 

Its  tendrils  in  the  middle  air. 

As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old 

O'er  tlie  high  feast  of  Baron  hold. 

When  revell'd  loud  the  feudal  rout, 

And  the  arc.li'd  halls  return'd  their  shout; 

Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  roar, 

And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shore. 

And  so  the  ivied  banners  gleam. 

Waved  wildly  o'er  tlie  brawling  stream. 

IX. 

Now  from  the  stream  the  rocks  recede, 
But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead, 
No.  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand. 
Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  strand; 
Forming  such  warm  and  dry  retreat, 
As  fancy  de-ems  the  lonely  seat. 
Where  hermit,  wandering  from  his  cell, 
His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 
But  here,  'twixt  rook  and  river,  grew 
A  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew. 
With  whose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 
The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green. 
Seem'd  that  the  trees  their  shadows  cast, 
The  earth  that  nourish 'd them  to  blast; 
For  never  knew  that  swarthy  grove 
The  verdant  hue  that  fairies  love: 
Nor  wilding  green,  nor  woodland  flower, 
Arose  within  its  baleful  bower : 
The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives 
Its  only  carpet  from  the  leaves. 
That,  from  the  withering  branches  cast, 
Bestrew'd  the  ground  with  every  blast. 
Though  now  the  sun  was  o'er  the  hill, 
In  this  dark  spot  'twas  twilight  still, 
Save  that  on  Greta's  farther  side 
Some  straggling  beams   through  copsewood 

glide : 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 
That  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade, 
With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day. 
Which,  glimmering  through  the  ivy  spray, 
On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 

X. 

The  lated  peasant  shnnn'd  the  dell ; 

For  Superstition  wont  to  tell 

Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sight, 

Scaring  its  path  tit  dead  of  night. 

When  Christmas  loss  blaze  high  and  wide, 

Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide  ; 

While  Curiosity  and  Fear, 

Pleasure  and  Pain,  sit  crouching  near, 

Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  glows, 

And  village  maidens  lose  the  rose. 

The  thrilling  interest  rises  higher, 

The  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  behind, 

As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 

Believe,  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 

For  such  wild  tales  in  Mortham  glade; 

For  who  had  seen,  on  Greta's  side. 

By  that  dim  light  fierce  Bertram  stride, 

In  such  a  spot,  at  such  an  hour. — 

If  touch'd  by  Superstition's  power, — 

Might  well  have  deem'd  lliat  Hell  had  given 

A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  Heaven, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  Q,  !!  (old.  Note  R. 


While  Wilfrid's  form  had  seem'd  to  glide 
Like  his  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XI. 

Nor  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthly  terrors  known  ; 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
Is  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind  : 
Hearts  firm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith,  and  love,  and  pity  harr'd, 
Have  quaked,  like  aspen  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  universal  sway. 
Bertram  had  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale. 
That  in  his  secret  soul  re'ain'd 
The  credence  they  in  childhood  gain'd  : 
Nor  less  his  wild  adventurous  youth 
Believed  in  every  legend's  truth  ; 
I.earn'd  when,  beneath  the  tropic  gale, 
Full  swell'd  the  vessel's  steady  sail. 
And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Pour'd  on  the  watch  of  middle  night, 
When  seamen  love  to  hear  and  tell 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  s|>e!l : 
What  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore, 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar,* 
Of  witch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite, 
Of  Brick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light : " 
Or  of  that  Phantom  Ship,  whose  form 
Shoots  like  a  meteor  through  the  storm  ; 
When  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard, 
And  lower'd  is  every  topsail-yard, 
And  canvass,  wove  in  earthly  looms. 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presumes! 
Then,  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky, 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high. 
Full  spreacl  and  crowded  every  sail, 
The  Demon  Frigate  braves  the  gale ;  * 
And  well  the  doom'd  spectators  know 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  woe. 

XII. 

Then,  too,  were  told,  in  stifled  tone, 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own  ; 
How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,* 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  their  cruelty, 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood. 
Strange  nightly  sounds  of  woe  and  fear 
Appall'd  the  listening  Bucanier, 
Whose  light-arm'd  shallop  anchor'd  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain, 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  cane ; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare, 
Who  wearies  memory  for  a  prayer. 
Curses  the  road-stead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  lifts  the  sail. 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 

XIII. 

Thus,  as  a  man.  a  youth,  a  child. 
Train'd  in  the  mystic  and  the  wild. 
With  this  on  Bertram's  soul  at  times 
Rusli'd  a  dark  feeling  of  his  crimes; 
Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  form, 
As  the  pale  Death-ship  to  the  storm. 
And  suoh  their  omen  dim  and  dread, 
As  shrieks  and  voices  of  the  dead, — 
That  pang,  whose  transitory  force 
Hover'd  'twixt  horror  and  remorse ; 

3  See  Appendix,  Nole  8. 


R  0  K  E  B  Y.                                            263 

That  pang,  perchance,  his  bosom  press'd, 

By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attain'd 

As  Wilfrid  sudJen  he  address'd  :  — 

The  height  that  Risingham  had  gain'd, 

••  Wilfrid,  this  ule.n  is  never  troile 

And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood, 

liniil  the  sun  rides  high  abroad  ; 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.  > 

Vet  twice  have  1  beheld  to-day 

'Twas  a  fair  scene  !  the  sunbeam  lay 

A  Form,  that  seem'd  to  dog  our  way  ; 

On  battled  tower  and  portal  grey  : 

Twice  from  rny  glance  if  seem'd  to  flee, 

And  from  the  grassy  slope  be  sees 

And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree. 

The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees  ; 

How  think'st  thou  !—  Is  our  path  way-laid? 

Where,  issuing  from  her  darksome  bed, 

Or  hath  thy  sire  my  trust  betray  'd  ? 

She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 

If  so"  Ere.  starting  from  bis  dream, 

And  through  the  softening  vale  below 

That  turn'd  upon  a  gentler  theme. 

Roll'd  her  bright  waves,  in  rosy  glow, 

Wilfred  had  roused  him  to  reply. 

All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed, 

Bertram  sprung  forward,  shouting  high, 

Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred  : 

'•  Whate'er  thou  art,  thou  now  shalt  stand  !"  — 

While  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay, 

And  forth  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 

Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

XIV. 

XVII. 

As  hursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath. 

'Twas  sweetly  sung  that  roundelay  ; 

He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path; 

That  summer  morn  shone  blithe  and  gay; 

Kock.  wood,  and  stream,  rang  wildly  out, 

But  morning  beam,  and  wild-bird's  call. 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout. 

Awaked  not  Mortharn's  silent  hall. 

Scenes  that  ttie  object  of  his  race 

No  porter,  by  the  low-brow'd  gate. 

Hath  scaled  the  cliffs  :  his  fran'ic  chase 

Took  in  the  wonted  niche  his  seat  ; 

Sidelong  he  turns.  ;md  now  'tis  bent 

To  the  paved  court  no  peasant  drew; 

KUht  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement; 

Waked  to  their  toil  no  menial  crew  ; 

Straining  each  smew  to  ascend, 

The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heard, 

Foot.  hand,  and  knee,  their  aid  must  lend. 

As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared  : 

Wilfred,  all  dizzy  with  dismay; 

In  the  void  offices  around, 

Views  from  beneath,  his  dreadful  way: 

Rung  not  a  hoof,  nor  bay'd  a  hound  ; 

Now  to  the  oak's  warp'd  roots  he  clings, 

Nor  eager  steed,  with  shrilling  neigh, 

Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings; 

Accused  the  lagging  groom's  delay  ; 

.Now.  like  the  wild-goat,  must  he  dare 

Untrimm'd,  undress'd,  neglected  now, 

An  unsupported  leap  in  air; 

Was  alley  'd  walk  and  orchard  bough  ; 

Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now. 

All  spoke  the  master's  absent  care, 

You  mark  him  by  "the  crashing  bough, 

All  spoke  neglect  and  disrepair. 

And  by  his  corslet's  sullen  clank. 

South  of  the  gate,  an  arrow  flight, 

And  by  the  stones  spurn  'd  from  the  bank. 

Two  mighty  elms  their  limbs  unite, 

And  by  the  hawk  scared  from  her  nest, 

As  if  a  canopy  to  spread 

And  ravens  croaking  o'er  their  guest, 

O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead  ; 

Who  deem  his  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 

For  their  huge  boughs  in  arches  bent 

The  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

Above  a  massive  monument, 

Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise. 

XV. 

With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device: 

See,  he  emerges!—  desperate  now 

There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 

All  farther  course  —  Yon  beetling  brow, 

Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

In  craggy  nakedness  sublime, 

What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb? 

XVIII. 

It  bears  no  tendril  for  his  clasp, 

'•  It  vanish'd,  like  a  flitting  ghost  ! 

Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp  : 

Behind  this  tomb,"  he  said,  ••  twas  lost  — 

Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon, 
Is  yon  earth-  bedded  jetting  stone. 

This  tomb,  where  oft  I  deem'd  lies  stored 
Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth  the  hoard. 

Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop, 

'Tis  true,  the  aged  servants  said 

He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 

Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid  ; 

J  ust  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 

But  weightier  reasons  may  be  guess'd 

By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes  ! 

For  their  lord's  strict  and  stern  behest, 

Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends, 

That  none  should  on  his  steps  intrude, 

It  sways,  ...  it  loosens,  ...  it  descends  ! 

Whene'er  he  sought  this  solitude. 

And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way. 

An  ancient  mariner  I  knew. 

Crashing  o'er  rock  and  copsewood  spray. 

What  time  I  sail'd  with  Morgan's  crew, 

Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell  !  — 

Who  oft,  "mid  our  carousals,  spake 

Fell  it  alone  ?—  alone  it  fell. 

Of  Raleigh,  Frobisher,  and  Drake  ; 

Just  on  the  verv  verge  of  fate, 

Adventurous  hearts  !  who  barter'd,  bold, 

The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 

Their  English  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 

He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands, 

Trust  not,  would  his  experience  say, 

And  on  the  top  unharm'd  he  stands  !  — 

Captain  or  comrade  with  your  prey  ; 

But  seek  some  charnel,  when,  at  full, 

Xvl. 

The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull  : 

Wilfrid  a  safer  path  pursued  ; 

There  dig.  and  tomb  your  precious  heap  ; 

At  intervals  where,  roughly  hew'd. 

And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep  ;? 

Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  dell 

Sure  stewards  they,  if  fitting  spell 

Render'cl  the  cliffs  accessible. 

Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 

t  See  Appendix,  Hole  U. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

264                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Lacks  there  such  charnel  ?  —  kill  a  slave, 

A  warlike  form,  that  mark'd  the  scene, 

Or  prisoner,  on  the  treasure-grave; 

Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between, 

And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 

Parries  the  fast-descending  blow. 

Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonelv  post.  — 

And  steps  'twixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe; 

Such  was  his  tale.     Its  truth,  I  ween, 

Nor  then  unscabbarded  his  brand, 

Is  in  my  morning  vision  seen."— 

But.  sternly  pointing  with  his  hand. 

With  monarch's  voice  forbade  the  fight. 

XIX. 

And  rnotion'd  Bertram  from  his  sight. 

Wilfrid,  who  scorn'd  the  legend  wild, 

"  Go,  and  repent."  —  he  said,  "  while  time 

In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled, 

Is  given  thee  ;  add  not  crime  to  crime." 

Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 

In  such  fond  tale  belief  should  hold  ; 

XXII. 

But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 
The  apparition's  form  and  show.  — 
The  power  within  the  guilty  breast. 
Oft  vanquish'd.  never  quite  suppress  'd, 
That  unsubdued  nnd  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 
And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 
In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell,  —  ' 
That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke  ; 
Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke  : 
"  'Twas  Mortham's  form,  from  foot  to  head  ! 
His  morion,  with  the  plume  of  red. 
His  shape,  his  mien  —  'twas  Mortliam,  right 
As  when  I  slew  him  in  the  fight."  — 
"Thou  slay  him  ?  —  lliou  I"  —  With  conscious 
start 

Mute,  and  uncertain,  and  amazed, 
As  on  a  vision  Bertram  gazed  ! 
"1'was  Mortham's  bearing,  bold  and  high, 
His  sinewy  frame,  his  falcon  eye. 
His  look  and  accent  of  command, 
The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand. 
His  stately  form,  spare-built  and  tall. 
His  war-bleach'd  locks—  'twas  Mortliam  all. 
Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career 
A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear; 
His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
But  more  he  fear'd  it.  if  it  si  ood 
His  lord,  in  living  flesh  and  blood  — 
What  spectre  can  the  charnel  send. 

He  heard,  then  mann'd  his  haughty  heart  — 
"  I  slew  him  ?  —  1  !  —  I  had  forgot 
Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot. 
But  it  is  spoken—  nor  will  I 
Deed  done,  or  spoken  word.  deny. 
I  slew  him  ;  I  !  for  thankless  pride  ; 
Twas  by  this  hand  that  Mortliam  died  !" 

So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend  7 
Then,  too,  the  habit  of  command. 
Used  by  the  leader  of  the  band, 
When  Risingham.  for  many  a  day, 
Had  march'd  and  fought  lienealh  his  sway, 
Tamed  him  —  and,  with  reverted  face, 
Backwards  he  bore  Ins  sullen  pace; 
Oft  stopp'd,  and  oft  on  Mori  ham  stared, 

XX. 

And  dark  as  rated  mastiff  glared  ; 

Wilfrid,  of  gentle  hand  and  heart, 
Averse  to  every  active  part, 
But  most  averse  to  martial  broil. 
From  danger  shrunk,  and  turn'd  from  toil; 
Yet  the  meek  lover  of  the  lyre 
Nursed  one  brave  spark  of  noble  fire; 

But  when  the  trair.p  of  steeds  was  heard, 
Plunged  in  the  glen,  and  disappear'd  ;  — 
Nor  longer  there  the  Warrior  stood. 
Retinue  eastward  through  the  wood  ; 
But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 
"Tell  thou  to  none  that  Morlham  lives." 

Against  injustice,  fraud,  or  wrong. 

His  blood  beat  high,  his  hand  wax'd  strong. 

XXI1L 

Not  bis  the  nerres  that  could  sustain, 
Unshaken,  danger,  toil,  and  pain  ; 
But,  when  that  spark  blazed  forth  to  flame, 

Still  rung  these  words  in  VVilfrid's  ear, 
Hinting  lie  knew  not  what  of  fear  ; 
When  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 

He  rose  superior  to  his  frame. 
And  now  it  came,  that  generous  mood  : 
And.  in  full  current  of  his  blood, 
On  Bertram  he  laid  desperate  hand, 
Placed  firm  his  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 
"Should  every  fiend,  to  whom  thou'rt  sold, 
Rise  in  thine  aid,  1  keep  my  hold.  — 
Arouse  there,  ho  I  take  spear  and  sword  ! 
Attach  the  murderer  of  your  Lord  !" 

And,  with  his  father  at  their  head. 
Of  horsemen  arm'd  a  gallant  power 
Rein'd  up  their  steeds  before  the  tower. 
"  Whence  these  pale  looks,  my  son  ?"  he  said  : 
"  Where's  Bertram  ?  —  Why  that  naked  blade?" 
Wilfrid  ambiguously  replied, 
(For  Mortham's  charge  his  honour  tied,) 
"Bertram  is  gone  —  the  villain's  word 
Avouch'd  him  murderer  of  his  lord  ! 

XXI 

Even  now  we  fought—  but,  when  your  tread 

Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled." 

A  moment,  fix'd  as  by  a  spell, 

In  Wvcliffe's  conscious  eye  appear 

Stood  Bertram  —  It  seem'd  miracle. 

A  guilty  hope,  a  guilty  fear  ; 

That  one  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame, 

On  his  pale  brow  the  dewdrop  broke, 

Set  grasp  on  warlike  Risingham. 

And  his  lip  quiver'd  as  he  spoke  :  — 

But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke, 

The  fiend  within  the  ruffian  woke  ! 

XXIV. 

To  wrench  the  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 
To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand, 

"  A  murderer  !  —  Philip  Mortham  died 
Amid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 

Was  but  one  moment's  work.  —  one  more 
Had  drench'd  the  blade  in  Wilfrid's  gore  ; 
But,  in  the  instant  it  arose, 
To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 

Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves,  or  you! 
Yet,  grant  such  strange  confession  true, 
Pursuit  were  vain  —  let  him  fly  far  — 
Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried  ; 

R  0  K  E  B  Y.                                          265 

That  morn,  an  embassy  of  weight 

All  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride, 

He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle  gate, 

Like  objects  on  a  stormy  tide. 

And  fullow'd  now  in  Wycliffe's  train, 

Seen  eddying  by  the  moonlight  dim, 

An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 

Imperfectly  to  sink  and  swim. 

His  steed,  whose  arch'd  and  sable  neck 

What  'vail'd  it,  that  the  fair  domain, 

An  hundred  wreaths  of  foam  bedeck, 

Its  battled  mansion,  hill,  and  plain, 

Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 

On  which  the  sun  so  brightly  shone, 

Than  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply; 

Envied  so  long,  was  now  his"  own  ? 

He  bit  his  lip,  implored  his  saint. 

The  lowest  dungeon,  in  that  hour, 

(His  the  old  faith)—  then  burst  restraint. 

Of  Brackenbury's  dismal  tower,  ' 
Had  been  his  choice,  could  such  a  doom 

XXV. 

Have  open'd  Mortham's  bloody  tomb  1 

"  Yes  !  T  beheld  his  bloody  fall. 
By  that  base  traitor's  dastard  hall. 
Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword, 
Presumptuous  hope  !  with  Mortham's  lord. 
And  shall  the  murderer  'scape,  who  slew 
His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true? 
Escape,  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 
The  marks  of  his  gigantic  pace  ? 

Forced,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 
To  each  surmise  of  hope  or  fear, 
Murmur'd  among  the  rustics  round, 
Who  gather'd  at  the  'larum  sound  ; 
He  dared  not  turn  his  head  away. 
E'en  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray, 
Or  call  on  hell,  in  bitter  mood, 
For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood  ! 

No!  ere  the  sun  that  dew  shall  dry, 

"V  VI  Y 

False  Risingham  shall  yield  or  die.— 

Ring  out  the  castle  'larum  bell  ! 

At  length,  o'erpast  that  dreadful  space, 

Arouse  the  peasants  with  the  knell  ! 

Back  straggling  came  the  scatter'd  chase  ; 

Meantime  disperse—  ride,  gallants,  ride 

Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man. 

Beset  the  wood  on  every  side. 

Return'd  the  troopers,  one  by  one. 

But  if  among  you  one  there  be, 

Wilfrid,  the  last,  arrived  to  say. 

That  honours  Mortham's  memory. 

All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way, 

Let  him  dismount  and  folly  w  me  1 

Though  Redmond  still,  up  Brignal  wood, 

Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 

The  hopeless  quest  in  vain  pursued.— 

And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name  1" 

O,  fatal  doom  of  human  race  1 

What  tyrant  passions  passions  chase  ! 

XXVI. 

Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone, 

Instant  to  earth  young  Redmond  sprung; 
Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 

Avarice  and  pride  resume  their  throne  ; 
The  pang  of  instant  terror  by, 

Of  twenty  men  of  Wycliffe's  band. 

They  dictate  us  their  slave's  reply  :  — 

Who  waited  not  their  lord's  command. 

Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 

XXX. 

His  mantle  from  his  shoulders  threw, 

"  Ay—  let  him  range  like  hasty  hound  ! 

His  patois  in  his  belt  he  placed. 

And  if  the  grim  wolf's  lair  be  found. 

The  green  wood  gam'd,  the  footsteps  traced, 

Small  is  my  care  how  goes  the  game 

Shouted  like  huntsman  to  his  hounds. 

With  Redmond,  or  with  Kisingham  — 

"Tocovtsr,  hark  !"—  and  in  he  bounds. 

Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy  ! 

Scarce  heard  was  Oswald's  anxious  cry 

Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 

•'  Suspicion  !  yes—  pursue  him  —  fly  — 
But  venture  not.  in  useless  strife, 
On  ruffi  in  desperate  of  his  life, 

To  thee,  is  of  another  mood 
To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 
Thy  ditties  will  she  freely  praise, 

Whoever  finds  him.  shoot  him  dead  ! 

And  pay  thy  pains  with  courtly  phrase; 

Five  hundred  nobles  for  his  head  I" 

In  a  rough  path  will  oft  command- 

Accept  at  least—  thy  friendly  hand  ; 

XXVII. 

His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  pray'd, 

The  horsemen  gallop'd.  to  make  good 
Each  path  that  issued  from  the  wood. 
Loud  from  the  thickets  rung  the  shout 

Unwilling  takes  his  protler'd  aid, 
While  conscious  passion  plainly  speaks 
In  downcast  look  and  blushing  cheeks. 

Df  Redmond  and  his  eager  rout; 

Whene'er  he  sings,  will  she  glide  nigh, 

With  them  was  Wilfrid^  stung  with  ire, 

And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye  ; 

And  envying  Redmond's  martial  fire, 

Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 

And  emulous  of  fame.  —  But  where 

The  wonted  words  of  courtesy. 

N  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir? 

These  are  strong  signs  !—  yet  wherefore  sigh, 

He,  bound  by  honour,  law,  and  faith, 
Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death?  — 
Leaning  against,  the  elmin  tree, 

And  wipe,  effeminate,  thine  eye  ? 
Thine  shall  she  be,  if  thou  attend 
The  counsels  of  thy  sire  and  friend. 

With  drooping  head  and  slacken'd  knee. 

XXXI 

And  clenched  teeth,  and  close-clasp'd  hands, 
In  agony  of  soul  he  stands  ! 
His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent, 
His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent; 
For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air, 
May  ring  discovery  and  despair. 

"  Scarce  wert  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light, 
Brought  genuine  news  of  Marston's  fight. 
Brave  Cromwell  turn'd  the  doubtful  tide, 
And  conquest  bless'cl  the  rightful  side; 
Three  thousand  cavaliers  lie  dead, 
Rupert  and  that  bold  Marquis  fled  ; 

XXVITI. 

Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 

What  'vail'd  it  him.  that  brightly  play'd 

Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 

The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade  ? 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

23                                                   —  ' 

'266                     SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Of  these,  committed  to  my  charge. 

The  sharpen'd  ear.  the  piercing  eye, 

Is  Rokeby,  prisoner  at  large  ; 

The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh  ; 

Redmond,  his  page,  arrived  to  say 

The  speed,  that  in  the  flight  or  chase, 

He  reaches  Barnard's  towers  to-day. 

Oatatripp'd  the  Charib's  rapid  race  ; 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be. 

The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  limb. 

t~ule-s  that  maid  compound  with  thee  !  ' 

To  leap,  to  climb,  to  dive,  to  swim  ; 

Go  to  her  now—  be  bold  of  cheer, 

The  iron  frame,  mured  to  bear 

While  her  soul  floats  'twixt  hope  and  fear  ; 

Each  dire  inclemency  of  air. 

it  is  the  very  change  of  tide. 

Nor  less  confirm  'd  to'  undergo 

When  best  the  female  heart  is  tried  — 

Fatigue's  faint  chill,  and  famine's  throe. 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty, 

These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  save, 

Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea  ; 

In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 

And  the  bold  swain,  who  plies  his  oar, 

On  Arawaca's  desert  shore, 

May  lightly  r:*  his  bark  to  shore." 

Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar. 
When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spam 

Track'd  the  marauder's  steps  in  vain. 

^/N^N/N^/N^^WN^^VS^WW^ 

These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried, 

Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side. 

lAOfeetj. 

IV. 



Twas  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need. 

CANTO   THIRD. 

He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  S[>eed. 

^^^— 

Now  slow  he  stalk'd  with  stealthy  pace, 

Now  started  forth  in  rapid  race, 

I. 

Oft  doubling  back  in  mazv  train. 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth  ; 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind, 
l-ess  cruel  chase  to  each  assign  'd. 
The  falcon,  poised,  on  soaring  wing. 
Watches  the  wild  -duck  by  the  spring; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair; 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb  ; 
The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam: 
Even  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear, 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare. 
Man.  onlv.  mars  kind  Nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man  ; 
Plying  war's  desultory  trade. 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade. 
Since  Nimrod,  dish's  mighty  son, 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain; 
Now  clomlie  the  rocks  projecting  high, 
To  baffle  the  pursuer's  eye  ; 
Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 
The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drown'd. 
But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 
There  trample  steeds,  and  glimmer  spears, 
If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew. 
He  heard  the  rangers'  loud  halloo, 
Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 
As  if  to  start  the  silvan  game. 
Twas  then  —  like  tiger  close  beset 
At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net, 
'Counter'd  where'er  he  turns  his  glare, 
By  clashing  arms  and  torches'  flare, 
Who  meditates,  with  furious  bound. 
To  burst  on  hunter,  horse,  and  hound,  — 
Twas  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes  : 

II. 

But  as  that  crouching  tiger,  cow'd 

The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey. 
Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way, 
And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 
Camp  his  red  brethren  of  the  war  ; 
He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 
To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries. 

By  brandish'd  steel  and  shouting  crowd, 
Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 
Bertram  suspends  his  purpose  stem, 
And  couches  in  the  brake  and  fern, 
Hiding  his  face.  lest  foeman  spy 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.* 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  hide. 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide, 

. 

Now  covering  with  the  wither'd  leaves 

Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 

The  foot-prints  that  the  dew  receives  :  * 

Of  the  bold  youth"  who  led  the  chase  ; 

He,  skill'd  in  every  silvan  guile, 

Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound. 

Knows  not.  nor  tries,  such  various  wile, 

Climb  every  height  to  look  around, 

As  Risingham,  when  on  the  wind 
Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 

Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword. 
Each  dingle's  boskv  depths  explored. 

In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Twas  Redmond—  by  the  azure  eve: 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 

Twas  Redmond—  by  the  Kicks  that  fly 

When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high, 

Disorder'd  frum  his  glowing  cheek  : 

To  bugle  rung  and  bloodhound's  cry.* 

Mien,  face,  and  form,  young  Redmond  speak. 

Announcing  Jedwood  axe  and  spear, 

A  form,  more  active,  light,  anil  strong. 

And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear; 

Ne'er  shot  the  ranks  of  war  along; 

And  well  his  venturous  life  had  proved 
The  lessons  that  his  childhood  loved. 

The  modest,  yet  the  manly  mien, 
Might  grace  the  court  of  maiden  queen  ; 

A  face  more  fair  you  well  might  find. 

III. 

For  Redmond's  knew  the  sun  and  wind. 

Oft  had  he  shown,  in  climes  afar, 

Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free, 

Each  attribute  of  roving  war; 

The  charm  of  regularity: 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  Y.                         3  Ibid,  Note  Z. 

3  Bee  Appendix.  Note  1  A.                    4  Ibid,  Hole  2  B. 

R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


267 


But  every  feature  had  the  power 

To  aid  the  expression  of  the  hour: 

Whether  gay  wit,  and  humour  sly, 

Danced  laughing  in  Ins  light-blue  eye  ; 

Or  tended  brow,  and  glance  of  tire. 

And  kindling  cheek,  spoke  Erin's  ire; 

Or  soft  and  sadderi'd  glances  show 

Her  ready  sympathy  with  woe ; 

Or  in  that  wayward  mood  of  mind, 

When  various  feelings  are  combined, 

When  joy  and  sorrow  mingle  near. 

And  hope's  hrielit  wings  are  check'd  hy  fear, 

And  rising  doubts  keep  transport  down. 

And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  I'ruwn ; 

In  that  strange  mood  which  maids  approve 

Even  when  they  dare  not  call  it  love ; 

With  every  change  his  features  play'd, 

As  aspens  show  the  light  and  shade. 

VI. 

Well  Risingham  young  Redmond  knew: 
And  much  he  marvell  d  that  the  crew. 
Roused  to  revenge  bold  Mortham  dead, 
Were  hy  that  Mortham's  foeman  led ; 
For  never  felt  his  soul  the  woe. 
That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 
Far  less  that  sense  of  just  ice  strong, 
That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 
But  small  his  leisure  now  to  pause ; 
Redmond  is  first,  whate'er  the  cause  : 
And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near 
Where  Bertram  couch'd  like  hunted  deer, 
The  very  boughs  his  steps  displace, 
Hustled  against  the  ruffian's  fane, 
Who,  desperate,  twice  prepared  to  start, 
And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart  ! 
But  Redmond  turn'd  a  different  way. 
And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway, 
And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen, 
Deejier  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 
Thus,  circled  in  Ins  coil,  the  snake. 
When  roving  hunters  beat  the  brake, 
Watches  with  red  and  glistening  eye, 
Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh, 
With  forked  tongue  and  venom'd  fang 
Instant  to  dart  the  deadly  pang; 
But  if  the  intruders  turn  aside, 
Away  his  coils  unfolded  glide, 
And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind, 
Some  undisturb'd  retreat  to  find. 

VII. 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew, 
And  heard  the  loud  pursuit  renew, 
Anil  Redmond's  hollo  on  the  wind, 
Oft  mutier'd  in  his  savage  mind  — 
"  Redmond  O'Neale  !  wert  thou  and 
Alone  this  day's  event  to  try. 
With  not  a  second  here  to  see, 
But  the  grey  cliff  and  oaken  tree, — 
That  voice  of  thine,  that  shouts  so  loud, 
S  iculd  ne'er  repeat  its  summons  proud  1 
No !  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 
Again  in  maiden's  summer  bower." 
Eluded,  now  behind  him  die. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  each  hostile  cry; 
He  stands  in  Scargiil  wood  alone, 
Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 
Than  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 
Or  (jreta's  sound  that  murmurs  by; 
And  on  the  dale,  so  lone  and  wild. 
The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 


VIII. 

He  listen  "d  long  with  anxious  heart, 
Ear  bent  to  hear,  and  foot  to  start, 
And,  while  his  stretcli'd  attention  glows, 
Refused  Ins  weary  frame  repose. 
'  I'  was  silence  all  —  he  laid  him  down, 
Where  purple  heath  profusely  slrowu, 
And  throatwort,  with  its  azure  bell. 
And  moss  and  thyme  Ins  cushion  swell. 
There,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 
The  course  of  Greta's  playful  tide  ; 
Beneath,  her  banks  now  eddying  dun, 
Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 
As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone. 
In  yellow  light  her  currents  shone, 
Matching  in  hue  the  favourite  gem 
Of  Albin's  mountain-diadem. 
Then,  tired  to  watch  the  current's  play, 
He  turn'd  his  weary  eyes  away. 
To  where  the  bank  opposing  show'd 
Its  huge,  square  cliffs  through  shaggy  wood. 
One.  prominent  above  the  rest, 
Rear'd  to  the  sun  its  pale  grey  breast  ; 
Around  its  broken  summit  grew 
The  hazel  rude,  and  sable  yew ; 
A  thousand  varied  lichens  dyed 
Its  waste  and  weather-beaten  side, 
And  round  is  rugged  basis  lay. 
By  time  or  thunder  rent  away. 
Fragments,  that,  from  its  frontlet  torn, 
Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 
Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty, 
That  fill'd  stern  Bertram's  gazing  eye. 

IX. 

In  sullen  mood  he  lay  reclined, 
Revolving,  in  his  stormy  mind, 
The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt, 
His  patron's  hlood  by  treason  spilt ; 
A  crime,  it  seem'd,  so  dire  and  dread, 
That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead. 
Then,  pondering  on  his  life  hetray'd 
By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade, 
In  treacherous  purpose  to  withhold, 
So  deem'd  it,  Mortham's  promised  gold, 
A  deep  and  full  revenge  he  vow'd 
On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud ; 
Revenge  on  Wilfrid—  on  his  sire 
Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  dire  !  — 
If,  in  such  mood,  (as  legends  say, 
And  well  believed  that  simple  day,) 
The  Enemy  of  Man  has  power 
To  profit  hy  the  evil  hour, 
Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge ! ' 
But  though  his  vows,  wiih  such  a  fire 
Of  earnest  and  intense  desire 
For  vengeance  dark  and  fell,  were  made. 
As  well  might  reach  hell's  lowest  shade, 
No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrown'd, 
No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground ;  — 
The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart. 
And  spared  temptation's  needless  art. 


Oft.  mingled  with  the  direful  theme, 

Came  Mortham's  form  —Was  it  a  dream  ? 

Or  had  he  seen,  in  vision  true, 

That  VK,y  Mortham  whom  he  slew? 

Or  had  in  living  flesh  appear'd 

The  only  man  on  earth  he  fear'd?  — 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  9  C. 


268                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

To  try  ihe  mystic  cause  intent, 

This  Denzil.  vow'd  to  every  evil, 

His  eyes,  that  on  the  cliff  were  bent. 

Might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 

'Counter'd  at  once  a  dazzling  glance. 

Well,  be  it  so  !  each  knave  and  fool 

Like  sunbeam  tlash'd  from  sword  or  lance. 

Shall  serve  as  my  revense's  tool."  — 

At  once  he  started  as  for  fieht, 

Aloud,  "  I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy. 

But  not  a  fo.  man  was  in  sight  ; 
He  heard  thi  cushat's  murmur  hoarse, 

But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie?"— 
••  Not  far  from  hence."  Guy  Denzil  said  ; 

He  heard  the  river's  sounding  course  ; 
The  solitary  woodlands  lay. 

"  Descend,  and  cross  the  river's  bed, 
Where  rises  yonder  chlf  so  grey."  — 

As  slumbering  in  the  summer  ray. 

"  Do  thou."  said  Bertram,  "  lead  the  way." 

He  gazed,  like  lion  roused,  around, 

Then  miitter'd,  "  It  is  best  make  sure  ; 

Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 

Guy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure." 

T  was  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam, 

He  follow'd  down  the  steep  descent. 

Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream  ; 

Then   through   the   Greta's   streams   they 

Then  plunged  him  from  his  gloomy  train 
Of  ill-connected  thoughts  again, 

went; 
And,  when  they  reach'd  the  farther  shore. 

Until  a  voice  behind  him  cried. 

They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

"Bertram!  well  met  on  Greta  side." 

XIV. 

XI. 

Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand, 
As  instant  sunk  the  ready  brand  ; 

With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 
The  flinty  rock  a  murmur'd  din  ; 

Yet.  dubious  still,  opposed  he  stood 
To  him  that  issued  from  the  wood  : 

But  when  Guy  pull'd  the  wilding  spray, 
And  brambles,  from  its  base  away, 

"  Guy  Denzil  !  —  is  it  thou  7"  he  said  : 
"  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade  !  — 
Stand  back  a  space  !  —  thy  purpose  show, 
Whether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 
Report  hath  said,  that  Denzil's  name 
From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame." 
—  "  A  shame  1  owe  that  hot  O'Neale. 
Who  told  his  knight,  in  peevish  zeal, 
Of  mv  marauding  on  the  clowns 

He  saw,  appearing  to  the  air, 
A  little  entrance,  low  and  square, 
Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone. 
Dark,  winding  through  the  living  stone. 
Here  enter'd  Denzil,  Bertram  here  ; 
And  loud  and  louder  on  their  ear, 
As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
Resounded  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 
Of  old,  the  cavern  jtrait  and  rude, 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.  1 

In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  hew'd  ; 
And  Brignall's  woods,  and  Scargill's,  wave, 

Where,  save  the  leaders,  none  can  thrive, 
Suits  ill  my  mood  ;  and  better  game 
Awaits  us  both,  if  thou  'rt  the  same 
Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham, 
Who  watch'd  with  me  in  midnight  dark, 
To  snatch  a  deer  from  Rokeby-park. 
How  think'st  thou  7"  —  "Speak  thy  purpose 

E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave.3 
W  here,  far  within  the  darksome  rift. 
The  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 
But  war  had  silenced  rural  trade. 
And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 
The  banquet-hall  and  fortress  too, 
Of  Denzil  and  his  desperate  crew.— 
There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept  ; 

I  love  not  mystery  or  doubt."  — 

There,  on  his  sordid  pallet,  slept 
Guilt-born  Excess,  the  goblet  drain'd 

xn. 

Still  in  his  slumbering  grasp  retain'd  ; 

'•  Then,  list.  —  Not  for  there  lurk  a  crew 
Of  trusty  comrades,  stanch  and  true, 
Glean'd  from  both  factions  —  Roundheads,  freed 
From  cant  of  sermon  and  of  creed  ; 
And  Cavaliers,  whose  souls,  like  mine, 
Spurn  at  the  bonds  of  discipline 
Wiser,  we  judge,  by  dale  and  wold, 

Regret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 
With  vain  repining  on  the  past  ; 
Among  the  feasters  waited  near 
Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 
And  Blasphemy,  to  frenzy  driven. 
With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  heaven; 
While  Bertram  show'd,  amid  the  crew, 
The  Master-Fiend  that  Milton  drew. 

A  warfare  of  our  own  to  hold, 

Than  breathe  our  last  on  battle-down, 

XV. 

For  cloak  or  surplice,  mace  or  crown. 

Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set. 

Hark  !  the  loud  revel  wakes  again, 

A  chief  and  leader  lack  we  yet.— 

To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 

Thon  art  a  wanderer,  it  is  said  ; 

Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp, 

For  Mortham's  death,  thy  steps  way-laid, 

That  strugeles  with  the  earthly  damp. 

Thy  head  at  price  —  so  say  our  spies. 

By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known. 

Who  range  the  valley  in  disguise. 

To  single  out  and  mark  her  own  ! 

Join  then  with  us:  —though  wild  debate 

Yet  some  there  are.  whose  brows  retain 

And  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state, 

Less  deeply  stamp'd  her  brand  and  stain. 

Each  to  an  equal  loth  to  bow, 

See  yon  pale  stripling!  when  a  boy, 

Will  yield  to  chief  renown'd  as  thou."— 

A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy  ! 

Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined, 

XIIL 
'•  Even  now,"  thought  Bertram.  passion-stirr'd, 

An  early  image  fills  his  mind  : 
The  cottase,  once  his  sire's,  he  sees, 

"  I  call'd  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard  ! 

Embower'd  upon  the  hanks  of  Tees  : 

What  lack  I.  vengeance  to  command. 

He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 

But  of  stanch  comrades  such  a  hand  ? 

And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainford-green. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  9  D. 

a  Ree  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

ROKEBY. 


269 


A  tear  is  springing — hut  the  zest 

Of  some  wild  tale,  or  brutal  jest, 

Hath  to  loud  laughter  stirr'd  the  rest. 

On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mule 

For  jovial  song  and  merry  feat : 

Fast  flies  his  dream  —  with  dituntless  air, 

As  one  victorious  o'er  Despair, 

He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round. 

Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  drown'd; 

And  soon,  in  merry  wassail,  he, 

The  life  of  all  their  revelry. 

Peals  his  loud  song!  —The  muse  has  found 

Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground, 

'Mid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strew'd, 

Themselves  all  profitless  and  rude. — 

With  desperate  merriment  he  sung, 

The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung ; 

Yet  miauled  wilh  his  reckless  glee 

Remorse's  bitter  agony. 

XVI. 


O,  Brignall  hanks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  Maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily, — 

CHORUS. 
"O,  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  wilh  Edmund  there, 

Than  reign  our  English  queen." — 

"  If.  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we, 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read. 

As  read  full  well  you  may. 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shall  thou  speed, 

As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

AnU  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 

Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

XVII. 

"  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle-horn, 

Anil  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood."— 
"  A  Ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light : 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 

CHORUS. 
Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 

To  reign  his  Queen  ol  May  ! 

"With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon, 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  I'or  a  bold  Dragoon, 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum.''— 

ia"* 


"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 

CHORUS. 
"  And,  0  !  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare. 

Would  reigu  my  Queen  of  May ! 

XVIII. 
"  Maiden !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die  ! 
The  fiend,  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead, 

Were  better  mate  than  1 ! 
And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met, 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough, 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 

CHORUS 
"Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen." 

When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song, 
Was  silence  on  the  sullen  throng, 
Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 
With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsy. 
But,  far  apart,  in  dark  divan, 
Denzil  and  Bertram  many  a  plan, 
Of  import  foul  and  fierce,  design'd, 
While  slill  on  Bertram's  grasping  mind 
The  wealth  of  inurder'd  Mortham  hung; 
Though  halt'  he  fear'd  his  daring  tongue, 
When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth. 
Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth ! 

XIX. 

At  length  his  wondrous  tale  he  told  : 
When,  scornful,  smiled  his  comrade  bold ; 
For,  train'd  in  license  of  a  court, 
Religion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport ; 
Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 
The  visionary  tales  of  eld  ! 
His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repress'd 
The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest. 
"  'Twere  hard,"  he  said,  "  for  sage  or  seer, 
To  spell  the  subject  of  your  fear; 
Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renown'd, 
Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 
Yet,  faith  if  I  must  needs  afford 
To  spectre  watching  treasured  hoard, 
As  bandog  keeps  his  master's  roof, 
Bidding  the  plunderer  stand  aloof, 
This  doubt  remains — thy  goblin  gaunt 
Hath  chosen  ill  his  ghostly  haunt; 
For  why  his  guard  on  Mortham  hold, 
When  Rokeby  cas'le  hath  the  gold 
Thy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil, 
By  stealth,  by  piracy,  and  spoil  I" — 

XX. 

At  this  he  paused — for  angrv  shame 
Lower'd  on  the  brow  of  Kisingharn. 
He  hlnsh'd  to  think,  that  he  should  seem 
Asserlor  of  an  airy  dream, 
And  gave  his  wrath  another  theme. 
"  Denzil,"  he  says,  "though  lowly  laid, 
Wrong  not  the  memory  of  the  dead : 
For,  while  he  lived,  at  Mortham's  look 
Thy  very  soul,  Guy  Denzil,  shook.' 


1^70 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  when  he  tax'd  thy  breach  of  word 

TH  yon  fair  Ro«e  of  Alleuford, 

I  saw  thee  crouch  like  chasten'd  hound, 

Whose  tack  the  huntsman's  lash  hath  found. 

Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 

The  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth  ; 

He  won  it  bravely  with  his  brand, 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.' 

Mark,  too — !  lm>ok  no  idle  jeer. 

Nor  couple  Bertram's  name -with  fear; 

Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot. 

For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not.— 

Enough  of  this. — Say,  why  this  hoard 

Thou  deem'st  at  Rokeby  castle  stored  ; 

Or  think'st  that  Mortham  would  bestow 

His  treasure  with  his  faction's  foe  T" 


Soon  quench'd  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth ; 

Rather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 

Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  birth, 

Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 

The  deadly  wrath  of  Risingham. 

Submiss  lie  answer'd.— •"  Mortham's  mind, 

Thou  know'st,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 

In  youth,  'tis  said,  a  gallant  free, 

A  lusty  reveller  was  lie  ; 

But  since  return'd  from  over  sea, 

A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 

Hath  niimb'd  the  current  of  his  blood. 

Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 

To  Rokeby's  hospitable  hall. 

And  our  stout,  knight,  at  dawn  of  morn 

Who  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn, 

Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  embrown'd, 

To  see  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 

Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 

Refused  to  share  his  chase  and  cheer; 

Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jar, 

Kre  they  divided  in  the  war. 

Yet.  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 

Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir." 

XXII. 

"  Destined  to  her  !  to  yon  slight  maid  ! 
The  prize  my  life  had  wellnigh  paid, 
When  'gainst  Laroche,  by  Cayo's  wave, 
I  fought  my  patron's  wealth  to  save ! — 
Denzil.  I  knew  him  Ions,  yet  ne'er 
Knew  him  that  joyous  cavalier, 
Whom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 
Call'd  soul  of  gallantry  and  game. 
A  moody  man,  he  sought  our  crew. 
Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew ; 
And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise, 
By  scorning  life  and  all  its  ties. 
On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved, 
As  danger  for  itself  he  loved  ; 
On  his  sad  brow  nor  mirth  nor  wine 
Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  untwine; 
111  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled. 
For  'twas  m  peril  stern  and  wild  : 
But  when  he  laugh'd,  each  luckless  mate 
Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate. 
Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil. 
Then  scornful  turn'd  him  from  the  spoil ; 
Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 
Between  Ins  comrades  and  their  prey; 
Preaching,  even  then,  to  such  as  we, 
Hot  with  our  dear-bought  victory, 
Of  mercy  and  humanity. 


XXIII. 

"  I  loved  him  well — His  fearless  part, 
His  gallant  leading,  won  my  heart. 
And  after  each  victorious  fight, 
Twas  I  that  wrangled  for  his  right, 
Redeem'd  his  portion  of  the  prey 
That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away : 
In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  life. 
And  once  amid  our  comrades'  strife.—2 
Yes.  I  have  loved  thee !  Well  hath  proved 
My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved  ! 
Yet  will  I  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 
Ingrate  in  life,  in  death  ingrate. 
Rise  if  thou  canst !"  he  look'd  around. 
And  sternly  stamrAi  upon  the  ground — 
"  Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high, 
Even  as  this  morn  it  met  mine  eye. 
And  give  me,  if  thou  darest.  the  lie  !" 
He  paused — then,  calm  and  passion- freed, 
Bade  Deuzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

XXIV. 

"  Bertram,  to  thee  1  need  not  tell, 
What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well. 
How  Superstition's  nets  were  twined 
Around  the  Lord  of  Mortham's  mind ! 
But  since  he  drove  thee  from  his  tower, 
A  maid  he  found  in  Greta's  bower. 
Whose  speech,  like  David's  harp,  had  sway, 
To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 
I  know  not  if  her  features  moved 
Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved  ; 
But  he  would  gaze'  upon  her  eye. 
Till  his  mood  soften'd  to  a  sigh. 
He,  whom  no  living  mortal  sought 
To  question  of  his  secret  thought. 
Now  every  thought  and  care  confess'd 
To  his  fair  niece's  faithful  breast ; 
Nor  was  there  aught  of  rich  and  rare, 
In  eErth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air. 
But  it  must  deck  Matilda's  hair. 
Her  Inve  still  bound  him  unto  life ; 
But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife. 
And  menials  bore,  by  his  commands, 
Three  coffers,  with  their  iron  bands. 
From  Mortham's  vault,  at  midnight  deep, 
To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride, 
His  gift,  if  he  in  battle  died." — 

XXV 

"  Then  Denzil.  as  7  gues?.  lays  train, 
These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain  ; 
Else,  wherefore  should  he  hover  here, 
Where  many  a  peril  waits  him  near, 
For  all  his  feats  of  war  and  peace. 
For  plniider'd  boors,  and  harts  of  greese  1* 
Since  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared, 
What  hearth  has  Guy's  maraud  ing  spared, 
Or  where  (he  chase  that  hath  not  rung 
W'ith  Denzil's  bow,  at  midnight  strung?" — 
"  I  hold  my  wont— my  rangers  go. 
Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.* 
By  Rokeby-hall  she  takes  her  lair, 
In  Greta  wood  she  harbours  fair. 
And  when  my  huntsman  marks  her  way, 
What  think'st  thou.  Bertram,  of  the  prey! 
Were  Rokehy's  daughter  in  our  power, 
We  rate  her  ransom  at  her  dower." — 


Appendix,  Note  -J  F. 


3  Ih:cl.  Note  2  G.          '      1  DCIT  ID  s 


4  See  Appendix,  -Vole  1  H. 


ROKEBY.                                          271 

XXVI. 

"This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain  ; 

"  'Tis  well  !  —  there's  vengeance  in  the  thought 

But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow, 

Matilda  is  bv  Wilfrid  sought; 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 

Ami  hot-hrain'd  Redmond,  too,  'tis  said, 
Pays  lover's  homage  to  the  maid. 

He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake, 
Upon  Ihe  river  shore,  . 

Bertram  she  scorn  'd  —  If  met  by  chance, 

He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

She  turn'd  from  me  her  shuddering  glance, 

Said,  "Adieu  for  evermore, 

Like  a  nice  dame,  that  will  not  brook 

My  love 

On  what  she  hates  and  loathes  to  look  ; 

And  adieu  for  evermore.''  —  1 

She  told  to  Mortham  she  could  ne'er 

Behold  me  without  secret  fear, 

XXIX. 

Foreboding  evil  ;—  She  may  rue 
To  find  her  prophecy  fall  true  !— 
The  war  hns  weeded  Rokeby's  train, 
Few  followers  in  his  halls  remain; 
If  thv  schemes  miss,  then,  brief  and  bold, 
We  are  enow  to  storm  the  hold  ; 
Bear  off  ihe  plunder,  and  the  dame, 
And  leave  the  c:.stle  all  in  flame."  — 

"  What  youth  is  this,  your  band  among, 
The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song? 
[n  his  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 
A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret."  — 
"  Kdmond  of  Winston  is  his  name  ; 
The  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 
3f  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave.  — 
Now  center'd  all  in  Brignall  cave  ! 

XXVII. 

I  watch  him  well  —  his  wayward  course 

'•  Still  art  thou  Valour's  venturous  son  ! 
Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run  : 
The  menials  of  Ihe  castle,  true. 
And  stubborn  to  their  charge,  though  few  ; 
The  wall  to  scale  —  the  moat  to  cross  — 
The  wicket-grate—  the  inner  fosse"  
—  '•  Fool  !  if  we  blench  for  toys  like  these, 
On  what  fair  guerdon  can  we  seize  ? 
Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 
Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door, 
And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away. 

Shows  oft  a  tincture  of  remorse. 
Sonte  early  love-shaft  grazed  hie  heart. 
And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smart. 
Yet  is  he  useful  ;  —  of  the  rest, 
Bv  fits,  the  darling  and  the  jest, 
His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay, 
Oft  aid  the  idle  hours  away  : 
When  unemploy'd,  each  fiery  mate 
Is  ripe  for  mutinous  debate. 
He  tuned  his  strings  e'en  now—  again 
He  wakes  them,  with  a  blither  strain." 

The  earnings  of  his  sordid  day."  — 

"  A  while  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear  : 

XXX. 

In  sight  of  rood  more  sure  and  fair, 

Thou  wouldst  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath, 

S  O  N  O  • 

Or  wantonness,  a  desperate  path  ? 

ALLEN-A-DALE. 

List,  then  ;  —  for  vantage  or  assault, 

From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon-  vault. 
Each  pass  of  Kokeby-house  I  know  : 
There  is  one  postern,  dark  and  low, 
That  issues  at  a  secret  spot. 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 

By  most  neglected  or  forgot. 
Now.  could  a  spial  of  our  train 
On  fair  pretext  admittance  gain. 

Come,  read  me  my  riddle  !  come,  hearken  my 
tale! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

That  sally-port  might  be  unbarr'd  : 
Then,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward!" 

The  Baron  of  Ravensworth  »  pranres  in  pride. 

XXVIII. 

And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net.  and  the  land  for  his  game. 

"Now  speak'st  thou  well  :  —  to  me  the  same. 

The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the 

If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game  ; 

tame; 

Indifferent,  if  like  fox  I  wind. 

Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the 

Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind.  — 
But,  hark  !  our  merry-men  so  gay 

vale, 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Allen-a-Dale  ! 

Troll  forth  another  roundelay."— 

Allen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight. 

S  O  N  O. 

Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be 

"A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

as  bright  ; 
Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord. 

A  weary  lot  is  thine  ! 

Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen  will  draw   at    his 

To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

word  ; 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine  ! 

And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  vail, 

A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

Who  at  Rere-cross3  On  Stanmore  meets  Allen- 

A  feather  of  the  blue. 

a-Dale. 

A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green,  — 

No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

Allen-a-Da'.e  to  his  wooing  is  come; 

My  love  ! 

The  mother,  she  ask'd  of  his  household  and 

No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

home  : 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 

Arkinearth     It  belonged  originally  to  Ihe  powerful  family 

2  The  ruim.  of  Ravensworlh  Castle  stand  in  the  North 

of  Fnz-Hugh,  from  whom  it  pawed  to  the  Lords  Dacre  of 

Riding  of  Yorkshire,  ahont  three  miles  from  the  town  of 

Ihe  South 

Rirbmond,  and  a<:jolBlng  to  the  waste  called  the  Forest  of 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 

272 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fair 

on  the  hill, 
My  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "  shows  gallanter 

still ; 
"Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent 

to  pale, 
And  with  all  its  bright  spangles!"  said  Allen- 

a-Dale. 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was 

stone ; 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  be 

pone ; 
But  loud,  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their 

cry; 
He  had  langh'd  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny 

black  eye, 

And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale  \ 

XXXI. 

"  Thou  sec'st  that,  whether  sad  or  gay 
Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 
But  when  his  fcoyish  wayward  fit 
Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit ! 

0  !  'tis  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 
Each  dialect,  each  various  shape." — 
"  Nay,  then,  to  aid  thy  project.  Guy — 
Soft  f  who  comes  here  1" — "  My  trusty  spy. 
Speak.  Hamlin !  hast  thou  lodged  ourdeer I" — ' 
"  I  have — hut  two  fair  stags  are  near. 

1  watch'il  her.  as  she  slowly  stray'd 
From  Eeliston  up  Thorsgill  glade  ; 
But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side. 
And  llien  young  Redmond,  in  his  pride. 
Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way : 
Much,  as  it  seem'd,  was  theirs  to  s-ay  : 
There's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net, 
Before  their  path  be  homeward  set." 

A  hurried  and  a  w'.iisper'd  speech 
Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  leach; 
Who,  turning  to  the  robher  band. 
Bade  four,  the  bravest,  take  the  brand. 


CAXTO    FOURTH. 


I. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soar'd  on  hish. 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sny, 
Till,  hoverine  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke," 
And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blacken 'd  each  cataract  and  spring, 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  source, 
Thundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force  ;  3 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Fu'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic,  name.* 
Rear'd  high  their  altar's  rusged  stone. 
And  gave  their  Gods  the  land  they  won. 
Then.  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine, 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  line, 
And  Woden's  Croft  did  title  gain 
From  the  stern  Father  of  the  Slain  ; 


But  In  the  Monarch  of  the  Mace, 

That  held  in  fight  the  foremost  place, 

To  Odin's  son. "and  Sifia's  spouse, 

Near  Stratforth  high  they  paid  their  vows, 

Rememher'd  Thor's  victorious  fame, 

And  gave  the  dell  the  Thunderer's  name. 

II. 

Yet  Scald  or  Kemper  err'd.  I  ween, 
Who  gave  that  soft  and  quiet  scene, 
Wiili  all  its  varied  light  and  shade, 
And  every  little  sunny  glade, 
And  the  blithe  brook  that  strolls  along 
Its  pebliied  bed  with  summer  song, 
To  the  irrim  God  of  blood  and  scar, 
The  grisly  King  of  Northern  War. 
0,  better  were  it*  hanks  assign'd 
To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind  ! 
For  where  the  thicket-groups  recede. 
And  the  rath  primrose  decks  the  mead. 
The  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 
For  the  lieht  fairies'  lively  feet. 
Yon  tufted  knoll,  with  daisies  strown, 
Might  make  proud  Oberon  a  throne. 
While,  hidden  in  the  thicket  nigh, 
Puck  should  brood  o'er  his  frolic  sly : 
And  where  profuse  the  wood-vetch  clings 
Round  ash  and  elm,  in  verdant  rings, 
Its  pale  and  azure-pencill'd  flower 
Should  canopy  Titania's  bower. 

III. 

Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade ; 
But.  skirting  every  sunny  glade, 
In  fair  variety  of  green 
The  woodlarid  lends  its  silvan  screen. 
Hoary,  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak, 
Its  boushs  by  weight  of  ases  broke ; 
And  towers  erect,  in  sable  spire. 
The  pine-tree  scathed  by  lightnins-fire  ; 
The  drooping  ash  and  birch,  between, 
Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  ereen, 
And  all  beneath  at  random  grow 
Each  coppice  dwarf  of  varied  show, 
Or,  round  the  stems  profusely  twined, 
Flin?  summer  odours  on  the  wind. 
Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 
Round  Him  of  Tarsus  nobly  plann'd. 
What  time  he  bade  proud  Athens  own 
On  Mars's  Mount  the  God  Unknown! 
Then  erey  Philosophy  stood  mzh. 
Though  bent  by  age,  in  spirit  high  : 
There  rose  the  soar-seam'd  veteran's  spear, 
There  Grecian  Beauty  bent  to  hear. 
While  Child  hood  at  her  foot  was  placed, 
Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist. 

IV. 

"  And  rest  we  here,"  Matilda  said, 
And  sat  her  in  the  van-ing  shade. 
"  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour, 
To  friendship  due.  from  fortune's  power. 
Thou.  Wilfrid,  ever  kind,  must  lend 
Thy  counsel  to  thy  sister-friend  ; 
And,  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest, 
No  farther  urge  thy  desperate  'quest. 
For  to  niy  care  a  charge  is  left, 
Danyerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft ; 
Wellnigh  an  orphan,  and  alone. 
Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown." 


ROKEBY,                                          273 

Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced, 

And  bore  them  to  Ins  mountain-hold, 

Beside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed  ; 

Gave  them  each  silvan  joy  to  know. 

Then  paused,  with  downcast,  look  and  eye, 

Slieve-Donard's  cliffs  and'  woods  could  show, 

Nor  bade  young  Redmond  seat  him  nigh. 

Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer. 

Her  conscious  diffidence  he  saw, 

Show'd  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer, 

Drew  backward,  as  in  modest  awe, 

And,  when  a  fitting  time  was  come. 

And  sat  a  little  space  removed, 
Unniark'd  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 

Safe  and  unrausom  d  sent  them  home, 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift,  to  prove 

V. 

A  generous  foe's  respect  and  love. 

Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hair 

VII. 

Half  hid  Matilda's  forehead  fair. 

Years  speed  away.    On  Rokeby's  head 

Half  hid  and  half  reveal'd  to  view 

Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed  ; 

Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 

Calm  he  enjoy'd.  bv  Greta's  wave. 

The  rose,  with  faint  and  feeble  streak, 

The  peace  which  James  the  Peaceful  gave. 

So  slightly  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek, 

While  Mortham.  far  beyond  the  main, 

That  you  had  said  her  hue  was  pale; 
But  if  she  faced  the  summer  gale, 

Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain.  — 
It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  night, 

Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved. 
Or  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved, 

That  whiten  d  Stanmore's  stormy  height, 
The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  kill'd, 

Or  when  of  interest  was  express'd 

In  Rokeby-hall  the  cups  were  till'd. 

Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 

And  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 

The  mantling  blood  in  readv  play 

The  knight  in  hospitable  state. 

Rivall'd  the  blush  of  rising  day. 

Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 

There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 

When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate. 

A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face. 

And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid 

That  suited  well  the  forehead  high, 

A  voice  of  foreign  accent  pray'd. 

The  eyelash  dark,  and  downcast  eye  ; 

The  porter  aiiswer'd  to  the  call. 

The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind 

And  instant  rush'd  into  the  hall 

In  duty  firm,  composed,  resign'd  ; 

A  Man,  whose  aspect  and  attire 

T  is  that  which  Roman  art  has  given. 

Startled  the  circle  by  the  tire. 

To  mark  their  maiden  Queen  of  Heaven. 

In  hours  of  sport,  that  mood  gave  way 

VIII. 

To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play; 
And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along. 
Kuli  "ft  her  doatini  sire  would  call 
His  Maud  the  merriest  of  them  all. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread  * 
Around  his  bare  and  matted  head; 
On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretch'd  and  trim, 
His  vesture  show'd  the  sinewy  limb  ; 
In  saffron  dyed,  a  linen  vest 

But  days  of  war  and  civil  crime 
Alluw'd  b  it  ill  such  festal  time, 
And  her  soft  pensivenes-s  of  brow 
Had  deepen  'd  into  sadness  now. 
In  Mars;  on  field  her  father  ta'en. 
Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham  slain, 
While  every  ill  her  soul  foretold. 
From  Oswald's  thirst  of  power  and  gold. 
And  boding  thoughts  that  she  must  part 
\Vah  a  s>-ft  vision  of  her  heart,  — 
All  lower'd  around  the  lovely  maid, 
To  darken  her  dejection's  shade. 

Was  frequent  folded  round  his  breast  ; 
A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore, 
Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 
He  clasp'd  a  burden  to  his  heart, 
And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart. 
The  snow  from  hair  and  beard  he  shook, 
And  round  him  gazed  with  wilder'd  look. 
Then  up  the  hall,  with  staggering  pace, 
He  haslen'd  by  the  blaze  to  place, 
Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air. 
His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Rokeby.  next,  he  louted  low. 

Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show, 

VI. 
Who  has  not  heard  —  while  Erin  yet 

With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone. 
Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne.* 

;  Strove  'gai:ist  the  Saxon's  iron  hit  — 

"Sir  Richard,  Lord  of  Rokeby,  hear! 

Who  has  i.ot  heard  how  brave  O'Neala 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel  i 

Turlough  O'Neale  salutes  thee  dear; 
He  graces  thee,  and  to  thy  care 

Ag.insL  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high. 
M  he  banners  of  his  Tamstrv, 
'1  o  fiery  Essn  gave  the  foil, 

Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 
He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 
For  1  urlongh's  days  of  joy  are  done  ; 

And  K  ijn'd  a  prince  on  Ulster's  soil  ? 

And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land, 

B  it  chief  arose  his  victor  pride, 

And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand  ; 

When  ihat  brave  .Marshal  fought  and  died,2 

And  all  the  glory  of  Tyrone 

'  And  Avon-Dutf  to  ocean  bore 

Is  like  a  morning  vapour  flown. 

H'-  billows  red  with  Saxon  gore. 
Twas  first  in  that  disastrous  fight. 

To  bind  the  duly  on  thy  soul, 
He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin's  bowl  ! 

Rokeby  ;,ud  Mortham  proved  their  might. 

If  any  wrons  the  young  O'lveale, 

There  had  they  fallen  'mongst  the  rest, 

He  bids  thee  think  of  Erin's  steel. 

But  pity  toucii'd  a  chieftains  breast; 

To  Mortham  first  this  charge  was  due, 

'1  he  Tanist  he  to  er.:at  O'Neale  ;  3 

But,  in  his  absence,  honours  you.  — 

UK  check'd  Ins  followers'  bloody  zeal, 
To  quarter  took  tl«;  kinsmen  bold. 

Now  is  my  master's  message  by, 
And  Ferraugut  will  contented  die.-" 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  O.              3  Ibid,  Mote  a  P. 
I  See  Appendix,  Hole  a  tt. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  s. 

274                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

TV 

He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar, 

•A. 

In  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore, 

His  look  grew  fix'd,  his  cheek  grew  pale, 

And  loves,  against  the  deer  so  dun. 

He  sunk  when  he  had  tuld  his  tale  ; 

To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun  : 

For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 

Yet  more  he  loves,  in  autumn  prime, 

A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 

The  hazel's  spreading  boughs  to  climb, 

Vain  was  all  aid  —  in  terror  wild, 

And  down  its  cluster'd  stores  to  hail, 

And  sorrow,  scream'd  the  orphan  Child. 

Where  young  Matilda  holds  her  veil. 

Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes, 

And  she.  whose  veil  receives  the  shower, 

And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries  ; 

Is  alter'd  too,  and  knows  her  power; 

All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain, 
He  blest  and  blest,  him  o'er  again! 
And  kiss'd  the  little  hands  outspread, 

Assumes  a  monitress's  pride. 
Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide  ; 
Yet  listens  still  to  hear  him  tell 

And  kiss'd  and  cross'd  the  infant  head, 
And.  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase, 

How  the  grim  wild-hoar  fought  and  fell, 
How  at  Ins  fall  the  bugle  rung, 

1'ray'd  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days; 

Till  rock  and  greenwood  answer  flung; 

Then  all  his  strength  together  drew, 

Then  blesses  her,  that  man  can  find 

The  charge  to  Kokeby  to  renew. 
When  half  was  falter'd  from  his  breast, 

A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind  ! 

And  half  by  dving  signs  express'd, 

XIII. 

"  Bless  the  O'Neale  !"  he  faintly  said, 
And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 
So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale, 

X. 

And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace, 

T  was  lone  ere  soothing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  Child  to  end  the  tale  ; 
And  then  he  said,  that  from  his  home 
His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam. 
Which  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 
Had  hut  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand, 

Gives  living  interest  to  the  chase, 
And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  throw 
His  spirit's  wild  romantic  glow, 
That,  while  she  blamed,  and  while  she  fear'd, 
She  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 
Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snow  and  rain 

The  brand  of  Lenaugh  More  the  Red, 

To  bower  and  hall  their  steps  restrain, 

That  hung  beside  the  grey  wolf's  head.  — 
T  was  from  his  broken  phrase  descried, 
His  foster-father  was  his  guide,) 

Together  they  explored  the  page 
Of  glowing  bard  or  gifted  sage  ; 
Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside, 

Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  bore 
Letters  and  gifts  a  goodly  store  ; 
But  rulliaus  met  them  in  the  wood. 

The  minstrel  art  alternate  tried. 
While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 
Bade  winter-night  flit  last  away: 

Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood. 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpower'd  at  length, 

Thus,  from  their  childhood,  blending  still 
Their  sport,  their  study,  and  their  skill, 

And  stripp'd  of  all.  his  failing  strength 
Just  bore  him  here—  and  then  the  child 
Reuew'd  again  Ins  moaning  wild. 

An  union  of  the  soul  thpy  prove, 
But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 
But  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 
Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name, 

XI. 

And  when  so  often,  side  by  side. 

The  tear  ilown  childhood's  cheek  that  flows, 

From  year  to  year  the  pair  she  eyed, 

Is  like  the  dewdrop  on  the  rose  ; 

She  sometimes  blamed  the  good  old  Knight, 

When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by, 
And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  dry. 

As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight, 
Sometimes  his  purpose  would  declare, 

Won  by  their  care,  the  orphan  Child 

That  young  O'Neale  should  wed  his  heir. 

Soon  on  his  new  protector  smiled. 

With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair, 

XIV. 

Through  ins  thick  curls  of  flaxen  hair, 

The  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 

But  blithest,  laugh  M  that  cheek  and  eye, 

And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes  ; 

When  Rokeby's  little  .Maid  was  nigh; 
Twas  his,  with  elder  brother's  pride, 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide  ; 

'Twas  plain  that  Oswald,  for  his  son, 
Had  Rokeby's  favour  wellnigh  won. 
Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer. 

His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue. 

With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear; 

To  soothe  her  infant  ear  he  sung, 
And  primrose  twined  with  daisy  fair. 
To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 

Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart, 
To  school  her  disobedient  heart  : 
And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 

By  lawn,  by  grove,  bv  brooklet's  strand, 

The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 

The  children  still  were  hand  in  hand, 

But  factions  rose,  and  Rokeby  sware 

And  sood  Sir  Richard  smiling  eyed 

No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  heir  ; 

The  early  knot  so  kindly  lied. 

And  Redmond,  nurtured  while  a  child 

In  many  a  bard's  traditions  wild. 

XII. 

Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream, 

But  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 

To  cherish  there  a  happier  dream, 

From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit  : 

Of  maiden  won  uy  sword  or  lance, 

And  years  draw  on  our  human  span, 

As  in  the  regions  of  romance  ; 

From  child  to  boy,  from  boy  lo  man  ; 

And  count  the  heroes  of  Ins  line. 

And  soon  in  Rokeby's  woods  is  seeu 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine.* 

A  gallant  boy  in.  hunter's  green. 

Shane-  Dymas  3  wild,  and  (jeraldine.4 

1  See  Appeudix,  Hole  ST.            »  Ibid,  Bole  3  P. 

3  See  Appeudil,  Note  S  V.           4  Ibid,  Note  2  W. 

R  0  K  E  B  Y.                                          275 

And  Connan-more,  who  vow'd  Ins  race 

Where  now  these  warriors  ?  —  in  their  gore, 

For  ever  to  the  tight  and  chase, 

They  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor! 

And  cursed  him.  of  his  lineage  born. 

And  what  avails  a  useless  brand, 

Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the  corn, 

Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand, 

Or  leave  the  mountain  and  the  wold, 

That  only  would  his  life  retain. 

To  shroud  himself  in  castled  hold. 

To  aid  thy  sire  to  bear  his  chain  !" 

From  such  examples  hope  he  drew, 

Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart  ; 

And  bnghten'u  as  the  trumpet  blew. 

Nor  lighter  was  his  rival's  heart; 

For  Wilfrid,  while  his  generous  soul 

XV. 

Uisdain'd  to  profit  by  control. 

If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade, 
Redmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid, 
And  all  beside  of  nurture  rare 
That  might  beseem  a  baron's  heir, 
'furlough  O'Neale,  in  Erin's  strife. 
On  Rokeby's  Lord  bestow'd  his  life. 

By  many  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain, 
Save  with  such  aid,  Ins  hopes  were  vain.— 
But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 
On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul, 
And  hade  their  mournful  musing  fly, 
Like  mist  before  the  zephyr's  sigh. 

And  well  did  Rokeby's  generous  Knight 

XVIII. 

Young  Redmond  for  the  deed  requite. 
Nor  was  his  liberal  care  and  cost 

"  I  need  not  to  my  friends  recall. 

Upon  the  gallant  stripling  lost  : 
Seek  the  North-Hiding  broad  and  wide. 

How  Mortham  shunn'd  my  father's  liall  ; 
A  man  of  silence  and  of  woe, 

Like  Redmond  none  could  steed  bestride; 

Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 

From  1  ytiHinouth  search  to  Cumberland, 

On  my  poor  self  whate'er  could  prove 

Like  ReJrnond  none  could  wield  a  brand  ; 
And  then,  of  humour  kind  and  free, 

A  kinsman's  confidence  and  love. 
My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 

And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 
With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy, 
There  never  yout  h  was  tbrm'd  to  steal 
Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

The  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space  : 
But  oftener,  fix'd  beyond  my  power, 
I  mark'd  his  deep  despondence  lower. 
One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguess'd, 
His  fearful  confidence  confess'd; 

XVI. 

And  twice  it  was  iny  hap  to  see 

Sir  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son  ; 
And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done, 

Examples  of  that  agony. 
Which  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 
And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 

And  to  the  gales  of  war  he  gave 
The  banner  of  his  sires  to  wave, 
Redmond,  distinguish'd  by  his  care, 
He  chose  that  honour'd  flag  to  bear,  > 
And  mimed  his  pa.se.  the  next  degree, 
In  that  old  time,  to  chivalry  '* 
In  five  pitch'd  fields  he  well  maintain'd 
The  honour'd  place  his  worth  obtain'd, 
And  high  was  Redmond's  youthful  name 
Blazed  in  the  roll  of  martial  fame. 
Had  fortune  smiled  on  Marston  fight, 
The  eve  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight; 
Twice,  'mid  the  battle's  doubtful  strife, 
Of  Rokeby's  Lord  he  saved  the  life, 

He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 
The  approaching  mental  overthrow. 
And  while  his  mind  had  courage  yet 
To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  tit, 
The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes. 
Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderers  blows. 
This  malady.  I  well  could  mark, 
Sprung  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark; 
But  still  he  kept  i'.s  source  conceal'd, 
Till  arming  for  the  civil  field  ; 
Then  in  my  charge  he  bade  me  hold 
A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  eold, 
With  this  disjointed  dismal  scroll, 
That  tells  the  secret  of  his  soul, 

But  when  he  taw  him  prisoner  made, 
He  kiss'd  and  then  rrs.en'd  his  blade, 
And  yielded  him  an  easy  prey 

In  such  wild  words  as  oft  betray 
A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray."  — 

To  ihose  who  led  the  Knight  away; 

XIX. 

Resolved  Matilda's  sire  should  prove 

ill  prison,  as  in  tight,  Ins  love. 

MOBTHAM'S  HISTORY. 

"  Matilda!  thou  hast  seen  me  start, 

XVII. 

As  if  a  dagger  thrili'd  my  heart. 

When  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 

When  it  has  hap'd  some  casual  phrase 

"Via  like  a  sun  glimpse  through  a  shower, 

Waked  memory  of  my  former  days 

A  watery  ray.  an  mstant  seen 

Believe,  that  few  can  backward  cast 

The  ilartdy  cl.ismg  clouds  between. 

Their  thoughts  with  pleasure  on  the  past  ; 

As  Redmond  on  the  tnrf  reclined, 

But  1  !  —  my  youth  was  rash  and  vain. 

The  pasL  and  present  fill'd  his  mind: 

And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 

•'It  was  not  thus."  Affection  said. 

And  my  grey  hairs  must  now  descend 

"  1  dream'd  of  my  return,  dear  maid  ! 

To  my  cold  grave  without  a  friend! 

Not  thus,  when  from  thy  trembling  hand, 

Even  thou.  Matilda,  wilt  disown 

1  took  the  banner  and  the  brand. 

Thy  kinsman,  when  his  guilt  is  known. 

When  round  me.  as  the  bugles  blew, 

And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veil, 

Their  biades  three  hundred  warriors  drew, 

That  hides  my  dark  and  fatal  tale! 

And.  while  tin-  standard  1  unroll'd. 

I  must—  I  will—  Pale  phantom,  cease  ! 

Clash'd  their  bright  arms,  with  clamour  bold. 

Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace  ! 

Where  is  that  banner  now  ?—  its  pride 

Thus  haunted,  think'st  thou  I  have  skill 

Lies  'whelni'd  in  Ouse's  sullen  title  ! 

Thine  own  comaiission  to  fulfil? 

ISfe  Appeudil,  Note  2  X. 

2  See  Append!*,  Note  2  Y. 

276 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Or,  while  tiiou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce, 
Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse, 
How  can  I  paint  tliee  as  thou  wert, 
So  fair  in  face,  so  warm  in  heart ! 

XX. 

"  Yes,  she  was  fiiir !— Matilda,  thou 
Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  hrow  ; 
But  hers  was  like  the  sunny  glow. 
That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  lielow ! 
We  wedded  secret — there  was  need — 
Differing  in  country  and  in  creed ; 
And,  when  to  Mortham's  tower  she  came, 
We  mention 'd  not  her  race  and  name, 
Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar. 
Should  turn  him  home  from  foreign  war 
On  whose  kind  influence  we  relied 
To  soothe  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 
Few  months  we  lived  retired,  unknown, 
To  all  hut  one  dear  friend  alone, 
One  darling  friend — I  spare  his  shame, 
I  will  not  write  the  villain's  name ! 
My  trespasses  1  might  forget. 
And  sue  in  vengeance  fur  the  debt 
Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me, 
Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency, 
That  spared  me  penitential  time, 
Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime. — 

XXf. 

"  A  kindly  smile  to  all  she,  lent. 

But  on  her  husband's  friend  'twas  bent 

So  kind,  that  from  its  harmless  glee, 

The  wretch  misconstrued  villany. 

Repulsed  in  his  presumptuous  love, 

A  'vengeful  snare  the  traitor  wove. 

Alone  we  sat — the  flask  had  flow'd. 

My  blood  with  heat  unwonted  glow'd. 

When  through  the  alley'd  walk  we  spied 

With  hurried  step  my  With  glide. 

Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen, 

As  one  unwilling  to  l>e  seen. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile. 

That  curl'd  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while  1 

Fiercely  I  qnestion'd  of  the  cause  ; 

He  made  a  cold  »nd  artful  pause, 

Then  pray'd  it  might  not  chale  my  mood — 

'  There  was  a  gallant  m  the  wood  !' 

We  had  been  shooting  at  the  deer; 

My  cross-bow  (evil  chance !)  was  near : 

That  ready  weapon  of  my  wrath 

I  caught,  and,  hasting  up  the  path. 

In  the  yew  grove  my  wile  1  found, 

A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  hound ! 

I  mark'd  his  heart — the  bow  I  drew — 

I  loosed  the  shaft— 'twas  more  than  true  ! 

I  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 

Lock'd  in  her  murder'd  brother's  arms ! 

He  came  in  secret  to  enquire 

Her  state,  and  reconcile  her  sire. 

XXII. 

"  AH  fled  my  rage— the  villain  first. 
Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed; 
He  sought  in  far  and  foreign  clime 
To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 
The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 
Was  known  to  few.  my  guilt  to  none; 
Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed — 
I  know  not  what — of  shaft  misaim'd; 
And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew. 
He  hid  the  hand  from  wliich  it  new. 


Untouch'd  by  human  laws  I  stood. 

But  GOD  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood ! 

There  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind, 

A  fearful  vision  ill-defined, 

Of  raving  till  my  flesh  was  torn. 

Of  iliingenn-bolis  and  fellers  worn — 

And  when  I  waked  to  woe  more  mild, 

And  quesliou'd  of  my  infant  child — 

(Have  1  not  written,  that  she  bare 

A  boy.  like  summer  morning  fair?) — 

With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell 

That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 

Beset  the  nurse's  evening  way. 

And  bore  her,  with  her  charge,  away. 

My  faithless  friend,  and  none  hut  he, 

Could  profit  by  this  villany; 

Him  then.  I  sought,  with  purpose  dread 

Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head  ! 

He  'scaped  me — hut  my  bosom's  wound 

Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found  ; 

And  over  distant  land  and  sea 

I  bore  rny  load  of  misery. 

XXIII. 

"  Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  h:d 
Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread. 
With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  life 
I  ventured  in  such  desperate  strife. 
That  even  my  fierce  associates  saw 
My  frantic  deeds  with  doubt  and  awe. 
Much  then  T  learn'd.  and  much  can  show, 
Of  human  guilt  and  human  woe, 
Yet  ne'er  have,  in  my  wanderings,  known 
A  wretch,  whose  sorrows  match'd  my  own!— 
It  chanced,  that  after  battle  fray. 
Upon  the  bloody  field  we  lay ; 
The  yellow  moon  her  lustre  shed 
Upon  the  wounded  and  the  dead. 
While,  sense  in  toil  and  wassail  drowu'd. 
My  ruffian  comrades  slept  around. 
There  came  a  voice — its  silver  tone 
Was  soft,  Matilda,  as  thine  own — 
'  Ah,  wretch  !'  it  said.  •  what  makest  thou  here, 
While  unavenged  my  bloody  hier. 
While  unprotected  lives  mine  heir. 
Without  a  father's  name  and  caret' 

XXIV. 

"  I  heard — obev'd— and  homeward  drew ; 

The  fiercest  of  our  desperate  crew 

I  brought  at  time  of  need  to  aid 

My  purposed  vengeance,  long  delay'd. 

but,  humble  be  my  thanks  to  Heaven. 

That  better  hopes  and  thoughts  has  given. 

And  by  our  Lord's  dear  prayer  has  taught, 

Mercy  by  mercy  must  be  bought ! — 

I«t  me  in  misery  rejoice — 

I've  seen  his  face — I've  heard  his  voice — 

I  claim'd  of  him  my  only  child— 

As  he  disown'd  the  theft,  he  smiled  ! 

That  very  calm  and  callous  look. 

That  fiendish  sneer  his  visage  took, 

As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  m •><»), 

'  There  is  a  gallant  in  the  wood  !' — 

I  did  not  sl:iy  him  as  he  stood — 

Ail  praise  be  to  my  Maker  given  ! 

Long  suffrance  is  one  path  to  heaven." 

XXV. 

Thus  far  the  woful  tale  was  heard. 
When  something  in  the  thicket  stirr'd. 
Up  Redmond  sprung;  the  villain  Guy, 
(For  he  it  was  that  lurk'd  so  nigh,) 


R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


277 


Drew  back— he  durst  not  cross  liis  steel 
A  moment's  spare  with  brave  O'Neale, 
For  all  the  treasured  gold  that  rests 
In  Mnrth:im's  iron-handed  chests. 
Redmond  resumed  hi<seat: — lie  said, 
Some  roe  was  rustling  in  the  shade. 
Bertram  laugh'd  grimly  when  he  saw 
His  timorous  comrade  backward  draw; 
•'  A  trusty  mate  art  tliou,  to  fear 
A  single  arm,  and  aid  so  near! 
Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer. 
Give  me  thy  carabine — I'll  show 
An  art  that  thou  wilt  gladly  know, 
How  thou  tnayst  safely  quell  a  foe." 

XXVI. 

On  hnnds  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 
The  spreading  birch  and  hazels  through 
Till  he  had  Redmond  full  in  view  ; 
The  gun  he  levell'd— Mark  like  this 
Was  Bertram  never  known  to  jniss. 
When  fair  opposed  to  aim  there  sate 
An  object  of  his  mortal  hate. 
That  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  seen, 
But  twice  Matilda  came  between 
The  carabine  and  Redmond's  breast. 
Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  press'd. 
A  deadly  oath  the  ruffian  swore, 
But  yet  his  fell  design  forbore  : 
"It  lu'er,"  he  mutter'd,  'shall  be  said, 
That  thus  I  scath'd  thee,  haughty  maid  !" 
Then  moved  lo  seek  more  open  aim, 
Wuen  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  name: 
"  Bertram,  forbear  ! — we  are  undone 
For  ever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 
l!y  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 
Descends  the  dell,  of  foot  and  horse  ! 
We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot- 
Madman  !  we  have  a  safer  plot — 
Nay,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back  ! 
Behold,  down  yonder  hollow  track, 
The  warlike  It-ader  of  the  band 
Comes,  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand." 
Bertram  look'd  up;  he  saw,  he  knew 
That  Denzil's  fears  had  counselPd  true, 
Then  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew, 
Threaded  the  woodlands  undescned, 
And  gain'd  the  cave  on  Greta  side. 

XXVII. 

They  whom  dark  Bertram,  in  his  wrath, 
Doom'd  to  captivity  or  death, 
Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent, 
Saw  not  nor  heard  the  amhushment. 
Heedless  and  unconcern'd  they  sate, 
While  on  the  very  verge  of  fate; 
Heedless  and  unroncern'd  remain'd, 
When  Heaven  Ihe  murderer's  arm  restrain'd  ; 
As  ships  urift  darkling  down  the  tide, 
Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  winch  they  glide 
Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 
What  Mori  ham's  closing  tale  declared 
He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load. 
By  Fortune  on  a  wretch  bestow'd, 
lii  bitter  mockery  of  hate, 
His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate ; 
But  yet  he  pray'd  Matilda's  care 
Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir — 
His  Edith's  son— for  still  he  raved 
As  confident  his  life  was  saved ; 
In  frequent  vision,  he  averr'd, 
He  saw  his  face,  his  voice  he  heard  ; 
Then  argued  calm— had  murder  been. 
The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen  ; 


Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 
On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark, 
Whose  crew,  with  jealous  care,  yet  mild, 
Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 
While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  presa'd, 
Hope  seem'tl  to  kindle  in  his  breast; 
Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 
It  warp'd  his  judgment,  and  Ins  brain. 

XXVITI. 

These  solemn  words  his  story  close  : — 
"  Heaven  witness  for  me.  that  I  chose 
My  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight, 
Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right. 
My  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 
My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law  ; — 
These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside, 
And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wide. 
My  wealth,  on  which  a  kinsman  nigh 
Already  cas's  a  grasping  eye, 
With  thee  may  unsuspected  lie. 
When  of  my  death  Matilda  hears. 
Let  her  retain  her  trust  three  years ; 
If  none,  from  me,  the  treasure  claim, 
Pensh'd  is  Mortham's  race  and  name. 
Then  let  it  leave  her  generous  hand, 
And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land  ; 
Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot, 
Rebuild  the  peasant's  ruin'd  cot; 
So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 
Shall  mitigate  domestic  war." 

XXIX. 

The  generous  youths,  who  well  had  known 
Of  Mortham's  mind  the  powerful  tone, 
To  that  high  mind,  by  sorrow  swerved, 
Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved ; 
But  Wilfrid  chief,  who  saw  reveal'd 
Why  Mortham  wish'd  his  life  conceal'd, 
In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 
The  schemes  his  wilder'd  fancy  drew. 
Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell, 
That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell, 
His  partner  of  captivity. 
Where'er  his  prison-house  should  be ; 
Vet  grieved  to  think  that  Rokeby-hall, 
Dismantled,  and  forsook  by  all. 
Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth, 
Had  now  no  safe-guard  for  the  wealth 
Intrusted  by  her  kinsman  kind. 
Ami  for  such  noble  use  design'd. 
"  Was  Barnard  Castle  then  her  choice," 
Wilfrid  enquired  with  hasty  voice, 
• '  Since  there  the  victor's  laws  ordain, 
Her  father  must  a  space  remain?" 
A  flutter'd  hope  his  accents  shook, 
A  flutter'd  joy  was  in  his  look. 
Matilda  hasten'd  to  rep!y. 
For  anger  flash'd  in  liedmond's  eye  ; — 
"  Duty,"  she  said,  with  gentle  grace, 
"  Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place  ; 
Else  had  I  for  my  sire  assizn'd 
Prison  less  galling  to  his  mind, 
Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which  sees 
And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 
Recalling  thus,  with  every  glance. 
W'hat  captive  sorrow  can  enhance  ; 
But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 
Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  care." 

XXX. 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave. 

And  stood  abash'd — then  an.swer'd  grave: — 


278 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  I  sought  thy  purpose,  nohle  maid. 

Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid 

I  have  beneath  mine  own  command, 

So  wills  my  sire,  a  gallant  band, 

And  well  could  send  some  horseman  wight 

To  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night, 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

In  these  ill  days  may  safest  seem" — 

"Thanks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanks,"  she  said  : 

"  0,  be  it  not  one  day  delay'd  ! 

And,  more,  thy  sister-friend  to  aid, 

fie  thou  thyself  content  to  hold. 

In  thine  own  keeping.  Mortham's  gold. 

Safest  with  thee." — While  thus  she  spoke, 

Arm'd  soldiers  on  Iheir  converse  broke, 

The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid, 

The  ruffians  left  their  ambuscade. 

Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low, 

Then  look'd  around  as  for  a  foe. 

'•  What  mean'st  thou,  friend,"  young  Wycliffe 

said. 

"  Why  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade  1" — 
"That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you ; 
For  up  my  squadron  as  I  drew, 
To  exercise  our  martial  game 
Upon  the  moor  of  Barningliame. 
A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid. 
Surrounded,  and  to  death  betray'd. 
He  had  a  leader's  voice.  I  ween, 
A  falcon  glance,  a  warrior's  mien. 
He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid ; 
I  doubted  not,  and  I  obey'd." 

XXXI. 

Wilfrid  changed  colour,  and,  amazed, 
Tnrn'd  short,  and  on  the  speaker  gazed  ; 
While  Redmnnd  every  thicket  round 
Tmck'd  earnest  as  a  questing  hound, 
And  Denzil's  carabine  he  found  ; 
Sure  evidence,  by  which  they  knew 
The  warning  was  as  kind  as  true. 
Wisest  it  seem'd.  with  cautions  speed 
To  leave  the  dell.    It  was  agreed, 
That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair. 
And  fitting  guard,  should  home  repair; 
At  nightfall  Wilfrid  should  attend, 
With  a  strong  band,  his  sister-friend. 
To  bear  with  her  from  Rokehy's  bowers 
To  Barnard  Castle's  lofty  towers, 
Secret  and  safe  the  banded  chests. 
In  which  the  wealth  of  Mortham  rests. 
This  hasty  purpose  fix'd,  they  part, 
Each  with  a  grieved  and  anxious  heart. 


Bofecbo. 


CAHTO   FIFTH. 

I. 

The  sultry  summer  day  is  done, 
The  western  hills  have  hid  the  sun. 
But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 
Retain  reflection  of  his  fire. 
Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still, 
To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller-hill ; 
Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 
Like  s'eel  upon  the  anvil  glows; 
And  Stanmore's  ridge,  behind  that  lay, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day. 


In  crimson  and  in  gold  array 'd, 
Streaks  yet  a  while  the  closing  shade, 
Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 
The  tints  which  brighter  hours  had  given. 
Thus  aged  men.  full  loth  and  slow, 
The  vanities  of  life  forego. 
And  count  their  vouthful  follies  o'er 
Till  Memory  lends  her  light  no  more. 

II. 

The  eve.  that  slow  on  upland  fades. 
Has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's  glades. 
Where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound, 
Her  guardian  streams  to  meeting  wound. 
The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown 
Of  noontide  made  a  twilight  brown, 
Impervious  now  to  fuinter  light, 
Of  twilight  make  an  early  night. 
Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 
The  vespers  of  the  rmis'  ing  crows, 
And  wiih  congenial  murmurs  seem 
To  wake  the  Genii  of  ihe  s'reum; 
For  louder  clamour'd  Greta's  tide, 
And  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied, 
And  fitful  waked  the  evening  wind, 
Kitful  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd. 
Wilfrid,  whose  fancy- nurtured  soul 
Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control, 
With  lighter  footstep  press'd  the  ground, 
And  often  paused  to  look  around; 
And,  though  his  path  was  to  his  love, 
Could  not  but  linger  in  the  grove, 
To  drink  the  thrilling  interest  dear. 
Of  awful  pleasure  check'd  by  fear. 
Such  inconsistent  moods  have  we, 
Even  wheu  our  passions  strike  the  key. 

III. 

Now,  through  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past, 
The  opening  lawn  he  reach'd  at  last, 
Where,  silver'd  by  the  moonlight  ray, 
The  ancient  Hall  before  him  lay. 
Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled. 
That  frown'd  of  old  around  its  head : 
The  battlements,  the  turrets  grey, 
Seem'd  half  abaiuton'd  to  decay ;  1 
On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 
Stern  Time  the  foeman's  work  had  done. 
Where  banners  the  invader  braved. 
The  harebell  now  and  wallflower  waved; 
In  the  rude  guard-room,  where  of  yore 
Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore, 
Now,  while  the  cheerful  fagots  blaze, 
On  the  payed  floor  the  spindle  plays; 
The  flanking  guns  dismounted  lie, 
The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry, 
The  grim  portcullis  gone  — and  all 
The  fortress  turn'd  to  peaceful  Hall 

IV. 

But  yet  precautions,  lately  ta'en, 
Show'd  danger's  day  revived  again ; 
The  court-vard  wall  show'd  marks  of  care, 
The  fall'n  defences  to  repair, 
Lendinir  such  strength  as  might  withstand 
The  insult  of  marauding  band. 
The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 
The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air. 
And  not,  till  questioned  o'er  and  o'er, 
For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  do  r. 
And  when  he  entered,  boll  and  bar 
Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar; 


I  S«r  AppenJii,  -Vole  Q  Z. 


ROKEBY. 


279 


Then,  as  he  crnss'd  the  vaulted  porch, 

The  old  grey  porter  raised  his  lurch, 

And  view'd  linn  o'er,  from  foot  to  head, 

Ere  lo  the  hall  his  steps  he  led. 

That  huge  old  hall,  of  knightly  state. 

Dismantled  seem  d  and  desolate. 

The  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone, 

Which  cross'd  the  latticed  oriels,  shone, 

And  by  the  mournful  light  she  gave. 

The  Gothic  vault  seem'd  funeral  cave. 

1'ennoit  and  banner  waved  no  more 

O'er  beams  of  sjag  and  tusks  of  boar, 

Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshall'd  seen, 

To  glance  those  silvan  spoils  between. 

Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away, 

Aofomplish'd  Kokeby's  brave  array, 

Bui.  ail  were  lost  on  Mansion's  day! 

Yet  here  and  there  the  moonbeams  fall 

Where  armour  yet  adorns  tiie  wall, 

Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  lo  siaht, 

And  useless  in  the  modern  fight! 

Like  veteran  relic  of  the  wars. 

Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

V. 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came, 
And  bade  them  light  the  evening  flump ; 
Said,  all  tor  parting  was  prepared. 
And  tarried  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 
But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold 
His  father's  avarice  of  eold, 
He  hinted,  that  lest  jealous  eye 
Should  on  their  precious  burden  pry, 
He  judged  it  best  the  castle  gate 
To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late ; 
And  therefore  lie  had  left  command 
With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band, 
That  they  should  he  at  Kokeby  met, 
What  time  the  midnight-watch  was  set 
Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 
Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 
All  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 
The  mansion  for  its  mournful  change. 
With  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  phased, 
His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized. 
And  press'd  it,  till  his  kindly  strain 
The  gentle  youth  return'd  again. 
Seem'd  as  between  them  this  was  said, 
"  A  while  let  jealousy  he  dead : 
And  let  our  contest  be,  wliose  care 
Shall  best  assist  this  helpless  fair." 


There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind, 
It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind, — 
A  generous  thought,  at  once  impress'd 
On  either  rival's  generous  breast. 
Matilda  well  the  secret  took, 
Krom  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look ; 
And  —  for  not  small  had  been  her  fear 
Of  jealous  ire  and  danger  near  — 
Felt,  even  in  her  dejected  state, 
A  joy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 
They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze, 
And  talk'd,  and  hoped  for  happier  days, 
And  lent  their  spirits'  rising  glow 
A  while  to  gild  impending  woe ;  — 
High  privilege  of  youthful  time, 
Worth  all  the  pleasures  of  our  prime! 
The  bickering  fagot  sparkled  bright, 
And  gave  the  srene  of  love  to  sight. 
Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  lively  glow, 
Plav'd  on  Matilda's  neck  of  snow. 


Her  nut-brown  curls  and  forehead  high, 

And  laugh'd  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 

Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate. 

Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate; 

The  maid  her  lovers  sat  between, 

With  open  brow  and  equal  mien ;  — 

It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied, 

Thanks  to  man's  wrath  and  woman's  pride. 

VII. 

While  thus  in  peaceful  guise  they  sate, 
A  knock  alarm'd  the  outer  gate, 
And  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirr'd. 
The  tinkling  of  a  harp  was  heard. 
A  manly  voice  of  mellow  swell, 
Bore  burden  to  the  music  well. 

S  O  N  O. 

"  Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past, 
Summer  dew  is  falling  fast ; 
I  have  wander'd  all  the  day. 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray  ! 
Gentle  hearts,  of  gentle  kin, 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in!" 

But  the  stern  porter  answer  gave, 

With  "  Gel  thee  hence,  thou  strolling  knave ! 

The  king  wants  soldiers;  war,  I  trow. 

Were  meeter  trade  for  suc.h  as  thou." 

At  this  unkind  reproof,  again 

Answer'd  the  ready  Minstrel's  strain. 

SONO     R  2  S  XT  M  B  D . 
"  Bill  not  me,  in  battle-field, 
Buckler  lift,  or  broadsword  wield  ! 
All  my  strength  and  all  my  art 
Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart. 
With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
From  the  peaceful  inmstrel-stnng." — 

The  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied, — 
'•Depart  in  peace,  with  Heaven  to  guide; 
if  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell. 
Trust  me,  thou  shult  not  part  so  well  " 

VIII. 

With  somewhat  of  appealing  look, 
The  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took  : 
"These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  thrill, 
They  show  no  vulgar  minstrel's  skill ; 
Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 
More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come ; 
And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage  — 
Vour  Harpool's  blood  is  sour'd  by  >ge , 
His  gate,  once  readily  display'd, 
To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid, 
Now  even  to  me.  though  known  of  old. 
Did  but  reluctantly  unfold." — 
"O  blame  not,  as  poor  Harpool's  crime, 
An  evil  of  this  evil  time. 
He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 
The  safely  ot  his  patron's  heir. 
Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 
To  guest  unknown  at  parting  hour, 
Urging  his  duty  to  excess 
Jf  rough  and  stubborn  faithfulness. 
For  tins  poor  harper,  I  would  fain 
He  may  relax :  —  Hark  to  his  strain !" — 

IX. 

SONO     HE  SUM  E  D. 

"  I  have  song  of  war  for  knight, 
Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright, 


280                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  AVORKS". 

Fairy  tale  to  loll  the  heir. 

. 

Gobfin  grim  the  maids  to  scare. 

XI. 

Dnrk  the  night,  and  lung  till  day. 

Matilda's  dark  nnd  soften'd  eye 

Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray  ! 

Was  ^listening  ere  O'Neale  Vwas  dry. 

Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid.— 

"  Rokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame. 

"  It  is  the  will  of  heaven."  she:  snid. 

I  can  count  them  name  by  name  ;  * 

"  And  think  'st  thon,  Redmond,  I  can  part 

Legends  of  their  line  there  be. 

From  this  loved  home  with  lightsome  heart, 

Known  to  few,  hut  known  to  me; 

Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 

If  you  honour  Rokeby's  kin. 

Even  from  my  infancy  was  dear? 

Take  the  wandering  harper  in  ! 

For  in  this  calm  domestic  bound 

Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  found. 

"  Rokeby's  lords  had  fair  regard 

That  hearth,  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace, 

For  the  harp,  and  for  the  hard  ; 

Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place; 

Baron's  race  throve  never  well. 

This  hall,  in  which  a  child  I  play'il. 

Where  the  cnrse  of  minstrel  fell. 

Like  thine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid. 

If  you  love  that  noble  kin. 

The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid; 

Take  the  weary  harper  in  !"  — 

Or.  pass'd  for  aye  from  me  and  mine, 

It  ne'er  may  shelter  Rokeby's  line. 

"  Hark  !  Harpool  parleys—  there  is  hope." 
Said  Redmond,  "that  the  gate  will  ope.'  — 

Yet  is  this  consolation  given. 
My  Redmond.  —  'tis  the  will  of  heaven." 

—  •'  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast.  1  trow. 

Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  praise, 

Nought  know'st  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow,"* 

Were  kindly  as  in  early  days; 

Quoth  Harpool,  "  nor  how  Greta-side 

For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power 

!  She  roam'd,  and  Rokehy  forest  wide  ; 

In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 

?<or  how  Ralph  Rokehy  gave  the  beast 

Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice  ; 

To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 

But  rather  had  it  been  his  choice 

Of  Gilbert  Griffinson  the  tale 

To  share  that  melancholy  hour. 

Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale, 

Than,  arm'd  with  all  a  chieftain's  power, 

That  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain, 

In  full  possession  to  enjoy 

And  of  the  valiant  son  of  Spain. 

Slieve-Donard  wide,  and  Clandeboy. 

Friar  Middleton.  and  blithe  Sir  Ralph  ; 

There  were  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh  ! 

XII. 

If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed 
Thou'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed." 

The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  cheek  ; 
Matilda  sees,  arid  hastes  to  srieak.  — 

"  Happy  in  friendship's  ready  aid. 

X. 

Let  all  my  murmurs  here  be  staid  ! 

Matilda  smiled:  "Cold  hope."  snid  she, 
"From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy  ! 
But.  for  this  harper,  may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  his  couch  and  fare  1"  — 

And  Rokeby's  .Maiden  will  not  part 
From  Rokebv's  hall  with  moody  heart. 
This  night  at  least,  for  Rokeby's  fame, 
The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame, 

"O,  ask  me  not!  —  At  minstrel-string 
My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring; 
Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain, 
But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again, 
When  placed  hv  Owen  Lysash's  knee. 

Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fire. 
While  this  poor  harper,  by  the  hlaze, 
Recounts  the  tale  of  oilier  days. 
Bid  Harpool  ope  the  door  with  speed, 
Admit  him,  and  relieve  each  neeil.  — 

(The  Filea  of  O'Neale  was  he.  3 
A  blind  and  bearded  man,  whose  eld 
Was  sacred  as  a  prophet's  held,) 
I've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne, 
With  aspects  shaggy,  wild,  and  stern. 
Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay. 
Linger  around  the  livelong  day. 
Shift  from  wild  rage  to  wilder  glee, 
To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstacy, 

Meantime,  kind  Wyclitfe,  wilt  thou  try 
Thy  minstrel  skill  ?  —  Nay,  no  reply  — 
And  look  not  sad  !  —  I  guess  thy  thought, 
Thy  verse  with  laurels  would  be  bought; 
And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now, 
Has  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 
True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  glades, 
Nor  wander  more  in  Greta  shades  ; 
But  sure,  no  rigid  jailor,  thou 

And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 
Obedient  to  the  bard's  control.  — 
I  Ah,  Clandehov  !  thy  friendly  floor 
;  Slieve  Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more;* 
Nor  Owen's  harp,  beside  the  blaze, 
Tell  maiden's  love,  or  hero's  praise  ! 
The  mantling  brambles  hide  thy  hearth. 
Centre  of  hiwpitable  mirth  : 
All  undistinguish'd  in  the  glade, 
My  sires'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid, 

Wilt  a  short  prison-walk  allow. 
Where  summer  flowers  grow  wild  at  will. 
On  Marwood-chase  and  Toller  Hill  ; 
Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 
Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay." 
The  mournful  youth,  n  space  aside, 
To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied  : 
And  then  a  low  sad  descant  rung. 
As  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far. 

XI11. 

Serve  foreisn  lords  in  distant  war. 

And  now  the  stranier's  sons  enjoy 

THE      CYPRESS     "WREATH. 

The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy  !" 

He  spoke,  and  proudly  turn'il  aside, 
The  starting  tear  to  dry  and  hide. 

O,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Rote  3  A.           »  Ibid.  Rote  9  B. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C.           4  Ibid,  Rote  3  D. 

R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


281 


Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light, 
The  varnish'd  holly's  all  too  bright, 
The  May-flower  and  tlie  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  S:id  than  mine ; 
But.  Lady,  weave  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 

I,et  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twine 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine; 
The  manly  oak.  the  pensive  yew, 
To  pat  i  iot  and  to  sage  he  due ; 
The  myrtle  bough  bills  lovers  live, 
Hut  that  Matilda  will  not  give: 
Then,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 

Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 

Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear; 

Let  Albin  bind  her  bonnet,  blue 

With  heath  and  harebell  dipp'd  in  dew; 

On  favour'd  Erin's  crest  be  seen 

The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green — 

l!ut.  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 

Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp,  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel-leaves, 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  his  triumph  tell; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing-bell, 
Then,  Lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Yes  !  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough ; 
But.  O  Matilda,  twine  not  now  ! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past, 
And  1  have  look'd  and  loved  my  lastl 
When  villagers  my  shroud  bestrew 
With  panzies,  rosemary,  and  rue, — 
Then,  Lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

XIV. 

O'Neale  observed"  the  starting  tear, 
And  spoke  with  kind  and  blithesome  cheer- 
"  No.  noble  Wilfrid  !  ere  tbe  day 
When  mourns  the  land  thy  silent  lay, 
Shall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 
By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 
1  would  not  wish  that  rigid  Kate 
Had  doom'd  thee  to  a  captive's  state, 
Whose  hands  are  bound  by  honour's  law, 
Who  wears  a  sword  he  must  not  draw; 
But  were  it  so.  in  minstrel  pride 
The  land  together  would  we  ride. 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  harpers  old, 
Bound  for  the  halls  of  barons  lx>ld, 
Each  lover  of  the  lyre  we'd  seek. 
Krom  Michael's  Mount,  to  Skiddaw's  Peak, 
Survey  wild  Albin's  mountain  strand, 
And  roam  green  Erin's  lovely  land. 
While  thou  the  gentler  souls  should  move, 
With  lay  of  pity  and  of  love, 
And  1,  thy  mate,  in  rougher  strain. 
Would  sing  of  war  and  warriors  shin. 
Old  England's  bards  were  vanquish'd  then, 
And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hawtliornden,' 

1  Drummond  of  Hawlhonuiru  was  In  the  zenith  of  1 

1949. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E.  3  IMd.  Note  3  F. 

an  evil  spirit  from  Ihe  Lord  troubled  him. 


And,  silenced  on  lernian  shore, 
M'Curtin's  harp  should  charm  no  more  !"5 
In  lively  mood  he  spoke,  to  wile 
From  Wilfrid's  woe-worn  cheek  a  smile. 

XV. 

"  But,"  said  Matilda,  "  ere  thy  name, 
Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame. 
Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  deign  to  call 
Thy  brother-minstrel  to  the  hall? 
Bid  all  the  household,  too,  attend. 
Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend; 
I  know  their  faithful  hearts  will  grieve. 
When  their  poor  Mistress  takes  her  leave  ; 
So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 
To  mitigate  their  parting  woe." 
The  harper  came ;— in  youth's  first  prime 
Himself;  in  mode  of  olden  time 
His  garb  was  fashion'd,  to  express 
The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress,' 
A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green. 
With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen ; 
His  harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung, 
And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 
It  seem'd  some  masquer's  quaint  array, 
For  revel  or  lor  holiday. 

XVI. 

He  made  obeisance  with  a  free 
Yet  studied  air  of  courtesy. 
Each  look  and  accent,  framed  to  please, 
Seem'd  to  affect  a  playful  ease; 
His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kincl, 
That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind  ; 
Yet  harsh  it  seem'd  to  deem  amiss 
Of  brow  so  young  and  smooth  as  this. 
His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly, 
That,  spying  all,  seems  nought  to  spy ; 
Round  all  the  group  his  glances  stole, 
t'nmark'd  themselves,  to  mark  the  whole. 
Yet  sunk  beneath  Matilda's  look, 
Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook. 
To  the  suspicious,  or  the  old. 
Subtile  and  dangerous  and  bold 
Had  seem'd  this  self-invited  guest; 
But  young  our  lovers.— and  the  rest. 
Wrapt  in  their  sorrow  and  their  fear 
At  parting  of  their  Mistress  dear, 
Tear-blinded  to  the  Castle-hall. 
Came  as  to  bear  her  funeral  pall: 

XVII. 

All  that  expression  base  was  gone, 
When  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  ton* 
It  fled  at  inspiration's  call. 
As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul.* 
More  noble  glance  he  cast  around, 
More  free-drawn  breath  inspired  the  sound, 
His  pulse  beat  holder  and  more  high, 
In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy ! 
Alas!  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er. 
Sunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar! 
His  soul  resumed,  with  habit's  chain, 
Its  vices  wild  and  follies  vain. 
And  gave  the  talent,  with  him  born, 
To  lie  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 
Such  was  the  youth  whom  Kokehy's  Maid, 
With  condescending  kindness,  pray'd 


t  him."— 1  Samuel,  chap. 


282 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


Here  to  renew  the  strains  she  loved, 
At  distance  heard  und  well  approved. 


SON  o. 
THE   HARP. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  hoy. 

My  childhood  scorn 'd  each  childish  toy, 

Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy, 

To  musing  prone, 
I  woo'd  my  solitary  j.iy. 

.My  Harp  alone. 

My  youth,  with  hold  Ambition's  moot), 
Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood, 
Where  my  poor  father's  cottage  stood, 

To  fame  unknown: — 
What  should  my  soaring  views  make  good  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 

l.ove  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire, 
And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire: 
The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre, 

And  pnnsed^the  tone ; — 
What  could  presumptuous  hope  inspire  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 

At  manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst, 
And  manhood's  pride  the  vision  curst, 
And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

Love's  sway  to  own ; 
Yet  spared  the  spell  that  luil'd  me  first 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Woe  came  with  war,  and  want  with  woe 
And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 
Eacli  outrage  of  the  reliel  foe  : — 

Can  aught  atone 
My  liclds  laid  waste,  my  cot  laid  low  I 

ily  harp  alone ! 

Ambition's  dreams  I've  seen  depart, 
Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart. 
Have  felt  of  love  the  venom'd  dart. 

When  hope  was  flown  ; 
Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart, — 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Then  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill, 
My  faithful  Harp.  I'll  bear  thee  still; 
And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 

Ts  wellnigh  gone. 
Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill, 

My  Harp  alone ! 

XIX. 

"  A  pleasine  lay !''  Matilda  said  ; 

But  Hiirponl  shook  his  old  grey  head, 

And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch, 

To  seek  his  guard-room  in  the  porch. 

Edmund  observed  ;  with  sudden  change, 

Among  the  strings  his  fingers  range, 

Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 

Of  military  melody: 

Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound. 

And  look'd  with  well-feign'd  fear  around  ; — 

'•  None  to  tins  noble  house  belong," 

He  said,  "that  would  a  Minstrel  wrong, 

Wiose  fate  has  been,  through  good  and  ill, 

To  love  his  Royal  Master  still : 

And  with  your  honour'd  leave,  would  fain 

Rejoice  you  with  a  loyal  strain." 


Then,  a.«  assured  by  sign  and  look, 
The  warlike  tone  again  he  took; 
And  Harpool  stopp'd.  and  turn'd  to  hear 
A  ditty  of  the  Cavalier. 

XX. 

SO  NO. 

THE    CAVALIER. 
While  the  dawn  on  the  mountains  was  misty 

and  grey, 

My  true  love  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away 
Over    hill,  over  valley,  o'er  dale,  and   o'er 

down: 

Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights 
for  the  Crown! 

He  has  dofTd  the  silk  doublet  the  breast-plate 
to  tear. 

He  has  placed  the  steel-cap  o'er  his  long  flow- 
ing hair. 

From  his  belt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword 
hangs  down. — 

Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights 
for  the  Crown! 

For  the  rights  of  Fair  England  that  broad- 
sword he  draws, 

Her  King  is  his  leader,  her  Church  is  ha 
cause ; 

His  watchword  is  honour,  his  pay  is  renown, — 

GOD  strike  with  the  Gallant  lliat  strikes  for 
the  Crown ! 

Thev  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  their  Waller, 

and  all 

The  roundheaded  rebels  of  Westminster  Hall ; 
But  tell  these  bold  traitors  of  London's  proud 

town, 
That  the  spears  of  the  North  have  encircled 

the  Crown. 

There's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  their 

foes; 
There's  Erin's  high  Ormond,  and  Scotland's 

Mootrose! 
Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon.  and  Mas- 

sey.  and  Brown, 
With  the  Barons  of  England,  that  fight  for  the 

Crown  ? 

Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  Cavaliei  . 
Be    his    banner   unconquer'd,   resistless   his 

spear. 
Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  his  toils  he  may 

drown. 
In  a  pledge  to  fair  England,  her  Church  and 

her  Crown. 

XXI. 

"  Alas !"  Matilda  said,  "  that  stra'.n. 
Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain  ! 
The  time  has  been,  at  such  a  sound. 
When  Kokehy's  vassals  gather'd  round. 
An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound  ; 
But  now  the  stirring  verse  we  hear, 
Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear ! 
Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own, 
The  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 
Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause. 
Be  he  that  sings  I  he  rightful  cause, 
Kven  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 
To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 


R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


283 


While  Rokeby's  Heir  such  power  retains, 
Let  this  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains  : — 
And,  lend  thy  harp;  ]  fain  would  try, 
If  my  poor  skill  can  aught  supply, 
Ere  yet  I  leave  my  father's  hall, 
To  mourn  the  cause  in  which  we  fall." 

XXII. 

The  harper,  with  a  downcast  look, 
And  trembling'  hand,  her  bounty  took. — 
As  yet,  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steel'd  him  in  his  treacherous  part ; 
A  powerful  spring,  of  force  unguess'd. 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppress'd, 
And  reign'd  in  many  a  human  breast; 
From  his  that  plans  the  red  campaign. 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye, — 
The  sportsman  marks  with  apathy, 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drown'd  in  Ins  own  successful  skill. 
The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar. 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art, 
And  traces  on  the  pencill'tl  chart 
Some  stern  invader's  destined  way, 
Through  blood  and  ruin,  to  his  prey; 
Patriots  to  death,  and  towns  to  flame, 
He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name, 
And  shares  the  guilt,  though  not  the  fame. 
\\  hat.  pays  him  for  his  span  of  time 
Spent  in  premeditating  crime? 
What  against  pity  arms  his  heart? — 
It  is  the  conscious  pride  of  art. 

XXIII. 

But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 
Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 
His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  Passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost ; 
Nor  Vice  nor  Virtue  had  the  power 
Beyond  the  impress-ion  of  the  hour ; 
And,  0  !  when  Passion  rules,  how  rare 
The  hours  that  fall  to  Virtue's  share! 
Yet  now  she  rnused  her — for  the  pride, 
That  lack  of  sterner  guilt  supplied. 
Could  scarce  support  him  when  arose 
The  lay  that  mourned  Matilda's  woes. 

SON  Q. 

THE  FAREWELL. 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  [  hear, 

They  mingle  with  the  song: 
Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

1  must  not  hear  them  long. 
From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 

The  native  Heir  must  stray, 
And,  like  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt, 

Musi  part  before  the  day. 

Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  rear'd, 

Their  scutcheons  may  descend, 
A  line  so  long  beloved  and  fear'd 

May  soon  obscurely  end. 
No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Shall  bid  those  echoes  swell ; 
Yet  shall  they  hear  her  proudly  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  fell. 

The  Lady  paused,  and  then  again 
Resumed  the  lay  in  loftier  strain. 


XXIV. 


Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 

Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 
Lands  and  manors  pass  away.— 

We  but  share  our  Monarch's  lot. 
If  no  more  our  annals  show 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken, 
Still  in  death,  defeat,  and  woe, 

Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken  ! 

Constant  still  in  danger's  hour. 

Princes  own'd  our  fathers'  aid ; 
Lands  and  honours,  wealth  and  power, 

Well  their  loyalty  repaid. 
Perish  wealth,  and  power,  and  pride ! 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given  ; 
But  let  Constancy  abide, — 

Constancy 's  the  gift  of  Heaven. 

XXV. 

While  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard. 

A  thousand  thoughts  in"  Edmund  stirr'd. 

In  peasant  life  he  might  have  known 

As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone  ; 

But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 

That  rich  and  varied  melody; 

And  ne'er  in  cottage-maid  was  seen 

The  easy  dignity  of  mien, 

Claiming  respect,  yet,  waving  state, 

That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 

Yet  not.  perchance,  had  these  alone 

His  scheme  of  purposed  guilt  o'erthrown; 

But  while  her  energy  of  mind 

Superior  rose  to  griefs  combined, 

Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye. 

Giving  her  form  new  majesty, — 

To  Edmund's  thoughts  Matilda  seem'd 

The  very  object  he  had  dream'd  ; 

When,  long  ere  guilt  his  soul  had  known, 

In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 

Taxing  his  fancy  to  combine 

The  face,  the  air,  the  voice  divine, 

Of  princess  fair,  by  cruel  fate 

Reft  of  her  honours,  power,  and  state, 

Till  to  her  rightful  realm  restored 

By  destined  hero's  conquering  sword. 

XXVI. 

"  Such  was  my  vision !''  Edmund  thought ; 
"And  have  I,  then,  the  ruin  wrought 
Of  such  a  maid,  that  fancy  ne'er 
In  fairest  vision  forrn'd  her  peer? 
Was  it  my  hand  that  could  unclose 
The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes? 
Foes,  lost  to  honour,  law,  and  faith. 
Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death  ! 
Have  I  done  this?  1!  who  have  swore, 
That  if  the  glolie  such  angel  bore, 
I  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad. 
To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trode! — 
And  now — O!  would  that  earth  would  rive, 
And  close  upon  me  while  alive  ! — 
Is  there  no  hope  ?    Is  all  then  lost  ?— 
Bertram's  already  on  his  post ! 
Even  now,  beside  the  Hall's  arch'd  dtor, 
I  saw  his  shadow  cross  the  floor ! 
He  was  to  wait  my  signal  strain— 
A  little  respite  thus  we  gain  : 
By  what  I  iieard  the  menials  say, 
Young  Wyclittfl's  troop  are  on  their  way- 
Alarm  precipitates  the  crime! 
My  harp  must  wear  away  the  time." 


284                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  then,  in  accents  faint  and  low, 

He  falter'd  forth  a  tale  of  woe. 

XXIX. 

Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew; 

XX  VII. 

Yet,  even  in  mortal  terror,  true. 

B  A  L  U  A.  D  . 

Their  pale  and  startled  group  oppose 

Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 

"And  whither  would  you  lead  me,  then?" 

"  O  haste  thee,  Wilfrid  !"  Redmond  cried  ; 

Quoth  the  Friar  of  orders  grey  ; 

"  Undo  that  wicket  by  Mlv  side  ! 

And  the  Ruffians  twain  replied  again, 

Bear  hence  Matilda  —  gam  the  wood  — 

"  By  a  dying  woman  to  pray." 

The  pass  may  be  a  while  made  good  — 
Thy  band,  ere  this,  must  sure  be  nigh  — 

"  I  see."  he  said,  "  a  lovely  sight, 
A  sight  bodes  little  harm, 
A  lady  as  a  lily  bright, 

O  speak  not  —  dally  not  —  but  fly  !" 
While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide, 
Through  the  low  wicket  door  they  glide. 

With  an  infant  on  her  arm."  — 

Through  vaulted  passages  they  wind, 

In  Gothic  intricacy  twined  : 

"  Then  do  thine  office.  Friar  grey, 

Wilfrid  half  led,  and  half  lie  bore, 

And  see  thou  shrive  her  free  ! 

Matilda  to  the  postern  door, 

Else  shall  the  sprite,  that  parts  to-night, 
Fling  all  its  guilt  on  thee. 

And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree, 
The  Lady  stands  at  liberty. 
The  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 

"Let  mass  be  said,  and  tren'rn's  iva.l. 

Renew'd  suspended  consciousness;  — 

When  thou'rt  to  convent  gune. 

"  Where's  Redmond  ?"  eagerly  she  cries  : 

And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  liemMir.t 

"  Thou  answer's!  not  —  he  dies  !  he  dies  1 

Toll  out  its  deepest  tonu." 

And  thou  hast  left  him,  all  bereft 
Of  mortal  aid  —  with  murderers  left  ! 

The  shrift  is  done,  the  Friar  is  gone, 
Blindfolded  as  he  came— 

I  know  it  well  —  he  would  not  yield 
His  sword  to  man  —  his  doom  is  seal'd  ! 

Next  morning,  all  in  Littlecot  Hall 

For  my  scorn'd  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 

Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

At  price  of  his,  1  thank  thee  not." 

Wild  Darrell  is  an  alter'd  man, 

XXX. 

The  village  crones  can  tell  ; 

He  looks  pale  as  clay,  and  strives  to  pray. 
If  he  hears  the  convent  belt. 

The  unjust  reproach,  the  angry  look, 
The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 

If  prince  or  peer  cross  DarreU's  way, 
He'll  beard  him  in  his  pride  — 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "my  band  so  near, 
In  safety  thou  mavst  rest  Ihee  here. 
For  Redmond's  death  thou  shall  not  mourn, 

If  he  meet  a  Friar  of  orders  grey, 
He  droops  and  turns  aside.1 

!f  mine  can  buy  bis  safe  return." 
He  turn'd  away  —  his  heart  throbb'd  high, 

The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye  ; 

XXVIII. 

The  sense  of  her  injustice  press'd 

"  Harper  !  methinks  thy  magic  lays," 

Upon  the  Maid's  distracted  breast,  — 

Matilda  said,  "  can  goblins  raise  ! 

"  Stay.  Wilfrid,  stay  !  all  aid  is  vain  !" 

Wellnigh  my  fancy  can  discern. 

He  heard,  but  turn'd  him  not  again  ; 

Near  the  dark  porch,  a  visage  stern  ; 

He  reaches  now  the  postern-door. 

E'en  now,  in  yonder  shadowy  nook. 

Now  enters  —  and  is  seen  no  more. 

I  see  it!—  Redmond.  Wilfrid,  look  !— 

A  human  form  distinct  and  clear  — 

XXXI. 

God,  fur  thy  mercy!  —  It  draws  near!" 
She  saw  too  true.    Stride  after  stride. 
The  centre  of  that  chamber  wide 

With  all  the  agony  that  e'er 
Was  gender'd  'twixt  suspense  and  fear. 

Fierce  Bertram  gain'd  ;  then  made  a  stand, 
And  proudly  waving  with  his  hand, 
Thunder'd  —  "  Be  still,  upon  your  lives  !— 

She  watch'd  the  line  of  windows  tall, 
Whose  Gothic  lattice  lights  the  Hall, 
Distmguish'd  by  the  paly  red 

He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strives." 
Behind  their  chief,  the  robber  crew 
Forth  from  the  darken'd  portal  drew 
In  silence  —  save  that  echo  dread 

The  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed. 
While  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 
Each  grated  casement  glimmer'd  white. 
No  sight  of  harm,  no  sound  of  ill, 

Return'd  their  heavy  measured  tread. 
The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 
Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave  ; 
File  after  file  in  order  pass. 
Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 
Then,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign. 
At  once  they  furm'd  and  curved  their  line, 
Hemming  within  its  crescent  drear 
Their  victims,  like  a  herd  of  deer. 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 
Who  look'd  upon  the  scene,  had  guess'd 
All  in  the  Castle  were  at  rest  : 
When  sudd«n  on  the  windows  shone 
A  lightning  flash,  just  seen  and  gone! 
A  shot  is  heard  —  Again  the  flame 
Flash'd  thick  and  fast  —  a  volley  came  ! 
Then  echo'd  wildly,  from  within, 
Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din. 

Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 

And  weapon-clash  and  maddening  cry, 

Levell'd  at  once  their  muskets  came. 

Of  those  who  kill,  and  those  who  die  ! 

As  waiting  but  their  chieftain's  word, 
To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 

As  till'd  the  Hall  with  sulphurous  smoke. 
More  red,  more  dark,  the  death  flash  broke  ; 
And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 

That  struck,  or  struggled,  as  they  past. 

R  0  K  E  B  Y.                                          285 

XXXII. 

So  dense,  the  combatants  scarce  know 

What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 
Approach  so  rapidly  behind  ? 
It,  is.  it.  is.  the  tramp  jf  sleeds, 

To  aim  or  to  avoid  the  blow. 
Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fight- 
But  soon  shall  dawn  a  dismal  light  ! 

Matilda  hears  the  sound,  she  speeds, 

'Mid  cries,  and  clashing  arms,  there  came 

Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein  — 

The  hollow  sound  of  rushing  flame; 

"O,  haste  to  aid.  ere  aid  he  vain! 

New  horrors  on  the  tumult  diro 

Fly  to  the  postern  —  gain  the  Hall  !" 
From  saddle  spring  the  troopers  all; 
Their  gallant  steeds,  at  liberty. 

Arise  —  the  Cas'.le  is  on  lire  ! 
Doubtful,  if  chance  had  cast  the  brand, 
Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand. 

I;  mi  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 

Matilda  saw  —  for  frequent  broke 

But.  ere  they  hurst  upon  the  scene. 

From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke. 

Full  stubborn  had  the  conflict  been. 

Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined 

When  Bertram  rnark'd  Matilda's  flight, 

On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined, 

It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight  ; 
And  Rokebv's  veterans,  seam'd  with  scars 

That,  penciled  on  its  azure  pure, 
The  eye  could  count  each  embrazure. 

Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erin's  wars, 

Now,  swath'd  within  the  sweeping  cloud, 

Their  momentary  panic  o'er. 

Seems  giant-spectre  in  his  shroud  ; 

Stood  lo  the  arms  which  then  they  bore; 

Till,  from  each  loop-hole  flashing  light, 

(For  they  were  weapon'd.  and  prepared 
Their  Mistress  on  her  way  to  guard.) 

A  spout,  of  fire  shines'  ruddy  bright, 
And,  gathering  to  united  glare/ 

Then  cheer'd  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 

Streams  high  into  the  midnight  air; 

Then  peai'd  the  shot,  and  clash'd  the  steel. 

A  dismal  beacon,  far  and  wide 

The  war-smoke  soon  wiih  sable  breath 

That  waken'd  Greta's  slumbering  side 

Darken'd  the  scene  of  blood  and  death, 
While  on  the  few  defenders  close 

Soon  all  beneath,  through  gallery  long. 
And  pendant  arch,  the  tire  flash'd  strong, 

The  Bandits,  with  redoubled  blows, 

Snatching  whatever  could  maintain, 

And.  twice  driven  back,  yet  tierce  and  fell 

Raise,  or  extend,  its  furious  reign  ; 

Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yell. 
XX.XIII 

Startling,  with  closer  cause  of  dread, 
The  females  who  the  conflict  fled. 

Wilfrid  has  fall'n—  but  o'er  him  stood 
Young  Kedmond,  soil'd  with  smoke  and  blood, 

And  now  rush'd  forth  upon  the  plain, 
Filling  the  air  with  clamours  vain. 

Cheering  his  mates  with  heart  and  hand 

XXXV. 

Still  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand. 

But  ceased  not  yet,  the  Hall  within, 

"  Up,  comrades,  up  !  In  Rokeby  halls 

The  shriek,  the  shout,  the  carnage-din, 

Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 
What  !  faint,  ye  for  their  savage  cry. 
Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt,  your  eye  ? 
These  rafters  have  return'd  a  shout 
As  loud  at  hokebv's  wassail  rout, 
As  thick  a  smoke'  these  hearths  have  given 
At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas-even.  ' 
Stand  to  it  yet  !  renew  the  fight, 
For  Rokeby's  and  Matilda's  right! 
These  slaves  !  they  dare  not.  hand  to  hand, 
Bide  buffet  from  a'  true  man's  brand." 
Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young. 
Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 
Woe  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 
His  hrandish'd  falchion's  sheer  descent  ! 
Backward  they  scatter'd  as  he  came, 
Like  wolves  before  the  levin  flame, 

Till  bursting  lattices  give  proof 
The  flames  have  caught  the  rafter'd  roof. 
What!  wait  they  till  its  beams  amain 
Crash  on  the  slayers  and  the  slam  ? 
The  alarm  is  caught—  the  drawbridge  falls, 
The  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 
But,  by  the  conflagration's  light. 
Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 
Each  struggling  felon  down  was  hew'd. 
Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood  ; 
But  forth  the  affrighted  harper  sprung, 
And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 
Her  shriek,  entreaty,  and  command, 
Stopp'd  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand. 
Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en  ; 
The  rest,  save  Bertram,  all  are  slain. 

When,  'mid  their  howling  conclave  driven, 

XXXVI. 

Hath  glanced  the  thunderlmlt  of  heaven. 
Bertram  rush'd  on  —  but  Harpool  clasp'd 
His  knees,  although  in  death  he  gasp'd, 
His  falling  corpse  before  him  flung, 
And  round  the  trammeled  ruffian  clung. 

And  where  is  Bertram  ?  —  Soaring  high 
The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky: 
In  gather'd  group  the  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze. 
When,  like  infernal  demon,  sent, 

Just  then,  the  soldiers  fill'd  the  dome. 

Red  from  his  penal  element. 

And,  shouting,  charged  the  felons  borne 
So  fiercely,  that,  m  panic  dread, 

To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  air,  — 
His  face  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair. 

They  broke,  they  yielded,  fell,  or  fled. 
Bertram's  stern  voice  they  heed  no  more, 
Though  heard  above  the  battle's  roar; 
While,  trampling  down  the  dying  man, 
He  strove,  with  volley'd  threat  and  ban, 

Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 
The  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke  ! 
His  brandish'd  sword  on  high  he  rears. 
Then  plunged  among  opposing  spears: 
Round  hisluft  arm  his  mantle  trnss'd. 

In  scorn  of  odds,  in  fate's  despite, 

Received  and  foil'd  three  lances'  thrust; 

To  rally  up  the  desperate  fight. 

Nor  these  his  headlong  course  withstood. 

XXXIV. 

Like  reeds  he  snapp'cl  the  tough  ash-wood. 

Soon  murkier  clouds  the  Hall  enfold. 
Than  e'er  from  battle-thunders  roll'd; 

In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung; 
With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 
Their  boldest,  —  as  the  bull,  at  bay, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  his  way. 

286 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Through  forty  fops  his  path  he  made, 
And  safely  gaiu'd  the  forest  glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'er. 
When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 
Wilfrid,  who,  as  of  life  bereR. 
Had  in  the  fatal  Hall  been  left, 
Deserted  there  by  all  his  train  ; 
But  Redmond  saw.  and  turn'd  again. — 
Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down, 
That  in  the  blaze  gleam'd  niddy  brown, 
And  then  his  mantle's  clasp  undid ; 
Matilda  held  his  drooping:  head. 
Till,  given  to  breathe  the  freer  air, 
Returning  life  repaid  I  heir  care. 
He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh. — 
"  I  could  have  wish'd  even  thus  to  die!" 
No  more  he  said — for  now  with  speed 
Eacli  trouper  had  regain'd  his  steed  ; 
The  ready  palfreys  stood  array'd, 
For  Redmond  and  for  Rokebv's  Maid ; 
Two  Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain, 
One  leads  his  charger  by  the  rein. 
But  oft  Matilda  look'd  behind. 
As  up  the  Vale  of  Tees  tney  wind, 
Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 
Beacon'd  the  dale  with  midmirht  fires. 
In  gloomy  arch  above  them  spread, 
The  clouded  heaven  lower'd  bloody  red ; 
Beneath,  in  sombre  light,  the  flood 
Appear'd  to  roll  in  waves  of  blood. 
Then,  one  by  one,  was  heard  to  fall 
The  tower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 
Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound, 
A  space  the  conflagration  drown'd  ; 
Till,  gathering  strength,  aaain  it  rose, 
Announced  its  triumph  in  its  close, 
Shook  wide  its  light  the  landscape  o'er, 
Then  sunk— and  Kokeby  was  no  more  ! 


Bofceig. 


CANTO   SIXTH. 


I. 

The  summer  sun,  whose  early  power 
Was  wont,  to  gild  Matilda's  bower, 
And  rouse  her  with  his  matin  ray 
Her  duteous  orisons  to  pay. — 
That  morirng  sun  has  three  times  seen 
The  flowers  unfold  on  Rokeby  green, 
But  sees  no  more  the  slumbers  fly 
From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye  ; 
Thai  morning  sun  has  three  times  broke 
On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak. 
But,  rising  from  their  silvan  screen. 
Marks  no  grey  turrets  glance  between. 
A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower, 
That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower. 
Can  but  with  smouldering  vapour  pay 
The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 
The  peasant,  to  his  labour  bound. 
Pauses  to  view  the  blacken'd  mound, 
Striving,  amid  the  ruin'd  space, 
Each  well  remember'd  spot  to  trace. 


That  length  of  frail  and  fire-scorch'd  wall 
Once  screen'd  the  hospitable  hall ; 
When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole. 
Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole  ; 
And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod, 
The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. — 
So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span! 
Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man, 
Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date 
Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 
The  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom; 
Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb  : 
But  betler  lioon  benignant  Heaven 
To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given, 
And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 
Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time. 

II. 

Now  the  third  night  of  summer  came, 
Since  that  which  wjtness'd  Rokeby's  flame. 
On  Brignall  cliffs  and  Scargill  brake 
The  owlet's  homilies  awake. 
The  bittern  scream'd  from  rush  and  flag, 
The  raven  slumber'd  on  his  crag. 
Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew. — 
Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew, 
As  between  reed  and  sedge  he  peers. 
With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpen'd  ears, 
Or.  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool. 
Watches  the  stream  or  swims  the  pool ; — 
Pemh'd  on  his  wonted  eyrie  high, 
Sleep  seal'd  the  tercelet's  wearied  eye, 
That  all  the  day  had  watch'd  so  well 
The  cushat  dart  across  the  dell. 
In  dubious  beam  reflected  shone 
That  lofty  cliff  of  pale  grey  stone. 
Beside  whose  base  the  secret  cave 
To  rapine  late  a  refuge  gave. 
The  crag's  wild  crest  of  copse  and  yew 
On  Greta's  breast  dark  shadows  threw  ; 
Shadows  that  met  or  shunn'd  the  sight, 
With  every  change  of  fitful  light; 
As  hope  and  fear  alternate  cliase 
Our  course  through  life's  uncertain  race. 

in. 

Gliding  by  crag  and  copsewood  green. 
A  solitary  form  was  seen 
To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold, 
Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold. 
And  pauses  oft.  and  cowers  dismay'd, 
At  every  breath  Ihat  stirs  the  shade. 
He  passes  now  the  ivy  bush, — 
The  owl  has  seen  him.  and  is  hnsh  ; 
He  passes  now  the  dodder'd  oak. — 
Ye  heard  the  star  led  raven  croak ; 
Lower  and  lower  he  descends. 
Rustle  the  leaves,  the  brushwood  bends; 
The  otter  hears  him  tread  the  shore, 
And  dives,  and  is  beheld  no  more ; 
And  by  the  cliff  of  pale  grey  stone 
The  midnight,  wanderer  siands  alone. 
Mi'thinks.  that  by  the  moon  w<>  irace 
A  well-rememher'd  form  and  face  ! 
That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale, 
Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tale, 
Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force. 
Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse  ! 
'Tis  Edmund's  eye,  at  every  sound 
That  flings  that  guilty  glance  around  ; 
'Tis  Edmund's  trembling  h:iste  divides 
The  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides; 
I  And,  when  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare, 
'  Tis  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 


ROKEBY. 


287 


IV. 


His  flint  and  steel  h:ive  sparkled  l)riglit, 
A  lamp  hat.li  lent  the  cavern  light. 
Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 
Each  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 
Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode. 
It  seem  d  as  none  i's  HOOT  had  trode ; 
Untouch'd  appear'd  the  various  spoil, 
The  purchase  of  his  comrades'  toil ; 
Masks  and  disguises  grim'd  with  mud, 
Arms  broken  ami  defiled  with  blood, 
Anil  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 
Night-felons  in  their  lawless  trade, 
Upon  the  gloomy  walls  were  hung, 
Or  lay  in  nooks  obscurely  flung. 
Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 
The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer  : 
Fl:igoris  and  emptied  flasks  were  there. 
And  bench  o'erthrowii,  and  shatter'd  chair; 
And  all  around  the  semblance  show'd, 
A3  when  the  final  revel  glow'd. 
When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast, 
And  parting  pledge  Guy  Denzil  past. 
"To  liokeby  treasure-vaults!'1  they  quaff'd, 
And  shouted  loud  and  wildly  laugti'd, 
Pour'd  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 
And  parted — lo  return  no  more! 
They  fmnd  in  Rokeby  vaults  their  doom,— 
A  bloody  death,  u  burning  tomb  ! 

V. 

There  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies, 

Doff'd  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise; 

And,  shuddering,  thought  upon  his  glee, 

When  prank'd  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 

"O,  be  the  fatal  art  accurst," 

He  cried.  "  that  moved  my  folly  first ; 

Till,  bribed  by  bandits'  base  applause, 

I  burst  through  God's  and  Nature's  laws ! 

Three  summer  days  are  scantly  past 

Since  I  have  trod  this  cavern  last, 

A  thoughtless  wretch,  and  prompt  to  err — 

But,  O,  as  yet  no  murderer ! 

Even  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 

That  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear. 

Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steel'd  my  heart, 

As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part — 

And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 

The  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream ! 

But  fatal  Memory  notes  too  well 

The  horrors  of  the  dying  yell 

From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke. 

When  flash 'd  the  tire  and  roll'd  the  smoke ; 

When  the  avengers  shouting  came, 

And  hemm'd  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame! 

My  frantic  flight.— the  lifted  brand. — 

That  angel's  interposing  hand  ! 

If,  for  my  life  from  slaughter  freed. 
1  yet  could  pay  sotne  grateful  meed  ! 
Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 
May  aid" — he  turn'd.  nor  spoke  the  rest. 

VI. 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth, 
Wall  piices  five  he  metes  the  e.'irth, 
Then  tod'd  with  mattock  to  explore 
The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor, 
Nor  paused  till,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 
His  searcli  a  small  steel  casket  found. 
Just  as  he  stoop'd  to  loose  its  hasp, 
His  shoulder  felt  a  giant  grasp  ; 
He  started,  and  look'd  up  aghast. 
Then  shriek'd  ! — 'Twas Bertram  he'd  him  fast. 


"  Fear  not !"  he  said  ;  but  who  could  hear 

That  deep  stern  voice,  and  cease  to  fear? 

"Fear  not!— By  heaven,  he  shakes  as  much 

As  partridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch  :" — 

He  raised  him  and  unloosed  his  hold, 

While  from  the  opening  casket  roll'd 

A  chain  and  reliquaire  of  gold. 

Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise, 

G;ized  on  its  fashion  and  device, 

Then,  cheering  Kdinund  ns  he  could, 

Somewhat  he  smonth'd  his  rugged  mood: 

For  still  the  youth's  half-lifted  eye 

Quiver'd  with  terror's  agony, 

And  sidelong  fflimceil,  as  to  explore, 

In  meditated  flight,  the  door. 

"  Sit,'1  Bertram  said,  "  from  danger  free  : 

Thou  canst  not,  and  tliou  strait  not,  flee. 

Chance  brings  me  hither;  hill  and  plain 

I've  sought  for  refuge-place  in  vain. 

And  tell  me  now,  thou  aguish  boy. 

What  makestthou  here  ?  what  means  this  toy  ? 

Denzil  and  thou,  1  mark'd.  were  ta'en; 

What  lucky  chance  unbound  your  chain? 

I  deem'd.  long  since  on  Ballot's  tower, 

Your  heads  were  warp'd  with  sun  and  shower. 

Tell  me  the  whole — and,  mark  !  nought  e'er 

Chafes  me  like  falsehood,  or  like  fear." 

Gathering  his  courage  to  his  aid. 

But  trembling  still,  the  youth  obey'd. 

VII. 

•'  Denzil  and  I  two  nights  pass'd  o'er 
In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 
A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought; 
Our  hold  dark  Oswald  Wycliffe  sought, 
Arid  eyed  my  comrade  long  askance, 
With  fix'd  and  penetrating  glance. 
'  Guy  Denzil  art  thou  call'd  ?' — 'The  same.' — 
'  At  Court  who  served  wild  Buckingharne  ; 
Thence  banish'd,  won  a  keeper's  place, 
So  Villiers  will'd,  in  Marwood-chase  ; 
That  lost — I  need  not  tell  thee  why — 
Thou  madest  thy  wits  thy  wants  supply. 
Then  fought  for  Rokeby  : — Have  I  guess'd 
My  prisoner  right?'—'  At  thy  behest.'— 
Pie  paused  a  while,  and  then  went  on 
With  low  and  confidential  tone; — 
Me,  as  I  judge,  not  then  he  saw. 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw. — 
'  List  to  me,  Guy.     Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate ; 
Hence,  in  their  favour  oft  we  see, 
lms<:rupled.  useful  men  like  Ihee. 
Were  I  disposed  to  bid  thee  live. 
What  pledge  of  faith  hast  thou  to  give  ? 

VIII. 

"  The  ready  Fiend,  who  never  yet 
Hath  fail'd  to  sharpen  Denzd's'wit, 
Prompted  his  lie—'  His  only  child 
Should  rest  his  pledge.'— 1  tie  Baron  smiled, 
And  turn'd  to  me — 'Thou  art  his  son?' 
I  bowed — our  fetters  were  undone, 
And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 
A  dreadful  lesson  of  his  art. 
Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  son, 
Had  fair  Matilda's  favour  won : 
And  long  since  had  their  union  been, 
But,  for  her  father's  bigot  spleen, 
Whose  brute  and  blindfold  party-rage 
Would,  force  per  force,  her  hand  engage 
To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth, 
Unknown  his  lineage  and  his  birth, 


288 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Save  that  a  dying  ruffian  bore 
The  infant  l.rat  to  Kokeby  door. 
Gentle  restraint,  he  said,  would  lead 
CM  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed  ; 
But  fair  occasion  he  must  tind 
For  such  restraint  well-meant  and  kind. 
The  Knight  being  render'd  lo  his  charge 
But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX. 

"  He  school'd  us  in  a  well-forged  tale. 

Of  scheme  the  Castle  walls  to  scale. 

To  which  was  leagued  each  Cavalier 

That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear; 

That  Rokehy.  his  parole  forgot. 

Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  the  plot. 

Such  was  the  charge  which  Deuzil's  zeal 

Of  hate  lo  Kokehy  and  U'Neale 

Proffer'd.  as  witness  to  make  good, 

Even  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 

I  scrupled,  until  o'er  and  o'er 

His  prisoners'  safety  \V~yditfe  swore ; 

And  then— alas!  what  needs  there  more! 

1  knew  1  should  not  live  to  say 

The  proffer  I  refused  that  day ; 

Ashamed  to  live,  yet  loth  to  die, 

I  soil'd  me  with  their  infamy  !" — 

•  Poor  youth."  said  Bertram,  "  wavering  still, 

Unfit  alike  for  good  or  ill! 

But  what  fell  next  ?" — ••  Soon  as  at  large 

Was  scroll'd  and  sign'd  our  fatal  charge, 

There  never  yet.  on  tragic  stage, 

Was  seen  so  well  a  painted  rage 

As  Oswald's  show'd  !     With  loud  alarm 

He  call'd  his  garrison  to  arm ; 

Fr.mi  tower  to  tower,  from  post  to  post. 

He  hurried  as  if  all  were  lost; 

Consign'd  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 

The  good  old  Knight  and  all  his  train; 

Warn'd  each  suspected  Cavalier, 

Within  his  limits,  to  appear 

To-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  noon. 

In  the  high  church  of  Egliston. " — 

X. 

"Of  Egliston! — Even  now  I  pass'd," 
Said  Bertram,  ••  as  tlce  night  closed  fast; 
Torches  and  cressets  gleam'd  around, 
I  heard  the  saw  and  hammer  sound, 
And  I  could  mark  they  toil'd  to  raise 
A  scaffold,  hung  with  sable  baize. 
Which  the  grim  headsman's  scene  display'd, 
Block,  axe.  and  sawdust  ready  laid. 
Some  evil  deed  will  there  he  done, 
Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son ; — 
She  loves  him  not. — 'tis  shrewdly  guess'd 
That  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 
This  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill ; 

But  I  may  meet,  and  foil  him  still ! 

How  earnest  thou  to  thy  freedom  ?''—"  There 

Lies  mystery  more  dark  and  rare. 

In  midst  of  Wycliffe's  well-feigu'd  rase, 

A  scroll  was  offer'd  by  a  page. 

Who  told,  a  muffled  horseman  late 

Had  left  it  at  the  Castle-gate. 

He  broke  the  seal— his  cheek  show'd  change, 

Sudden,  portentous,  wild,  and  strange; 

The  mimic  passion  of  his  eye 

Was  turri'd  to  actual  agony  : 

His  hand  like  summer  sapling  shook, 

Terror  and  guilt  were  in  his  look. 

Denzil  he  judged,  in  time  of  need. 

Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed ; 


And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke. 
While  with  a  ghastly  smile  he  spoke  : — 

XI. 

" '  As  in  the  pageants  of  the  stage, 
The  dead  awake  in  tins  wild  age. 
Mortham — whom  all  men  deem'd  decreed 
In  his  own  deadly  snare  to  Ijleed, 
Slain  by  a  bravo,  whom,  o'er  sea. 
He  train'd  to  aid  in  murdering  me.— 
Mortham  has  'scaped  !    The  coward  shot 
The  steed,  but  harm'd  the  rider  not.'" 
Here,  with  an  execration  fell, 
Bertram  leap'd  up.  and  paced  the  cell : — 
"  Thine  own  grey  head,  or  bosom  dark," 
He  mutter'd.  ••  may  be  surer  mark  !'' 
Then  sat,  and  sign'd  to  Edmund,  pale 
With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 
"  Wycliffe  went  on  :— •  Mark  with  what  fligi  ts 
Of  wilder'd  reverie  he  writes  : — 

THE     LBTT  3  &. 
" '  Ruler  of  Mortham's  destiny  ! 
Though  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee. 
Once  had  he  all  that  binds  to  life, 
A  lovely  child,  a  lovelier  wife  ; 
Wealth,  fame,  and  friendship,  were  his  own— 
Thou  staves!  the  word,  and  they  are  flown. 
Mark  how  he  pays  thee  : — To  thy  hand 
He  yields  his  honours  and  his  land, 
One  boon  premised  ; — Restore  his  child  ! 
And.  from  his  native  land  exiled, 
Mortham  no  more  returns  to  claim 
His  lands,  his  honours,  or  his  name; 
Refuse  him  this,  and  from  the  slain 
Thou  shall  see  Mortham  rise  again.' — 

XII. 

"  This  billet  while  the  baron  read. 
His  faltering  accents  show'd  his  dread , 
He  press'd  his  forehead  with  his  palm, 
Then  took  a  scornful  tone  and  cairn  ; 
'  Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild  ! 
What  wot  1  of  his  spouse  or  child  ? 
Hither  he  brought  a  joyous  dame. 
Unknown  her  lineage  or  her  name  : 
Her,  in  some  frantic  fit.  he  slew ; 
The  nurse  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 
Heaven  he  my  witness !  wist  I  where 
To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heir,— 
Unguerdon'd,  I  would  give  with  joy 
The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy. 
And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 
To  the  just  heirs  of  -Mortham's  line.' — 
Thou  know'st  that  scarcely  e'en  his  fear 
Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneer; — 
'Then  happy  is  thy  vassal's  part,' 
He  said, '  to  ease  his  patron's  heart ! 
In  thine  own  jailer's  watchful  care 
Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir; 
Thy  generous  wish  is  fullv  won, — 
Redmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son.'— 

XIII. 

;'  Dp  starting  with  a  frenzied  look. 
His  clenched  hand  the  Baron  shook : 
Is  Hell  at  work  ?  or  dost  thou  rave. 
Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave  ! 
Perchance  thou  wot'st  not.  Barnard's  towers 
Have  racks,  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers." 
Denzil,  who  well  his  safety  knew. 
Firmly  rejoiu'd,  '1  tell  thee  true. 


ROKEBY. 


289 


Thy  racks  could  give  thee  but  to  know 

The  proofs,  wliicii  I,  uniortured,  show. — 

It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night, 

When  early  snow  made  Siamnore  white, 

That  very  night,  when  first  of  all 

Redmond  O'Neale  saw  Kokeby-hall, 

It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gam 

A  reliquary  and  a  chain, 

Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 

— Demand  not  how  the  prize  I  hold  ! 

It  was  not  given,  nor  lent,  nor  sold. — 

Gilt  tablets  to  the  chain  were  hung, 

With  letters  in  the  Irish  tongue. 

I  hid  my  spoil,  for  there  was  need 

That  1  should  leave  the  land  with  speed ; 

Nor  then  I  deem'd  it  safe  to  bear 

On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 

Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took. 

But  since  have  spell'd  them  by  the  book, 

When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 

Of  their  wild  speech  had  given  command. 

But  darkling  was  the  sense ;  the  phrase 

And  language  those  of  other  days, 

Involved  of. purpose,  as  to  foil 

An  interloper's  prying  toil. 

The  words,  but  not  the  sense.  I  knew 

Till  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clew. 

XIV. 

" '  Three  days  since,  was  that  clew  reveal'd, 
In  Thorsgill  as  I  lav  conceal'd. 
And  heard  at  full  when  Rokehy's  Maid 
Her  uncle's  history  display'd  ; 
And  now  1  can  interpret  well 
Each  syllable  the  tablets  tell, 
Mark,  then  :  P'air  Edith  was  the  joy 
Of  old  O'Neale  of  Clandeboy ; 
But  from  her  sire  and  country  fled, 
In  secret  Mortham's  Lord  to  wed. 
O'Neale.  his  first  resentment  o'er, 
l)es:>ato.h'd  his  son  to  Greta's  shore. 
Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known 
(Until  his  farther  will  were  shown) 
To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 
What  of  their  ill-starr'd  meeting  fell. 
Lord  Wyclifle  knows,  and  none  so  well. 

XV. 

"'O'Neale  it  was.  who,  in  despair, 
Rohb'd  Mortham  of  Ins  infant  heir  ; 
He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild. 
And  call'd  him  murder'd  Connel's  rhild. 
Soon  died  the  nurse  ;  the  Clan  believed 
What  from  their  Chieftain  they  received. 
His  purpose  was,  that  ne'er  again 
The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main  ; 
But,  like  his  mountain  sires,  enjoy 
The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 
Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came. 
And  stronger  Chieftains  urged  a  claim. 
And  wrested  from  the  old  man's  hands 
His  native  towers,  his  father's  lauds. 
Unable  then,  amid  the  strife, 
To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life, 
Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 
The  infant  to  his  native  shores. 
With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored, 
With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word, 
To  Mnrlliam  and  to  Rokehy's  Lord. 
Nought  knew  the  clud  of  Irish  earth. 
Who  was  the  guide,  of  Redmond's  birth  ; 
But  deem'd  his  Chief's  commands  were  laid 
On  both,  by  both  to  be  obey'd. 


How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way, 
1  need  not,  and  I  list  not  say.'— 

xvr. 

"'  A  wondrous  tale !  and,  grant  it  true, 
What,'  Wycliffe  answer'd,  'might  I  do  1 
Heaven  knows,  as  willingly  as  now 
I  raise  the  bonnet  from  my  brow, 
Would  1  my  kinsman's  manors  fair 
Restore  to  Morlham,  or  his  heir; 
But  Mortham  is  distraught — O'Neale 
Has  drawn  for  tyranny  his  steel, 
Malignant  to  our  rightful  cause, 
And  train'd  in  Koine's  delusive  laws. 
Hark,  thee  apart!' — They  whisper'd  long, 
Till  Denzil's  voice  grew  bold  and  strong: — 
'  My  proofs !  I  never  will,'  he  said, 
'Show  mortal  man  where  they  are  laid. 
Nor  hope  discovery  to  foreclose, 
By  giving  me  to  feed  the  crows  ; 
For  I  have  mates  at  large,  who  know 
Where  I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 
Free  me  from  peril  and  from  band, 
These  tablets  are  at  thy  command  ; 
Nor  were  it  hard  to  form  some  train, 
To  wile  old  \fortham  o'er  the  main. 
Then,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  hand 
Should  wrest  from  thine  the  goodly  land.'— 
— '  1  like  thy  wit,'  said  Wycliffe, '  well; 
But  here  in  hostage  shalt  thou  dwell. 
Thy  son,  unless  my  purpose  err, 
May  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 
A  scroll  to  Mortham  shall  he  bear 
From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 
Gold  shall  thou  have,  and  that  good  store, 
And  freedom,  his  commission  o'er; 
But  if  his  faith  should  chance  to  fail, 
The  gibbet  frees  thee  from  the  jail.'— 

XVII. 

"Mesh'd  in  the  net  himself  had  twined, 

What  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find  f 

He  told  me.  with  reluctant  sigh. 

That  hidden  here  the  tokens  lie ; 

Conjured  my  swift  return  and  ajd, 

By  all  he  scoff'd  and  disobey'd, 

And  look'd  as  if  the  noose  were  tied, 

And  I  the  priest  who  left  his  side. 

This  scroll  for  Morttmm  Wycliffe  gave, 

Whom  1  must  seek  by  Greta's  wave; 

Or  in  the  hut  where  chief  he  hides, 

Where  Thorsgill's  forester  resides. 

(Thence  chanced  it,  wandering  in  the  glade, 

That  he  descried  our  ambuscade.) 

I  was  dismiss'd  as  evening  fell, 

And  reach 'd  but  now  this  rocky  cell." — 

-Give  Oswald's  letter."— Bertram  read, 

And  tore  it  fiercely,  shred  by  shred: — 

"  All  lies  and  villa'ny !  to  blind 

His  noble  kinsman's  generous  mind, 

And  train  him  on  from  day  to  day, 

Till  he  can  take  his  life  away. — 

And  now,  declare  thy  purpose,  youth, 

Nor  dare  to  answer,  save  the  truth  ; 

If  aught  I  mark  of  Denzil's  art, 

I'll  tear  the  secret  from  thy  heart !" — 

XVIII. 

It  needs  not.    I  renounce,"  he  said, 

My  tutor  and  his  deadly  trade. 
Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  declare 
To  Morthum,  Redmond  is  his  heir. 


290 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands, 

And  yield  these  tokens  lo  Ins  hands. 

Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  atoiie, 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done ; 

And  fix'd  it  rests — if  I  survive 

This  mirht .  and  leave  this  cave  alive." — 

-  And  UenzJI  <"— "  Let  them  ply  the  rack, 

Even  till  his  joints  and  .sinews  crack ! 

If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 

What  ruth  can  Deuzil  claim  from  him. 

Whose  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray, 

And  damn'd  lo  this  uuhallow'd  way? 

He  school 'd  me  faith  and  vows  were  rain; 

Now  let  my  master  reap  his  gain." — 

"  True,"  answer'd  Bertram,  "  'tis  his  meed ; 

There's  retribution  in  the  deed. 

But  thou — them  art  not  for  our  course, 

Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse  : 

And  he.  with  us  the  gale  who  braves, 

Must  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves, 

Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore. 

While  barks  unburden'd  reach  the  shore." 

XIX. 

He  paused,  and.  stretching  him  at  length, 
Seem'd  to  repose  his  bulky  strength. 
Communing  with  his  secret  mind, 
As  half  he  sat,  and  half  reclin'd, 
One  ample  hand  his  forehead  press'd. 
And  one  was  dropp'd  across  his  breast. 
The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 
Above  his  eyes  of  swarthy  Same ; 
His  lip  of  pride  a  while  forbore 
The  haughty  curve  till  then  it  wore ; 
The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look 
A  shade  of  darken'd  sadness  took, — 
For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  press'd 
Resistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast, — 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  wonted  tone. 
So  fierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 
His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep, 
Like  distant  waves  when  breezes  sleep; 
And  sorrow  mix'd  with  Edmund's  fear, 
Us  low  unbroken  depth  to  hear. 

XX. 

"  Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 
The  woe  that  warp'd  my  patron's  mind : 
Twould  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 
In  other  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 
Mortham  must  never  see  the  fiiol, 
That  sold  himself  base  Wycliffe's  tool; 
Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain, 
Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 
Say,  Bertram  rues  his  fault ;  —  a  word, 
Till  now,  from  Bertram  never  heard  : 
Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  Lord  he  prays 
To  think  but  on  their  former  days ; 
On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock. 
On  Cayo's  bursting  battle-shock, 
On  Danen's  sands  and  deadly  dew, 
And  on  the  dart  Tlatzcca  threw  :  — 
Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 
More  that  may  srace  his  comrade's  bier. 
My  soul  hath  felt  a  secret  weight, 
A  warning  of  approaching  fate  : 
A  priest  had  said, '  Return,  repent !' 
As  well  to  hid  that  rock  be  rent. 
Firm  as  that  flint  I  face  mine  end  ; 
My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend. 

XXI. 

"  The  dawning  of  my  youth,  with  awe 
And  prophecy,  the  Dalesmen  saw ; 


For  over  Redesdale  it  came, 
As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 
Edmund,  tliv  years  were  scarcely  mine, 
When,  challenging  the  Clans  of  Tyne, 
To  bring  Ilieir  best  my  brand  to  prove, 
O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove ;  ' 
Hut  Tynedale,  nur  in  tower  nor  town. 
Held  champion  meet  lo  lake  it  down, 
My  noontide,  India  may  declare  ; 
Like  her  fierce  sun.  1  fired  the  air! 
Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  fly 
Her  natives,  from  mine  ansry  eye. 
Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 
When  Risingham  inspires  the  tale  ; 
riulfs  dark  matrons  loo?  shall  tame 
The  froward  child  with  Bertram's  name. 
And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run, 
Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun ! 
No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay ; 
With  disk  like  battle-tareet  red, 
He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed. 
Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 
'Jhen  sinks  at  once  —  and  all  is  night. — 

XXII. 

"  Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.    Fly, 
Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  him  hie 
To  Richmond,  where  his  troops  are  laid, 
And  lead  his  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 
Say.  till  he  reaches  Eghston. 
A  friend  will  watch  to  guard  his  son. 
Now.  fare  thee-well ;  for  night  draws  on, 
And  I  would  rest  me  here  aloue." 
Despite  his  ill-dissembled  fear. 
There  swam  in  Edmund's  eve  a  tear; 
A  tribute  to  the  courase  lush. 
Which  stoop'd  not  in  extremity, 
But  strove,  irregularly  great, 
To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate ! 
Bertram  beheld  the  dewdrop  start, 
It  almost  touch 'd  his  iron  heart :  — 
"  I  did  not  think  there  lived."'  he  said, 
"One.  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed." 
He  loosen'd  then  his  baldric's  hold, 
A  buckle  broad  of  massive  cold  ;  — 
"Of  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains, 
But  this  with  Kisingham  remains; 
And  this,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take, 
And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 
Once  more  — to  Mortham  speed  amain; 
Farewell !  and  turn  thee  not  again." 

XXIII. 

The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn, 
And  far  the  hours  of  prime  are  worn. 
Oswald,  who.  since  the  dawn  of  day, 
Had  cursed  his  messenger's  delay. 
Impatient  question 'd  now  his  train, 
••  Was  Denzil's  son  return'd  again  ?" 
It  chanced  there  answer'd  of  the  crew, 
A  menial,  who  youns  Edmund  knew  : 
"No  son  of  Denzil  this."  — he  s-iul  ; 
"  A  pe:isant  boy  from  Winston  glade, 
For  song  ;md  minstrelsy  renown'd. 
And  knavish  pranks,  the  hamlets  round." — 
••  Not  Denzil's  son  !  — From  Winston  vaie!  — 
Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale ; 
Or,  worse  —  he  hath  despatch 'd  the  youth 
To  show  to  Mortham's  Lord  its  truth. 
Fool  that  I  was  —  but  'tis  too  late ;  — 
This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate !  — 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 


R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


291 


The  tale,  or  true  or  false,  relies 
On  Den/il's  evidence  !  —  He  dies !  — 
Ho!  1'rovost  Marshal!  instantly 
Lead  Denzil  to  tlie  galiows-iree  ! 
Allow  iuui  nut  a  parting  word ; 
Sliorl  lie  th«  shrift,  and  sure  tlie  cord ! 
Then  let  his  sory  head  appul 
Marauders  from  the  Castle- wall. 
Lead  lorlli  tliy  guard,  ihat  duty  done, 
Witii  best  despa  en  to  Egilston. — 
Basil,  tml  WiilVid  lie  must  straight 
Attend  me  at  tlie  Castle-gate." — 

XXIV. 

"  Alas !"  the  old  domestic  said. 

And  shooK  his  venerable  liead, 

'•  Alas,  my  Lord  !  full  ill  to-day 

May  my  young  master  brook  the  way ! 

The  leech  has  spose  with  grave  alarm, 

Oi  unse'-n  hurt,  of  secret  harm, 

Of  soi row  lurking  ;;t  the  heart, 

That  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art." — 

"  Tush,  tt-il  nut  me  !  —  Konvmtic  boys 

Pine  t  .emsdlves  sick  for  airy  toys, 

I  w.li  lii.d  i  u  e  for  WilinU  soon; 

Bi  I  linn  lor  Er  is  on  he  boune, 

And  truck  !  —  I  hear  the  dull  death-drum 

Ti  11  Denzil's  hour  o:  f  ite  is  come." 

He  [>.,u.i  d  wi  a  sroiiii'u!  smile,  and  thea 

Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agcn. 

••  Now  con  e-i  my  fortune's  cr  sis  near ! 

Entreaty  boots  not  —  instan1  fear, 

No  igiiL  rlsr,  ran  bend  Mai. Id  I's  pride, 

Or  win  I.er  10  lie  Wilfrid's  bride. 

But  when  >he  sees  the  scalfbid  placed, 

V\  ith  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced, 

.And  wnen  slie  deems,  that  to  deny 

Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die, 

She  must,  give  way.— Then,  were  the  liue 

Of  Rokeby  once  combined  with  mine, 

1  «am  the  weather- gage  of  fate! 

If  Monbaoi  c.mie,  he  comes  too  late, 

While  1,  allied  thus  and  prepared, 

lild  linn  de.ianre  to  his  beard  — 

— If  she  prove  stubborn,  shall  I  dare 

To  drop  the  axe  ?  —  Soft !  pause  we  there. 

M.Ttiiaiii  still  lives — yon  youih  may  tell 

His  tale  — and  Fairfax  loves  him  well;  — 

Klse,  wherefore  should  I  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  Redmond  from  my  way?  — 

But  she  10  piety  perforce 

Must  yield  — Without  there !  Sound  to  horse." 

XXV. 

Twas  bustle  in  the  court  below  — 

••  Mount,  and  march  forward  !" — Forth  they  go ; 

Steeds  ni-ijli  and  trample  all  around, 

Steel  rings,  spears  gi  miner,  trumpets  sound. — 

Just  then  was  suns;  his  parting  hymn ; 

And  Denzil  turn'd  his  eyeballs  dim. 

And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees, 

Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees; 

And  scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears, 

The  trumpets  tm?le  in  his  ears. 

O'er  I  he  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 

The  van  is  hid  by  greenwood  hough  ; 

Hut  eie  the  rearward  had  pjss'd  o'er, 

Huy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more ! 

One  stroke,  upon  the  Castle  bell. 

To  Oswald  rung  his  dying  kjiell. 

XXVI. 

O,  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 
Of  chivalry's  emblazon'd  hues, 


That  traced  of  old.  in  Woods' ock  bower, 
The  pageant,  of  the  Leaf  and  Flower, 
And  bodied  forth  the  tourney  high, 
Held  for  the  hand  of  Em  ly  ! 
Then  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad. 
That  to  the  crowded  alibt-y  flow'd. 
And  pour'd.  as  witii  an  ocean's  sound, 
Into  rliH  church's  anijile  bound  ! 
Then  might  I  show  eacu  varying  mien. 
Exulting,  woeful,  or  serene; 
Indiiference.  with  his  idiot  stare, 
And  Sympa  hy,  with  anxious  air, 
Paint  the  dejected  Cavalier, 
Doubtful,  disarm'd,  and  sad  of  cheer; 
And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 
Claim'd  conquest  now  and  mastery  ; 
And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 
Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel, 
And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  lie 
Exalted  worth  and  stalion  hish 
Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail  T 
'  I'is  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale, 
Hurrying,  as  best,  I  can,  along. 
The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song; — 
Like  traveller  wlien  approaching  home, 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay. 
Or  choose  the  fair,  hut  winding  way  ; 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend, 
Where  o'er  his  head  the  wildings  bend. 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  Ins  brow, 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XX  VII. 

The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 
Profaned,  dishonour'd,  and  defaced. 
Through  storied  lattices  no  more 
In  soflen'd  light  the  sunbeams  pour, 
Uildiiig  the  Gothic  sculpture  rich 
Of  shrine,  and  monument,  and  niche. 
The  Civil  fury  of  the  time 
Made  spent  of  sacrilegious  crime ; 
For  dark  Fanaticism  rent 
Altar,  and  screen,  and  ornament. 
And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  o'erthrew 
Of  Bowes,  of  Kokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh. 
And  now  was  seen,  unwonted  sight. 
In  holy  walls  a  scaffold  dight ! 
Where  ouce  the  priest,  of  grace  divine 
Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign; 
There  stood  ihe  block  display'd,  and  there 
The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare ; 
And  for  the  word  of  Hope  and  Faith, 
Resounded  loud  a  doom  of  death. 
Thrice  the  fierce  trumpet's  breath  was  heard, 
And  echo'd  thrice  the  herald's  word, 
Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws, 
And  treason  to  the  Common's  cause, 
The  Knight  of  Kokeby  and  O'Neale 
To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 
The  trumpets  flounsh'd  high  and  shrill, 
Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  still; 
And  silent  prayers  to  heaven  were  cast, 
And  stifled  sobs  were  bursting  fast. 
Till  from  the  crowd  begun  to  rise 
Murmurs  of  sorrow  or  surprise, 
And  from  the  distant  aisles  there  came 
Deep-mutler'd  threats,  with  Wyclilfe's  name. 

XXV11I. 

But  Oswald,  guarded  by  his  hand, 
Powerful  in  evil,  waved  his  hand. 
And  hade  Sedition's  voice  be  dead, 
On  peril  of  the  murrnurer's  head. 


292                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 

Then  first  his  glance  sought  Rokeby's  Knight; 

He  kneel'd—  Ins  lip  her  hand  had  press'd,— 

Who  gazed  on  the  tremendous  sight, 

Just  then  he  felt  the  stern  arrest. 

As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 

l,ower  and  lower  sunk  his  head.  — 

To  kindred  Baron's  feudal  feast, 

Ttiev  raised  him.—  hut  the  life  was  fled  ! 

j  As  calm  sis  if  that  trumpet-call 

Then,  first  alarm'd.  his  sire  and  train 

Were  summons  to  the  banner'd  hall; 

Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  in  vain. 

Firm  in  his  loyally  he  stood. 

The  soul,  loo  soft  its  ills  to  hear, 

And  prompt  to  seal  it  with  his  blood. 

Had  left  our  mortal  hemisphere. 

With  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh,— 

And  sought  in  better  world  the  meed. 

He  linrsi  nol  cope  with  Rokeby's  eye!  — 

To  blameless  life  by  Heaven  decreed. 

And  said,  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 

"  Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  life  and  death." 

XXXI. 

The  Knight  then  turn'd  and  sternly  smiled; 

The  wretched  sire  beheld,  aghast, 

'•The  maiden  is  mine  only  child, 

With  Wilfrid  all  his  projects  past. 

Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head, 

All  turn'd  and  centred  on  his  son. 

:  If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed  " 

On  Wilfrid  all—  and  he  was  gone 

Then  Kedmond  spoke  :  "The  life  of  one 

"  And  1  am  childless  now,"  he  said  ; 

Might  thy  malignity  atone. 

"Childless,  through  that  relentless  maid! 

On  me  he  flung  a  double  guilt.  ! 

A  lifetime's  arts,  in  vain  essay  'd. 

Spare  Rokeby's  blond,  let  mine  be  spilt  !" 

Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head  !  — 

Wyclirfe  had  listen  'd  to  his  suit. 

Here  lies  mv  Wilfrid  dead  —  and  there 

But  dread  prevail'd,  and  he  was  mute. 

Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heir, 

Eager  to  knit  in  happv  band 

XXIX. 

With  Rokehv's  heiress  Redmond's  hand. 

And  now  he  pours  his  r.hoice  of  fear 

And  shall  their  triumph  soar  o'er  all 

In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear; 

The  scnemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall  ? 

••  An  union  form'd  with  me  and  mine, 

No!  —  deeds,  which  prudence  might  not  dare, 

Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokeby's  line. 

Appal  not  vengeance  and  despair. 

Consent,  and  all  this  dread  array. 

The  murd'ress  weeps  upon  his  bier  — 

Like  morning  dream,  shall  pass  away  ; 

I'll  change  to  real  that  feigned  tear! 

Refuse,  and.  by  my  duty  press'd. 

Thev  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock  ;— 

I  give  the  word—  thou  know  'si  the  rest." 

Ho  !  lead  the  captives  to  the  block  !" 

Matilda,  still  and  motionless, 

But  ill  his  Provost  could  divine 

With  terror  heard  the  dread  address, 

His  feelings,  and  forbore  the  sign. 

Pale  as  Ihe  sheeted  maid  who  dies 

"  Slave  !  to  t  he  block  !  —  or  1,  or  they. 

To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice  ; 
Then  wrung  her  hands  in  agony, 

Shall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day!" 

And  round  her  cast  hewiider'd  eye. 

xxxn. 

Now  on  i  he  scaffold  glanced,  anil  now 
On  Wycliffe's  unrelenting  brow. 

The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  harden'd  ground  ; 

She  veil'd  her  face,  and,  witii  a  voice 

Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near.  — 

Scarce  audible,  —  "  I  make  my  choice  ! 

Spare  but  their  lives  !  —  for  aught  beside, 
l,et  Wilfrid's  doom  my  fate  decide. 

"Pis  in  the  churchyard  now  —  the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead  ! 

He  once  was  generous  !"  —  As  she  spoke. 
Dark  Wvchffe's  joy  in  triumph  broke:— 
"  Wilfrid,  where  loiter'd  ye  so  late  ? 
Why  upon  Basil  rest  thy  weight? 
Art  spell-bound  by  enchanter'!-  wand  1  — 

Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung. 
When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 
A  horseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed- 

Kneel,  kneel,  and  take  her  yielded  hand  ; 

Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed.  1 

Thank  her  with  raptures,  simple  boy  ! 
Should  tears  and  trembling  speak  thy  joy  ?"  — 

Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurn'd. 
The  vaults  unwonted  clang  return'd  !  — 

"  O  hush,  my  sire  !    To  prayer  and  tear 

One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 

Of  mine  thou  hast  refused  thine  ear; 

From  saddlebow  his  pistol  drew. 

But  now  the  awful  hour  draws  on. 
When  truth  must  s|>eak  in  loftier  tone." 

Grimly  determined  was  his  look  ! 
His  charger  with  the  spurs  he  strook  — 

YYV 

All  scatter'd  backward  as  he  came, 

-A.  A.A  . 

Kor  all  knew  Bertram  Rismgham  ! 

He  took  Matilda's  hand  :  —  "  Dear  maid, 

Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave; 

Couldst  thou  so  injure  me."  he  said, 

The  first  has  reach'd  the  cent  ml  nave, 

"  Of  thy  |KMir  friend  so  basely  deem. 

The  second  clear'd  the  chancel  wide. 

As  blend  with  him  this  barbarous  scheme? 

The  third  —  he  was  at  Wyclifle's  side. 

Alas  !  my  efforts  made  in  vain. 

Full  levell'd  at  the  Baron's  head. 

Might  well  have  saved  this  added  pain 

Knng  the  report  —  the  bullet  sped  — 

Bui  now.  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, 

And  to  his  long  account,  and  last, 

That  ne'er  was  hope  to  mortal  given, 

Without  a  groan  dark  Oswald  past  ! 

So  twisted  with  the  strings  of  life, 

All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 

As  this—  to  call  .Matilda  wife  ! 

A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

I  hid  it  now  for  ever  part. 

And  with  the  effort  bursts  my  heart!" 

XXX111. 

His  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 
With  wounds,  with  watching,  and  with  woe, 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels  ; 

The  agony  of  mental  pain. 

1  See  Apprndix,  Sole  3  K. 

R  0  K  E  B  Y. 


293 


But  flounder'd  on  the  pavement-floor 
The  steed,  and  down  tlie  niler  bore, 
And,  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  taddle-ginlu  save  way. 
'Twas  while  he  toil'd  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  sleed, 
That  from  amazement^  iron  trance 
All  Wyciifle's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-hut,  their  blows 
Huil'd  upnn  Bertram  as  he  rose; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound, 
Bore  down  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground ; 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hanking  brands  and  stabbing  spears ; 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free. 
Once  gain'd  Ins  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 
By  tenfold  odds  oppress 'd  at  length, 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took  a  hundred  mortal  wounds, 
As  mute  as  fox  'morigst  mangling  hounds ; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan ! 
—They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies, 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain. 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again! 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renew'd. 
And  from  the  trunk,  the  head  had  hew'd, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade; 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid  : — 
"  Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind  : 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding  sheet." 

XXXIV. 

No  more  of  death  and  dying  pang, 
No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  clang, 
Though  through  the  sounding  woods  there 

come 

Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 
Artn'd  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 
Young  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need, 


And  back'd  with  such  a  band  of  horse, 

As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce; 

Possess 'd  of  every  proof  and  sign 

That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  line, 

And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 

An  image  of  his  Edith's  charms. — 

Mortham  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 

Of  this  strange  mnrn  the  history. 

What  saw  he  ? — not.  the  church's  floor, 

Cumber'd  with  dead  and  stain'd  with  gore; 

What  heard  he  ? — not  the  clamorous  crowd, 

That  shout  their  gratulations  loud : 

Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 

Clasp'd  him,  and  sobli'd,  "  My  son !  my  son !" — 

XXXV. 

This  chanced  upon  a  summer  morn, 

When  yellow  waved  the  heavy  corn  : 

But  when  brown  August  o'er  the  land 

Call'd  forth  the  reaper's  busy  band, 

A  gladsome  sight  the  silvan  road 

From  Egliston  to  Mortham  show'd. 

A  while  the  hurdy  rustic  leaves 

The  task  to  bind  and  pile  the  sheaves, 

And  maids  their  sicules  fling  aside, 

To  gaze  on  bridegroom  and  on  bride, 

And  childhood's  wondering  group  draws  near, 

And  from  the  gleaner's  hands  the  ear 

Drops,  while  she  folds  them  for  a  prayer 

And  blessing  on  the  lovely  pair. 

'Twas  then  the  Maid  of  Kokeby  gave 

Her  plighted  troth  to  Redmond  brave  ; 

And  Teesdale  can  remember  yet 

How  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  her  debt. 

And,  for  their  troubles,  bade  them  prove 

A  lengtheii'd  life  of  peace  and  love. 


Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway, 
yielding,  like  an  April  day. 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow, 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow  1 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE   A.  I  bears  marks  of  great  antiquity,  and  was  re- 

[  markable  for  the  curious  construction  of  its 

On  Barnard's  lowers,  and  Tees's  stream,  $c.       vaulted  roof,  which  has   been  lately  greatly 

P.  254.  :  injured  by  the  operations  of  some  persons,  to 

|  whom  the  tower  has  been  leased  for  the  pur- 

"  Barnard  Castle,"  saith  old  Leland, "stand-  pose  of  making  patent  shot!  The  prospect 
eth  stately  upon  Tees."  It  is  founded  upon  a  ;from  the  top  of  Baliol's  Tower  commands  a 
very  high  bank,  and  its  ruins  impend  over  the  rich  and  magniiicent  view  of  the  wooded  val- 
river,  including  within  Ihe  area  a  circuit  of '.  ley  of  the  Tees. 

six  acres  and  upwards  This  once  magnificent  I  Barnard  Castle  often  chaneed  masters  dur- 
uriress  derives  ils  name  from  its  founder,  j  ing  the  middle  ages.  Upon  the  forfeiture  of 
Barnard  Baliol.  the  ancestor  of  the  short  and  !  the  unfortunate  John  Baliol,  the  first  king  o 
mfortunate  dynasty  of  that  name,  which  sue  'Scotland  of  that  family,  Edward  I  seized  I  hi 


cee.led  to  the  Scottish  throne  under  the  pa- 
roiiage  of  Edward  I.  and  Edward  III.  Ba- 
lol's  Tower,  afterwards  mentioned  in  the 

puem,  is  a  round  tower  of  great  size,  situated 


__  .     lily, 

fortress  among  the  other  English  estates  of 
his  refractory  vassal.  It  was  afterwards  vested 
in  the  Beauchamps  of  Warwick,  and  in  the 


xiern,  is  a  round  tower  of  great  size,  situated    Staflbrds  of  Buckingham,  and  was  also  some- 
it  the  western  extremity  of  the  building.    It  I  times  in  the  possession  of  the  Bishops  of  Dur- 


294 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ham.  and  sometimes  in  that  of  the  crown. 
Richard  III  is  said  to  have  enlarged  and 
strengthened  its  fortifications,  and  lo  have 
made  it  for  some  time  his  principal  residence, 
for  the  purpose  of  bridling  anil  suppressing 
(he  Lancastrian  faction  m  the  northern  conn- 
lies  Ir'niiii  the  Stafforils,  Barnard  Hustle 
passed,  probably  by  marriage,  in'o  the  posses 
sion  of  the  powerful  Nevilles.  Earls  of  West- 
moreland, and  belonged  to  the  last  repre- 
sentative of  that  family,  when  he  engaged 
with  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  in  the  ill- 
conceited  insurrection  of  the  twelfth  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Upon  this  occasion,  however,  Sir 
George  Bowes  of  Sheailain.  who  held  great 
possessions  in  the  neighbourhood,  anticipated 
the  two  insurgent  earls,  by  seizing  upon  and 
garrisoning  Barnard  Castle,  which  he  held  out 
for  ten  days  against  all  their  forces,  and  then 
surrendered  it  upon  honourable  terms.  See 
Sadler's  State  Papers,  vol.  ii.  p.  330.  In  a 
ballad,  contained  m  Percy's  Reliques  of  An- 
cient Poetry,  vol.  i.,  the  siege  is  thus  com- 
memorated :  — 

M  Then  Sir  Georfc  Bowe*  he  straight  way  rose, 

The«e  noble  erlen  turned  back  againe, 
And  aye  they  Towed  that  kuiubt  lo  take. 

"  That  haron  he  to  hi«  c»»tle  Bed ; 

To  Barnard  Canlle  thru  fled  he; 
The  uttermost  walles  were  etahe  to  won. 

The  erlea  have  won  them  presentlie. 


"  The  uttermost  wallen  were  lime  and  brick ; 

Bui  though  they  win  them  won  anone. 
Lone  ere  the;  wan  the  tnnermrwrt  wallet, 

For  they  were  cut  in  rock  and  »tone  " 

By  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the 
consequent  forfeiture  of  the  Earl  of  West- 
moreland. Barnard  Castle  reverted  to  the 
crown, and  was  sold  or  leased  out  to  Car,  Earl 
of  Somerset,  the  guilty  and  unhappy  favourite 
of  James  I.  It  was  afterwards  granted  to  Sir 
Henry  Vane  the  elder,  and  was  therefore,  in 
all  probability,  occupied  for  the  Parliament, 
whose  interest  during  the  Civil  War  was  so 
keenly  es|ioused  by  the  Vanes.  It  is  now, 
with  the  other  estates  of  that  family,  the  pro- 
perty of  the  Right  Honourable  Earl  of  Dar- 
lington. 


NOTE  B. 


•  no  human  ear, 


Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear, 

Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank. — P.  255. 

I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life, 
the  effect  of  keen  and  fervent  anxiety  in 
giving  acuteness  to  the  organs  of  sense.  My 
gifted  friend.  Miss  Joanna  Baillie.  whose  dra- 
matic works  display  such  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  operations  of  human  passion, 
has  not  omitted  this  remarkable  circum- 
stance :  — 

"DeMontfort.    (Off  his  guard.)    Tis  Rozen- 

velt :  I  heard  his  well-known  foot. 
From  the  first  staircase  mounting  step  by  step 
Frfb.  How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant 

sound ! 

I  heard  him  not. 
(De  Montfort  looks  embarrassed,  and  is  silent.") 


NOTE  C. 

The  morion's  plumes  his  visaor  hide. 

And  the  buff-coal,  in  ample. Ibid. 

Manlles  his  form's  gigantic  mould — P.  255. 

The  use  of  complete  suiis  of  armour  was 
fallen  into  disuse  dunns  the  Civil  Wur.  though 
they  were  still  worn  by  leaders  of  rank  and 
Importance  '•  In  the  reign  of  Kins  James  I.." 
says  our  military  airiquary.  "  no  great  altera- 
tions were  made  in  the  article  of  defensive 
armour,  except  that  the  buff-coat,  or  jerkin, 
which  was  originally  worn  under  the  cuirass, 
now  became  frequently  a  substitute  for  it.  it 
having  been  found  that  a  good  buff  leather 
would  of  itself  resist  the  stroke  of  a  sword  ; 
this,  however,  only  occasionally  took  place 
among  the  light-armed  cavalry  and  infantry, 
complete  suits  of  armour  being  still  used 
among  the  heavy  horse.  Buff  coats  continued 
to  be  worn  by  the  city  trained-bands  till 
within  the  memory  of  persons  now  living,  so 
that  defensive  armour  may.  in  some  measure, 
be  said  to  h-ive  terminated  in  the  same  mate- 
rials with  which  ir  began,  that  is.  the  skins  of 
animals,  or  leather." — Grose's  Military  Anti- 
qutiifs.  Lond  1801. 4!q.  vol.  ii.  p.  323. 

Of  the  butt-coats,  which  were  worn  over  the 
corslets,  several  are  yet  preserved  ;  and  Cap- 
bin  Grose  has  given  an  engraving  of  one 
which  was  used  m  the  lime  of  Charles  I.  bv 
Sir  Francis  Rhodes,  Bart,  of  Balbrough-Hali, 
Derbyshire.  They  were  usually  lined  with 
silk  or  linen,  secured  before  by  buttons,  or  by 
a  lace,  and  often  richly  decorated  with  gold  or 
silver  embroidery.  From  the  following  cu- 
rious account  of  a  dispute  respecting  a  buff- 
j  coat  between  an  old  roundhead  captain  and 
a  justice  of  peace,  by  whom  his  arms  were 
!  seized  after  the  Restoration,  we  learn,  thai 
the  value  and  importance  of  this  defensive 
garment  were  considerable: — "A  party  of 
horse  came  to  my  house,  commanded  by  Mr. 
Peebles ;  and  he  told  nie  he  was  come  for  my 
arms,  and  that  I  must  deliver  them.  1  asked 
;  him  for  his  order.  He  told  me  he  had  a  better 
order  than  Oliver  used  to  give ;  and,  clapping 
'.  his  hand  upon  his  sword-hilt,  he  said,  that 
I  was  his  order.  1  told  him.  if  he  had  none  but 
that,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  take  my  arms ; 
and  then  he  pulled  out  his  warrant,  and  I  read 
it.  It  was  signed  by  Wentworth  Armitage,  a 
general  warrant  to"  search  all  persons  they 
suspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  sol- 
I  diers  at  their  pleasure.  They  came  to  us  at 
i  Coalley-Hall,  about  sunse'ting;  and  I  caused 
1  a  candle  to  be  lighted,  and  conveyed  Peebles 
!  into  the  room  where  my  arms  were  My  arms 
were  near  the  kitchen  fire;  and  there  they 
took  away  fowling-pieces,  pistols,  musket*, 
carbines,  and  such  like,  better  than  20i.  Then 
Mr.  Peebles  asked  me  for  my  huff-coat;  anil  1 
told  him  they  had  no  order  to  take  away  my 
apparel.  He"  told  me  1  was  not  lo  dispute 
their  orders;  but  if  I  would  not  deliver  it.  he 
!  would  carry  me  away  prisoner,  and  had  me 
out  of  doors.  Yet  he  let  me  alone  unio  the 
next  morning,  that  I  must  wait  upon  Sir  John. 
1  at  Halifax;  and,  coming  before  him.  he  threat- 
ened me,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  sentl  the  coat, 
for  it  was  too  good  for  me  to  keep  I  told  him 
i  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  demand  my  appa- 
'  rel ;  and  he,  growing  into  a  fit.  called  me  rebel 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


295 


and  traitor,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  tlie  c<'3t 
with  all  speed,  he  would  send  me  where  I  did 
nut  like  well.  1  told  him  !  was  no  rebel,  and 
lie  did  not  well  to  call  me  so  before  these  sol- 
diers and  gentlemen,  to  make' me  the  mark 
for  every  one  to  shoot  at,  I  departed  the 
room ;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  the  threaten- 
ing, did  not  send  the  coat.  But  the  next  day 
lie  sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Lyster,  of  Shipden  Hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a 
letter. verbatim  thus: — 'Mr.  Hudson,  1  admire 
you  will  play  the  child  so  with  me  as  you  have 
done,  in  writing  such  an  inconsiderate  letter. 
Let,  me  have  the  buff-coat  sent  forthwith, 
otherwise  you  shall  so  hear  from  me  as  will 
not  very  well  please  you.'  I  was  not  at  home 
when  this  messenger  came;  but  I  had  or- 
dered my  wife  not  to  deliver  it,  but,  if  they 
would  take  it,  let,  them  look  to  it :  and  he  took 
it  away- ;  and  one  of  Sir  John's  brethren  wore 
it  many  years  after.  They  sent  Captain  Butt 
to  compound  with  my  wife  about  it;  but  I 
sent  word  I  would  have  my  own  again:  hut 
he  advised  me  to  take  a  price  for  it,  and  make 
no  more  ado.  I  said,  it  was  hard  lo  take  my 
arms  and  apparel  too ;  I  had  laid  out  a  great 
deal  of  money  for  them ;  I  hoped  they  did  not 
mean  to  destroy  me,  by  taking  my  goods  ille- 
gally from  me.  He  said  he  would  make  up 
the  matter,  if  1  pleased,  betwixt  us;  and,  it 
seems,  had  brought  Sir  John  to  a  price  for  my 
coat.  I  would  not  have  taken  lOt.  for  it;  he 
would  have  given  about  4/. ;  but,  wanting  my 
receipt  for  the  money,  he  kept  both  sides,  anil 
1  had  never  satisfaction." — Memoirs  oj  Captain 
Hodysun.  Edui.  ISOti,  p.  178. 


NOTE  D. 

On  ha  dark  face  a  scorching  clime. 

And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time. 

Death  hml  he  seen  by  sudden  blow. 

By  wasting  pbigue,  by  tortures  slow. — P.  255. 

In  this  character,  I  have  attempted  to  sketch 
one  of  those  West  Indian  adventurers,  who, 
during  the  course  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
were  popularly  known  by  the  name  of  Buca- 
mers.  The  successes  of  the  English  in  the 
predatory  incursions  upon  Spanish  America. 
during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  had  never  been 
forgotten;  and.  from  that  period  downward, 
the  exploits  of  Drake  and  Raleigh  were  imi- 
tated, upon  a  smaller  scale  indeed,  but  with 
equally  desperate  valour,  by  small  bands  of 
pirates,  gathered  from  all  nations,  hut  chiefly 
French  and  English.  The  engrossing  policy 
of  the  Spaniards  tended  greatly  to  increase 
the  number  of  these  freebooters,  from  whom 
their  commerce  and  colonies  suffered,  in  the 
issue,  dreadful  calamity.  The  Windward 
Islands,  which  the  Spaniards  did  not  deem 
worthy  their  own  occupation,  had  been  gra- 
dually settled  by  adventurers  of  the  French 
and  English  nations.  But  Frederic  of  Toledo, 
who  was  despatched  in  1630.  with  a  powerful 
fleet  against  the  Dutch,  had  orders  from  the 
Court  of  Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies, 
whose  vicinity  at  once  offended  the  pride  and 
excited  the  jealous  suspicions  of  their  Spanish 
neighbours  This  order  the  Spanish  Admiral 
executed  with  sufficient  rigour ;  but  the  only 


consequence  was,  that  the  planters,  being 
rendered  desperate  by  persecution,  began,  un- 
der the  well-known  name  of  Bucaniers.  to 
commence  a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage, 
that  the  perusal  makes  the  reader  shudder. 
When  they  carried  on  their  depredations  at 
sea,  they  boarded,  without  respect  to  disparity 
of  number,  every  Spanish  vessel  that  came  in 
their  way  ;  and,  demeaning  themselves,  both 
in  the  battle  and  after  the  conquest,  more  like 
demons  than  human  beings,  tney  succeeded  in 
impressing  their  enemies  with  a  sort  of  super- 
stitious terror,  which  rendered  them  incapable 
of  offering  effectual  resistance.  From  piracy 
at  sea,  tliey  advanced  to  making  predatory 
descents  on  the.  Spanish  territories ;  in  which 
they  displayed  the  same  furious  and  irresisti- 
ble valour,  the  same  thirst  of  spoil,  and  the 
same  brutal  inhumanity  to  their  captives. 
The  large  treasures  which  they  acquired  in 
their  adventures,  they  dissipated  l>y  the  most 
unbounded  licentiousness  in  gaming,  women, 
wine,  and  debauchery  of  every  species.  When 
their  spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they  entered 
into  some  new  association,  and  undertook  new 
adventures.  For  farther  particulars  concern- 
ing these  extraordinary  banditti,  the  reader 
may  consult  Raynal.orthe  common  and  po- 
pular book  called  the  History  of  the  Bucauiers. 


NOTE  E. 

On  Marslon  healh 

Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death.  — P.  256. 

The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of 
Long-Marston  Moor,  which  terminated  so  un- 
fortunately for  the  cause  of  Charles,  com- 
menced under  very  different  auspices.  Prince 
Rupert  had  marched  with  an  army  of  20.000 
men  for  the  relief  of  York,  then  besieged  by 
Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  at  the  head  of  the  Par- 
liamentary army,  and  the  Earl  of  Leven.  with 
the  Scottish  auxiliary  forces.  In  this  he  so 
completely  succeeded,  that  he  compelled  the 
besiegers  to  retreat  to  Marston  Moor,  a  large 
open  plain,  about  eight  miles  distant  from  the 
city.  Thither  they  were  followed  by  the 
Prince,  who  had  now  united  to  his  army  the 
garrison  of  York,  probably  not  less  than  ten 
thousand  men  strong,  under  the  gallant  Mar- 
quis (then  Earl)  of  Newcastle.  W'hitelocke 
has  recorded,  with  much  impartiality,  the  fol- 
lowing particulars  of  this  eventful  day:  — 
"The  right  wiug  of  the  Parliament  was  com- 
manded by  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted 
of  all  his  horse,  and  three  regiments  of  the 
Scots  horse;  the  left  wing  was  commanded 
by  the  Earl  of  Manchester  and  Colonel  Crom- 
well. One  body  of  their  foot  was  commanded 
by  Lord  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  his  foot,  and 
two  brigades  of  the  Scots  foot  for  reserve; 
and  the  main  body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot  was 
commanded  by  General  Leven. 

"  The  right  wing  of  the  Prince's  army  was 
commanded  by  the  Earl  of  Newcastle ;  the 
left  wing  by  the  Prince  himself;  and  the  rmiin 
body  by  General  Goring,  Sir  Charles  Lucas, 
and"  Major-General  Porter.  Thus  were  both 
sides  drawn  up  into  battalia. 

"  July  3d,  1644.  In  this  posture  both  armies 
faced  each  other,  and  about  seven  o'clock  in 


296 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  morning  the  fight  began  between  them. 
The  Prince,  with  his  left  wins,  fell  on  the 
Parliament's  right  wine,  routed  them,  and 
pursued  ihem  a  great  way ;  the  like  did  Gene- 
ral Goring.  Lucas,  and  Porter,  upon  the  Par- 
liament's main  body.  The  three  generals, 
giving  all  for  lost,  hasted  out  of  the  field,  and 
many  of  their  soldiers  fled,  and  threw  down 
their  arms:  the  King's  forces  too  eagerly 
following  them,  the  victory,  now  almost 
achieved  by  them,  was  again  snatched  out  of 
their  hands  For  Colonel  Cromwell,  wi'li  the 
brave  regiment  of  his  countrymen,  and  Sir 
Thomas  Fairfax,  having  rallied  some  of  his 
horse,  fell  upon  the  Prince's  right  wing,  where 
the  Earl  of  Newcastle  was.  and  routed  them; 
and  the  rest  of  their  companions  rallying,  they 
fell  altogether  upon  the  divided  bodies  of 
Rupert  and  Gonng,  and  totally  dispersed 
them,  and  obtained  a  complete  victory,  after 
three  hours'  fight. 

"From  this  battle  and  the  pursuit,  some 
reckon  were  buried  7000  Englishmen;  all 
agree  that  above  3000  of  the  Prince's  men 
were  slain  in  the  ha'tle.  besides  those  in  the 
chase,  and  3000  prisoners  taken,  many  of  their 
chief  officers,  twenty-five  pieces  of  ordnance, 
forty-seven  colours,  10.0(10  arms,  two  waggons 
of  riarabins  and  pistols,  130  barrels  of  powder, 
and  all  their  bag  and  baggage." — Wtulelocke's 
Memmrt.  fol.  p.  89.  Lond.  1U82. 

Lord  Clarendon  informs  us.  that  the  King, 
previous  to  receiving  the  true  account  of  the 
battle,  had  been  infornie  I,  by  an  express  from 
Oxford.  "  that  Prince  Rupert  had  not  only 
relieved  York,  but  totally  defeated  the  Scots, 
with  many  particulars  to  confirm  it,  all  which 
was  so  much  believed  there,  that  they  had 
made  public  fires  of  joy  for  the  victory." 


NOTE  F. 

AToncMon  and  Hit/on  told  the  news. 

Hula  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 

Sinn-ring  his  palfrey  nothward,  past, 

Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Taxed.— P.  257. 

Monckton  and  Mitton  are  villages  near  the 
river  Ousc,  and  not  very  distant  from  the  field 
of  battle.  The  particulars  of  the  action  were 
violently  disputed  at  the  time  ;  but  the  follow- 
ing extract,  from  the  Manuscript  History  of 
the  Baronial  House  of  Someryille,  is  decisive 
as  to  the  flight  of  the  Scottish  general,  the 
Earl  of  Leven.  The  particulars  are  given  by 
the  author  of  the  history  on  the  authority  of 
his  father,  then  the  representative  of  the 
family.  This  curious  manuscript  has  been 
published  by  consent  of  my  noble  friend,  the 
present  Lord  Somerville. 

"The  order  of  the  great  battell,  wherein 
both  armies  was  neer  of  ane  equal!  number, 
consisting,  to  the  best  calculations,  neer  to 
three  score  thousand  men  upon  both  syiles,  I 
shall  not  take  upou  me  to  disrrye ;  albeit,  from 
the  draughts  then  taken  upon  the  place,  and 
information  1  receaved  fiom  this  gentleman, 
who  being  then  a  volunteer,  as  having  no  com- 
mand, had  opportunitie  and  libertie  to  ryde 
from  the  one  wing  of  the  armie  to  the  other. 


to  view  all  ther  several  squadrons  of  horse  and 
hatlallinns  of  foot,  how  formed,  and  in  what 
manner  drawn  up,  with  every  other  circum- 
stance relating  to  the  fight,  aiid  that  b"th  as 
to  the  King's  armies  and  that  of  the  Parlia- 
ment's, amongst  whom,  until  the  engadge- 
nient.  he  went  from  statione  to  slatione  to 
observe  ther  order  and  forme :  but  that  the 
description  of  this  hattell.  with  the  various 
success  on  both  sides  at  the  beginning,  with 
the  loss  of  the  royal  arct.ie.aiid  the  snd  effects 
that  followed  that  misfortune  as  to  his  Majes- 
tie's  interest,  hes  been  so  often  done  already 
by  English  BOihom,  little  to  our  commenda-  f. 
none,  how  justly  I  shall  not  dispute,  seing  the  ! 
truth  is.  as  our  pnncipal  generall  fled  that  | 
night  neer  fourtie  mylles  from  I  he  place  of  the 
fight,  that  part  of  the  armie  where  he  com- 
manded being  totallie  routed ;  but  it  is  as  true, 
that  much  of  the  victorie  is  attributed  to  the 
good  conduct  of  David  Lessclie.  lievetennent- 
generall  of  our  horse  Cromwell  hi-nself,  that  ! 
miriione  of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of  God's  wratli, 
to  punish  eftirward  three  rebellious  nations, 
disdained  not  to  take  orders  from  him.  albeit 
then  in  the  same  qualitie  of  command  for  the 
Parliament,  as  being  hevetennent-general  to 
the  Earl  of  Manchester's  horse,  whom,  with 
the  assistance  of  the  Scots  horse,  haveing 
routed  i  he  Prince's  right  win?,  as  he  had  none 
that  of  the  Parliament's  These  two  com- 
manders of  the  horse  upon  that  wing  wisely 
restrained  the  great  bodies  of  their  horse  from 
penning  these  hrocken  troups.  but,  wheclling 
to  the  left-hand,  falls  in  upon  the  naked  flanks 
of  the  Prince's  main  battallion  of  foot,  carry- 
ing them  doune  with  great  violence;  nether 
melt  they  with  any  great  resistance  until)  they  j 
came  to  tht^  Marques  of  Newcastle  his  hattal-  i 
hone  of  White  Coats,  who.  first  peppering  ; 
them  soundly  with  tnershott,  when  thev  came 
to  charge,  stoutly  bore  them  up  with  their 
picks  that  they  could  not  enter  to  break  them.  [ 
Here  the  Parliament's  horse  of  that  wing  re- 
oeaved  ther  greatest  losse.  and  a  stop  for 
sometyme  putt  10  ther  hoped  for  victorie ;  and  I 
that  only  by  th«  stout  resistance  of  this  gallant 
battalione,  which  consisted  neer  of  four  thou- 
sand foot,  until  at  length  a  Scots  regiment  of 
dragouns.  commanded  by  Collonell  Knzeall, 
with  other  two,  was  brought  to  open  them 
upon  some  hand,  which  at  length  they  did, 
when  all  the  ammunitione  was  spent.  Having 
refused  qiMrters.  every  man  fell  in  the  same 
order  and  ranke  wherein  he  had  fougluen. 

"  Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  Prince 
relumed  from  the  pursuite  of  the  right  wing 
of  the  Parliament's  horse,  which  he  had 
beattcn  and  followed  too  farre,  to  the  losse  of 
the  battell,  which  certanely.  in  all  men's 
opinions,  he  might  have  caryed  if  he  had  not 
been  too  violent  upon  the  pursuite;  which 
gave  his  enemies  upon  the  lull-hand  opportu- 
ni'ie  to  disperse  and  cut  doune  his  infantrie, 
who.  haveing  cleared  the  field  of  all  the 
standing  bodies  of  foot,  wer  now.  with  many 
of  their  oune.  standing  ready  to 
receave  the  charge  of  his  allmost  spent  horses, 
if  he  should  attempt  it;  which  the  Prince 
observemg,  and  seeing  all  los1.  le  retreated  to 
Vorke  with  two  thousmide  liurse.  Notwith- 
standing of  this,  tlier  was  that  night  such  a 
consteinatione  in  the  Parliament  armies,  that 
it's  believed  by  most  of  those  that  wer  there 


APPENDIX   TO    ROKEBY. 


297 


present,  that  if  ihe  Prince,  haveing  so  great  n 
body  of  horse  inteire,  had  matte  ane  onfall 
that  night,  or  the  ensuing  morning  be-tyme. 
lie  had  carryed  thevictorie  out  of ther  hands: 
for  i'.'s  ceriane,  by  the  morning's  light,  he  had 
nillved  a  body  ot  ten  thousand  men,  wherof 
ther  was  neer  three  thousand  gallant  horse 
These,  with  the  assistance  of  the  toune  and 
giirrisoune  of  York,  might  have  done  much  to 
have  recovered  the  victory,  for  the  losse  of  this 
battell  in  effect  lost  the  king  and  his  interest 
in  the  three  kingdomes:  his  M:ijestie  never 
being  ahleeftir  this  to  make  head  in  the  north, 
but  lost  his  garrisons  every  day. 

"  As  tor  Generall  Lesselie,  in  the  beginning 
of  this  flight  haveing  trial  part  of  the  army 
quite  bracken,  whare  he  had  placed  himself, 
by  the  valour  of  the  Prince,  he  imagined,  and 
was  conformed  by  the  opmione  of  others  then 
upon  the  place  with  him,  that  the  battell  was 
irrecoverably  lost. seeingthey  werfleeing upon 
all  hands;  theirfore  lliey  humblie  intreated 
his  excellence  to  reteir  and  wait  his  better 
fortune,  which,  without  farder  advyseing,  he 
did;  and  never  drew  bridle  untill  he  came  the 
lenth  of  Leads,  having  ridden  all  that  night 
with  a  cloak  of  drop  de  bernr,  about  him.  be- 
longing to  this  gentleman  of  whom  I  write, 
then  in  his  retinue,  with  many  "ther  officers 
of  good  qualitie.  It  was  neer  twelve  the  next 
day  before  they  had  the  certainty  who  was 
master  of  the  field,  when  at  length  therarryves 
ane  expresse,  sent  by  David  Lesselie,  to  ac- 
quaint the  General  they  had  obtained  a  most 
glorious  victory,  and  (hat  the  Prince,  with  his 
brocken  troupes,  was  fled  from  Yorke.  This 
intelligence  was  somewhat  amazeing  to  these 
gentlemen  that  had  been  eye  witnesses  to  the 
disorder  of  the  armie  before  ther  retearing. 
and  had  then  arcompanyed  the  General  in  his 
flight;  who,  being  much  wearyed  that  even- 
ing of  the  battell  with  ordering  of  his  annie, 
and  now  quite  spent  with  his  long  journey  in 
the  night,  had  cast  en  himselfe  doune  upon  a 
bed  to  rest,  when  this  gentleman  oomeing 
quyetly  into  his  chamber,  he  awoke,  and 
hastily  cryes  out,  '  Lievetennent-collonell, 
what  news?'—'  All  is  safe,  may  it  please  your 
Excellence;  the  Parliament's  armie  lies  ob- 
tained a  great  victory  ;'  and  then  delyvers  the 
letter.  The  General),  upon  the  hearing  of 
this,  knocked  upon  his  breast,  and  sayes, '  I 
would  to  God  I  had  died  upon  the  plaee  !'  and 
then  opens  the  letter,  which,  in  a  few  lines, 
gave  ane  accoun  t  ol  the  victory,  and  in  the  close 
pressed  his  speedy  returne  to  the  armie.  which 
he  did  the  next  day,  being  accompanied  some 
mylles  back  l>y  this  gentleman,  who  then  takes 
his  leave  of  him,  and  receaved  at  parting  many 
expressions  of  kyndnesse.  with  promises  that 
he  would  never  be  unmyndful  of  his  care  and 
respect  lowards  him ;  and  in  the  end  lie  in- 
treats  him  to  present  his  service  to  all  his 
friends  and  acquaintances  in  Scotland.  Ther- 
eftir  the  General  sets  forward  in  his  journey 
tor  the  armie.  as  this  gentleman  did  for 

,  in  order  to  his  transports tione  for 
Scotland,  where  he  arryved  sex  dayes  eftir 
the  fight  of  Mestoune  Muir,  and  gave  the  first 
true  account  and  descnptione  of  that  great 
battell,  wherein  the  Covenanters  then  gloryed 
soe  much,  that  they  impiously  boasted  "the 
Lord  had  now  signally  appeared  for  his  cause 
and  people  ;  it  being  ordinary  for  them,  dureing 


the  whole  time  of  this  warre.  to  attribute  the 
greatnes  of  their  success  to  the  goodnes  and 
justice  of  ther  cause,  untill  Divine  Justice 
trysted  them  with  some  cross  dispensatione, 
and  then  you  might  have  heard  this  language 
from  t hem, 'That  it  pleases  the  Lord  to  give 
his  oune  the  heavyest  end  of  the  tree  to  bear, 
that  the  saints  and  the  people  of  God  must 
still  be  sufferers  while  thev  are  here  away, 
that  the  malignant  party  was  God's  rod  to 
punish  them  for  their  unthankfulness,  which 
in  the  end  he  will  cast  into  the  fire  ;'  with  a 
thousand  other  expressions  and  scripture  cita- 
tions, prophanely  and  blasphemously  uttered 
by  them,  to  palliate  ther  villainie  and  rebel- 
lion."— MeniOLresoftheSomervilles.  Edm.  1815. 


NOTE  G. 

With  his  barb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say. 
Stout  Cromwell  has  reUeem'd  the  day.— P.  258. 

Cromwell,  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers, 
had  a  principal  share  in  turning  the  fate  of 
the  day  at  Marstori  Moor;  which  was  equally 
matter  of  triumph  to  the  Independents,  and 
of  grief  and  heart-burning  to  the  Presbyte- 
rians and  to  the  Scottish.  Principal  Baillie 
expresses  his  dissatisfaction  as  follows  : — 

"The  Independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to 
assure  that  all  the  glory  of  that  night  was 
theirs;  and  they  and  their  Major-General 
Cromwell  had  done  it  all  there  alone:  but 
Captain  Stuart  afterward  showed  the  vanity 
and  falsehood  of  their  disgraceful  relation. 
God  gave  us  that  victory  wonderfully.  There 
were  three  generals  on  each  side,  Lesley, 
Fairfax,  and  Manchester;  Rupert.  Newcastle, 
and  King.  Within  half  an  hour  and  less,  all 
six  took  them  to  their  heels;  — this  to  you 
alone.  The  disadvantage  of  the  ground,  and 
violence  of  the  flower  of  Prince  Ku  perl's  horse, 
carried  allour  right  wingdown  ;  only  Kglinton 
kept  ground,  to  his  great  loss;  his  lieutenant- 
crowner,  a  brave  man,  I  fear  shall  die,  and 
his  sun  Robert  be  mutilated  of  an  arm. 
Lindsay  had  the  greatest  hazard  of  any;  but 
the  beginning  of  the  victory  was  from  David 
Lesly,  who  before  w;is  much  suspected  of  evil 
designs:  he,  with  the  Scots  and  Cromwell's 
horse,  having  the  advantage  of  the  ground,  did 
dissipate  all  before  them." — Bailiie's  Letters 
and  Journals,  tdm.  1785,  8vo,  ii.  36. 


NOTE  H. 

Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 

Of  Percy  Rede  Ihe  tragic  song, 

Train'd  forward  to  his  bloody  fall. 

By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  ?-P.  258. 

"In  a  poem,  entitled  "  The  Lay  of  the  Reed- 
water  Minstrel,"  Newcastle,  1809,  this  tale, 
with  many  others  peculiar  to  the  valley  of  the 
Keed.  is  commemorated: — "The  particulars 
of  the  traditional  itory  of  Parcy  Ret-d  of 
Troughend,  and  the  Halls  of  Girsonfield,  the 
author  had  from  a  descendant  of  the  family  of 
Keed.  From  his  account,  it  appears  that  Per- 
cival  Reed,  Esquire,  a  keeper  of  Reedsdale, 
was  betrayed  by  the  Halls  (hence  denominated 


298 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  false-hearted  Ha's)  to  a  band  of  moss- 
troopers of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who  slew  him 
at  Bathinghone,  near  the  source  of  the  Keeil 

••  The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Parry 
Reed,  held  in  such  universal  abhorrence  anil 
contempt  by  the  inhabitants  of  Reedsdale,  for 
their  cowardly  »nd  treacherous  behaviour, 
thai  they  were  obliged  to  leave  the  country." 
In  another  passage,  we  are  informed  that  the 
ghost  of  the  injured  Borderer  is  supposed  to 
haunt  the  hanks  of  a  brook  called  the  Prinsle. 
These  Redes  of  Troughend  were  a  very 
ancient  family,  as  may  be  conjectured  from 
their  deriving  their  surname  from  the  river  on 
which  they  had  their  mansion.  An  epitaph 
on  one  of  their  tombs  affirms,  that  the  family 
held  their  lands  of  Troughend.  which  are 
situated  on  the  Reed,  nearly  opposite  to  Otter- 
burn,  for  the  incredible  space  of  nine  hundred 
years. 


NOTE  I. 

And  near  (he  spot  that  gave  me  name. 
The  monted  mound  of  Risinghnm, 
Where  Rtcd  upon  her  margin  srrs 
Sweet  Woodburne's  cottages  and  trees, 
Some  ancient  Sculptor'i  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone.-^P.  258. 

Rtsingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the 
beautiful  hamlet  of  VVoodhurn.  is  an  ancient 
Roman  station,  formerly  called  Hahitancum. 
Camden  says,  that  in  his  time  the  popular  ac- 
count bore,  that  it  had  been  the  abode  of  a 
deity,  or  giant,  called  Mason ;  and  appeals,  in 
support  of  this  tradition,  as  well  as  to  the 
etymology  of  Risingham,  or  Reisenham,  which 
signifies,  in  German,  the  habitation  of  the 
giants,  to  two  Roman  altars  taken  out  of  the 
river,  inscribed,  Deo  Mogonli  Cadenorwn. 
About  half  a  mile  distant  from  Kismgham, 
upon  an  eminence  covered  with  scattered 
birch-trees  and  fragments  of  rock,  there  is 
cut  upon  a  large  rock,  in  alto  relievo,  a  re- 
markable figure,  called  Rohm  of  Risingham, 
or  Robin  of  Reedsd.-ile.  It  presents  a  hunter, 
with  his  bow  raised  in  oue  hand,  and  in  the 
other  what  seems  to  be  a  hare.  There  is  a 
quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is 
dressed  in  a  long  coat,  or  kirtle.  coming  down 
to  the  knees,  and  meeting  close,  with  a  girdle 
bound  round  him.  Dr.  Horsely.  who  saw  all 
monuments  of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes, 
inclines  to  think  this  figure  a  Roman  archer: 
and  certainly  the  how  is  rather  of  the  ancient 
size  than  of  that  which  is  so  formidable  in  the 
hand  of  the  English  archers  of  the  middle 
ages.  But  the  rudeness  of  the  whole  figure 
prevents  our  founding  strongly  upon  mere  in- 
accuracy of  proportion.  The  popular  tradi- 
tion is.  that  it  represents  a  giant,  whose  bro- 
ther resided  at  Woodhurn,  and  he  himself  at 
Risingham.  It  adds,  that  they  subsisted  by 
hunting,  and  that  one  of  them,  finding  the 
game  become  too  scarce  to  support  them, 
poisoned  Ins  companion,  in  whose  memory  the 
monument  was  engraved.  What  strange  and 
tragic  circumstance  may  be  concealed  under 
this  legend,  or  whether  it  is  altogether  apoc- 
rypnal,  it  is  now  impossible  to  discover. 


The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale  was  given 
to  one  of  the  Umfravilles.  Lords  of  Prudhoe. 
and  afterwards  to  one  Milliard,  a  friend  and 
follower  of  the  king  making  Earl  of  Warwick. 
This  person  cumman  led  an  army  of  Northamp- 
tonshire and  northern  men.  who  seized  on  and 
beheaded  the  K;irl  hivers.  father  to  l-idward 
the  Fourth's  queen,  and  his  son.  Sir  John 
Woodville.— See  Holinshed,  ad  annum,  U69. 


NOTE  K. 


•  Do  thou  revere 


The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier.—P.  258. 

The  "statutes  of  the  Bucaniers"  were,  in 
reality,  more  equitable  than  could  have  been 
expected  from  the  state  of  society  under  which 
they  had  been  formed.  They  chiefly  related, 
as  may  readily  be  conjectured,  to  the  distribu- 
tion and  the  inheritance  of  their  plunder. 

When  the  expedition  was  completed,  the 
fund  of  prize-money  acquired  was  thrown  to- 
gether, each  party  taking  his  oath  that  he  had 
retained  or  concealed  no  part  of  the  common 
stock.  If  any  one  transgressed  in  this  import- 
ant particular,  the  punishment  was,  his  being 
set  ashore  on  some  desert  key  or  island,  to 
shift  for  himself  as  he  could.  The  owners 
of  the  vessel  had  then  their  share  assigned  for 
the  expenses  of  the  outfit.  These  were  gene- 
rally old  pirates,  settled  at  Tobago,  Jamaica, 
St.  Domingo,  or  some  other  French  or  English 
settlement.  The  surgeon's  and  carpenter's 
salaries,  with  the  price  of  provisions  and  am- 
munition, were  also  defrayed.  Then  followed 
the  compensation  due  to  the  maimed  and 
wounded,  rated  according  to  the  damage  they 
had  sustained  ;  as  six  hundred  pieces  of  eight. 
or  six  slaves,  for  the  loss  of  an  arm  or  leg,  and 
so  in  proportion. 

"  After  this  act  of  justice  and  humanity,  the 
remainder  of  the  booty  was  divided  into  as 
many  shares  as  there  were  Bucaniers.  The 
commander  could  only  lay  claim  to  a  single 
share,  as  the  rest ;  but  they  complimented  him 
with  two  or  three,  in  proportion  as  he  had  ac- 
quitted himself  to  their  satisfaction.  When 
the  vessel  was  not  the  property  of  the  whole 
company,  the  person  who  had  fitted  it  out,  and 
furnished  it  with  necessary  arms  and  ammu- 
nition, was  entitled  to  a  third  of  all  the  prizes. 
Favour  had  never  any  influence  in  the  division 
of  the  booty,  for  every  share  was  determined 
by  lot.  Instances  of  such  rigid  jusiice  as  this 
are  not  easily  met  with,  and  ihey  ex'ended 
even  to  the  dead.  Their  share  was  given  to 
the  man  who  was  known  to  he  their  compa- 
nion when  alive,  and  therefore  their  heir.  If 
the  person  who  had  been  killed  had  no  inti- 
mate, his  part  was  sent  to  his  relations,  when 
they  were  known.  If  there  were  no  friends 
nor  relations,  it  was  distributed  in  charity  to 
the  poor  and  to  churches,  which  were  to  pray 
for  the  person  in  whose  name  these  benefac- 
tions were  given,  the  fruits  of  inhuman,  but 
necessary  piratical  plunders.'' — Raynal's  His- 
tory of  European  Settlements  in  the  Eaft  and 
Weft  Indies,  t/y  Juslamond.  Lond.  1776,  8vo, 
iii.  p.  41. 


APPENDIX    TO    ROKEBY. 


299 


NOTE  L. 

The  course  of  Tees.— P.  260. 

The  view  from  Barnard  Castle  commands 
the  rich  and  magnificent  valley  of  Tees.  Im- 
mediately adjacent,  to  the  river,  the  hanks  are 
very  thickly  wooded  ;  at  a  little  distance  they 
are  more  open  and  cultivated:  but,  hems;  in- 
terspersed with  hedge -rows,  and  with  isolated 
trees  of  great  size  and  age,  they  still  retain 
the  richness  of  woodland  scenery.  The  river 
itself  flows  in  a  deep  trench  of  solid  rook, 
chiefly  limestone  and  marble.  The  finest  view 
of  its  romantic  course  is  from  a  handsome 
modern  built  bridge  over  the  Tees,  bv  the  late 
Mr.  Morritt  of  Kokohy.  In  Leland's'Ume,  the 


marble  quarries 


to  have  been  of  sonif 


.-.ne.  "Hard  under  the  cliff  by  Egliston,  is 
found  on  eche  side  of  Tese  very  fair  marble, 
wont  to  be  taken  up  booth  by  rnarbelers  of 
Barnardes  Castelle  and  of  Egliston.  and  partly 
to  have  been  wrought  by  them,  and  parlly  sold 
onwrought  to  others."  —  Itinerary.  Oxford, 
1768,  8vo,  p.  88. 


NOTE  M. 

Egliston's  grey  ruins. — P.  261. 

The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory,  (for  Tan- 
ner calls  it  the  former,  and  Leland  the  latter.) 
are  beautifully  situated  upon  the  angle,  formed 
by  a  little  dell  called  Thorsgill,  at  its  junction 
with  the  Tees.  A  good  part  of  the  religion 
house  is  still  in  some  degree  habitable,  but  the 
cliiirr.li  is  in  ruins  Eghston  was  dedicated  to 
St.  Mary  and  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  founded  by  Ralph  de  Mul- 
ton  about  the  end  of  Henry  the  Second's  reign. 
There  were  formerly  the  tombs  of  the  families 
of  Kokeby.  Bowes,  and  Fitz-Hugh. 


sessed  from  the  Conquest,  downward,  and  who 
are  at  different  tunes  distinguished  in  history. 
It  was  the  Baron  of  Kokeby  who  finally  de- 
feated the  insurrection  of  the  Earl  of  Nor- 
thumberland, tempore  Hen.  IV..  of  which  Ho- 
linshed  gives  the  following  account : — "The 
King,  advertised  hereof,  caused  a'great  armie 
i  be  assembled,  and  came  forward  with  the 
mie  towards  his  enemies;  but.  yer  the  King 
came  to  Nottingham,  Sir  Thomas,  or  (as  oilier 
haneJSir  Rafe  Rokesbie,  Shiriffe  of  Yorkeshire, 
assembled  the  forces  of  the  countrie  to  resist 
tiie  Earle  and  his  power;  coming  to  Grimbaut- 
brigs,  beside  Knareshorough,  there  to  stop 
them  the  passage;  but  they  returning  aside, 
got  to  Weatherbie.  and  so  to  Tudcaster,  and 
finally  came  forward  unto  Bramham-moor, 
near  "to  Haizlewood.  where  they  chose  their 
ground  meet  to  fight  upon.  The  Shiriffe  was 
as  readie  to  giue  battell  as  the  Erie  to  receiue 
it ;  and  so  with  a  standard  of  S.  George  spread, 
set  fiercely  vpon  the  Earle,  who,  vnder  a  stan- 
dard of  his  owne  armes.  encountered  his  ad- 
uersaries  with  great  manhood.  There  was  a 
sore  incouiiter  and  cruell  conflict  betwixt  the 
parties,  but  in  the  end  the  victorie  fell  to  the 
Shiriffe.  The  Lord  Bardolfe  was  taken,  but 
sore  wounded,  so  that  he  shortly  after  died  of 
the  hurts.  As  for  the  Earle  of  Northumber- 
land, he  was  slain  outright:  so  that  now  the 
prophecy  was  fulfilled,  which  gaue  an  inklin 
of  this  his  heauy  hap  long  before,  namelie, 

'Stirps  Fersitina  periet  confusa  ruiua.' 

For  this  Earle  was  the  stocke  and  maine  root 
of  all  that  were  left  aliue,  called  by  the  name 
of  Persie;  and  of  manie  more  by  diuers 
slaughters  dispatched.  For  whose  misfortune 
the  people  were  not  a  little  sorrie.  making  re- 
port of  the  gentleman's  valiantnesse.renowne, 
and  honour,  and  applieing  vnto  him  certeine 
lamentable  verses  out  of  Lucaine,  saieng, 


NOTE  N. 

the  mound, 

RniS'd  by  that  Isgion  long  renoicn'd, 

Whose  votive  shrine  asser/s  their  claim.. 

Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame.— P.  261. 

Close  behind  the  George  Inn  at  Greta  Bridge, 
there  is  a  well-preserved  Kpman  encampment, 
surrounded  with  a  triple  ditch,  lying  between 
the  river  Greta  and  a  brook  called  the  Tutta. 
The  four  entrances  are  easily  to  be  discerned.  £lent 
Very  many  Roman  altars  rnd  monuments  '_"  .'","',„, 
have  been  found  in  the  vicinity,  most  of  which 
are  preserved  at  Rokehy  by  my  friend  Mr. 
Morritt.  Among  others  is  a  small  votive  altar, 
with  the  inscription.  LEG.  VI.  VIC  P.  F.  F., 
which  has  been  rendered,  Legio.  Sexta.  Vic- 
trix.  Pia.  Fortis.  Ftdelis. 


Ora  due 


anguis,  ne< 
ae  transtix 


idofin 


NOTE  0. 

Rokfby's  turrets  high.— P.  261. 

This  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a 
family  by  whom  it  is  said  to  have  been  pos- 


For  his  head,  full  of  siluer  horie  haires.  being 
put  upon  »  stake,  was  openlie  carried  through 
London,  and  set  vpon  the  bridge  of  the  same 
citie  :  in  like  manner  was  the  Lord  Hardolfes." 
— Holinshed's  Chronicle!!.  Lnnd.  1808.  4to,  iii. 
45.  The  Kokeby,  or  Rokesby  family, continued 
to  be  distinguished  until  the  great  Civil  War, 
when,  having  embraced  the  cause  of  Charles 
I.,  they  suffered  severely  by  fines  and  confis- 
cations. The  estate  then  passed  from  its  an- 

:ient  possessors  to  the  family  of  the  Robinsons. 

rom  whom  it  was  purchased  by  the  father  of 
my  valued  friend,  the  present  proprietor. 


NOTE  P. 

A  stfrn  and  lone,  yet  lowly  road. 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  Minstrel  trade.-  -P.  261. 

What  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the 
romantic  glen,  or  rather  ravine,  through  which 
the  Greta  finds  a  passage  between  Rokeby  and 
Mortham;  the  former  situated  upon  the  left 
bank  of  Greta,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank, 
about  half  a  mile  nearer  to  its  junction  with 


300 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  Tees.  The  river  runs  with  very  great  ra-  It  was  also  her  humour  to  appear  upon  the 
pidity  over  abed  of  solid  rock,  broken  by  many  quay,  and  call  fur  a  boat.  But  especially  so 
shelving  descents,  down  which  the  stream  soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached  (he 
dashes  with  great  noise  and  impetuosity,  vm-  harbour.  "  this  ghost  would  appear  in  the  same 
dicaliugits  etymology,  which  has  been  derived  g;irb  and  likeness  as  when  she  was  alive,  ami, 
from  the  Gothic,  Gridan,  to  clamour.  The  standing  at  the  mainmast,  would  blow  with  a 
banks  p;irta!»*  of  the  same  wild  and  romantic  whistle,  and  though  it  were  nevi.-r  »•>  great  a 
character,  being  chiefly  lofty  cliffs  of  limestone  calm,  yet  immediately  there  would  arise  a  m..st 
rock,  whose  grey  colour  contrasts  admirably  dreadful  storm,  that  would  break,  wreck,  and 
with  the  various  trees  and  shrubs  which  find  drown  ship  and  goods."  When  she  had  tnus 
root  among  their  crevices,  as  well  as  with  the  proceeded  until  her  son  had  neither  credit  to 
hue  of  the  ivy.  which  clings  around  them  in  !  freight  a  vessel,  nor  could  have  procured  men 
profusion,  and  hangs  down  from  their  projec-  j  to  sail  in  it,  she  began  to  attack  the  persons 
lions  in  long  sweeping  tendrils.  At  other  j  of  his  family,  and  actually  strangled  their  only 
points  the  rocks  give  place  to  precipitous  banks  child  in  the  cradle.  The  rest  of  her  story, 
of  earth,  hearing  large  trees  intermixed  with  |  showing  how  the  spectre  looked  over  the 
copsewood.  In  one  spot  the  dell,  which  is  shoulder  of  her  daughter-in-law  while  dress- 
elsewhere  very  narrow,  widens  for  a  space  to  I  ing  her  hair  at  a  looking-glass,  and  bow  Mrs. 
leave  room  for  a  dark  grove  of  yew  trees,  in-  Leakey  the  younger  took  courage  to  address 
termixed  here  and  there  with  aged  pines  of  her,  and  how  the  beldam  despatched  her  to 
uncommon  size.  Directly  opposite  to  this  i  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for  his  crimes  and 
sombre  thicket,  the  cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  ;  misfortunes,  to  exhort  him  to  repentance,  and 
the  Greta  are  tall,  white,  and  fringed  with  ail  i  to  apprize  him  that  otherwise  he  would  be 
kinds  of  deciduous  shrubs.  The  whole  sr.e-  hanged,  and  how  the  bishop  was  satisfied  with 
nerv  of  this  spot  is  so  much  adapted  to  the  replying,  that  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  he 
ideas  of  superstition,  that  it  has  acquired  the  i  should  not  be  drowned ; — all  these  with  many 
name  of  Blockula,  from  the  place  where  the  !  more  particulars,  may  be  found  at  the  end  of 
Swedish  wiiches  were  supposed  to  hold  their 
Sabbath.  The  dell,  however,  has  superstitions 
of  its  own  growth,  for  it  is  supposed  to  be 
haunted  by  a  female  spectre,  called  the  Dobie 
of  Mortham.  The  cause  assigned  for  her  ap- 
pearance is  a  lady's  having  been  whilom  mur- 
dered in  the  wood,  in  evidence  of  which,  her 
blood  is  shown  upon  the  stairs  of  the  old 
tower  at  Mortham.  But  whether  she  was 
slain  by  a  jealous  husband,  or  by  savage  ban- 
ditti, or  by  an  uncle  who  coveted  her  estate. 
or  by  a  rejected  lover,  are  points  upon  which 
the  traditions  of  Kokeby  do  not  enable  us  to 
decide. 


NOTE  Q. 

How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar. — P.  262. 

That  this  is  a  general  superstition,  is  well 
known  to  all  who  have  been  on  ship-board,  or 
who  have  conversed  with  seamen.  The  most 
formidable  whistler  that  I  remember  to  have 
met  with  was  the  apparition  of  a  certain  Mrs. 
Leakey,  who,  about  1636,  resided,  we  are  told, 
at  Mynehead.m  Somerset,  where  her  only  son 
drove  a  considerable  trade  between  that  port 
and  Waterford.  and  was  owner  of  several  ves- 
sels This  old  gentlewoman  was  of  a  social 
disposition,  and  so  acceptable  to  her  friends, 
that  they  used  to  say  to  her  and  to  each  other. 
it  were  pity  such  an  excellent  good-natured 
old  lady  should  die ;  to  which  she  was  wont 
to  reply,  that  whatever  pleasure  they  might 
find  in  her  company  just  now,  they  would  not 
greatly  like  to  see  or  converse  with  her  after 
death,  which  nevertheless  she  was  apt  lo  think 
might  happen.  Accordingly,  after  her  death 
and  funeral,  she  began  to  appear  to  various 
persons  by  night  and  by  noonday,  iu  her  own 
house,  in  the  town  and  fields,  at  sea  and  upon 
shore.  So  far  had  she  departed  from  her 
former  urbanity,  that  she  is  recorded  to  have 
kicked  a  doctor  of  medicine  for  his  impolite 
negligence  in  omitting  to  hand  her  over  a  stile. 


>ne  of  John  Dunton's  publications,  called 
Athenianism,  London,  1710,  where  the  tale 
is  engrossed  under  the  title  of  The  Apparition 
Evidence. 

NOTE  R. 

Of  Ericfc's  cap  and  Elmo's  liyht.—P.  262. 

"  This  Ericus.  King  of  Sweden,  in  his  time 
was  held  second  to  none  in  the  magical  art ; 
and  he  was  so  familiar  with  the  evil  spirits, 
which  he  exceedingly  adored,  that  which  way 
soever  he  turned  his  cap.  the  wind  would  pre- 
sently blow  that  way.  From  this  occasion  he 
was  called  Windy  Cap;  and  many  men  be- 
lieved that  Regnerus.  King  of  Denmark,  by  the 
conduct  of  this  Ericus.  who  was  his  nephew, 
did  happily  extend  his  piracy  into  the  most  re- 
mote parts  of  the  earth,  and  conquered  many 
countries  and  fenced  cities  by  his  cunning,  and 
at  last  was  his  coadjutor;  that  by  the  consent 
of  the  nobles,  he  should  be  chosen  King  of 
Sweden,  which  continued  a  long  lime  with 
him  very  happily,  until  he  died  of  old  age."— 
Olaus,  ut  supra,  p.  45. 


NOTE  S. 

The  Demon  Frigate.— P.  262. 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical 
superstition  concerning  a  fantastic  vessel, 
called  by  sailors  the  Flying  Dutchman,  and 
supposed  to  be  seen  about  the  latitude  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  She  is  distinguished 
from  earthly  vessels  by  bearing  a  press  of  sail 
when  all  others  are  unable,  from  stress  of 
weather,  to  show  an  inch  of  canvass.  The 
cause  of  her  wandering  is  not  altogether  cer- 
tain ;  but  the  general  account  is.  that  she  was 
originally  a  vessel  loaded  wiih  great  wealth, 
on  board  of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder 
and  piracy  had  been  committed;  that  the 
plague  broke  out  among  the  wicked  crew  who 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


301 


had  perpetrated  the  crime,  and  that  they 
sailed  in  vain  from  port  to  port,  offering,  as  the 
price  of  shelter,  the  wnole  of  their  ill-gotten 
weal  h  ;  that  they  were  excluded  from  every 
haruour,  for  fear  of  the. contagion  which  was 
devouring  them  ;  and  that,  as  a  punishment 
of  their  crimes,  the  apparition  of  the  ship  still 
continues  to  haunt  those  seas  in  which  the 
cataslroplii!  look  place,  and  is  considered  by 
the  manners  as  the  worst  of  all  possible 
omens. 

My  late  lamented  friend.  Dr.  John  Leyden. 
has  introduced  this  phenomenon  into  his 
Scenes  of  Infancy,  imputing,  with  poetical 
ingenuity,  the  dreadful  judgment  to  the  first 
ship  which  commenced  the  slave  trade  :  — 

That  Brst  i he  weight  o'f  barterM  captives  bore  ; 
Bedimtn'd  with  blood,  the  sun  with  shrinking  beams 


Faint  and  de«pairins.  on  theil 
RenrllM  from  port  to  port,  (he 
\VI,en 


•fab 


I.I  the  r 

tbe  bright  ai.d  buoyant  wave  in  seen 
To  slie.ik  with  wandering  foam  the  sea  weeds  grtrel 
Towers  the  tall  mast,  a  lone  and  leafless  Iree, 
Till  nelf-impeU'd  amid  ll.e  waveless  sea; 
Wheie  summer  breeze*  ne'er  w--ie  heard  to  sing, 
Nor  hovering  snow-birds  spread  tbe  downy  wing, 
Fix'd  as  a  ro,  k  amid  the  boui.dleui  plain. 
The  yellow  stream  pollutes  the  stagnant  main. 
Till  far  throush  night  the  funeral  flames  aspire. 
As  the  red  lightning  smites  the  ghastly  pyre. 

"Still  doom'd  by  fate  on  o-ellerhig  billows  roli'd 
Alone  the  deep  their  rmtli-ss  eourse  to  bold, 
•rwttaf  the  storm,  the  shadowy  sailors  guide 
The.  prow  with  sails  opposed  to  wind  and  tide; 
The  Spectre  Ship,  in  livi,!  climpsins  light. 
Glares  baleful  on  the  shuddering  watch  at  night, 
r  uhleM  of  God  and  man  !  —  Till  time  shall  end, 
Its  view  a!  range  horror  to  the  storm  shall  lend." 


NOTE  T. 

•  By  some  desert  isle  or  key  —P.  262. 


What  contributed  much  to  the  security  of 
the  Bucaniers  about  the  Windward  Islands. 
was  the  great  number  of  little  islets,  called  in 
that  country  krys.  These  are  small  sandy 
patches,  appearing  just  above  the  surface  of 
the  ocean,  covered  only  with  a  few  hushes 
and  weeds,  hut  sometimes  affording  springs  of 
water,  and,  in  general,  much  frequented  by 
turtle  Such  little  uninhabited  spots  afforded 
the  pirates  good  harbours,  either  for  refitting 
or  for  the  purpose  of  ambush  :  they  were  oc- 
casionally the  hiding-place  of  their  treasure, 
and  often  afforded  a  shelter  lo  themselves. 
As  many  of  the  atrocities  which  they  practised 
on  their  prisoners  were  committed  in  such 
spo's.  there  are  some  of  these  keys  winch 
even  now  have  an  indifferent  reputation 
Simons:  seamen,  and  where  they  are  with  diffi- 
culty prevailed  on  to  remain  ashore  at  night, 
on  account  of  the  visionary  terrors  incident  to 
places  which  have  been  thus  contaminated. 


NOTE  U. 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood— P.  263. 

The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  I-eland  terms 
'  Mr.  Kokesby's  place,  in  npa  ciler,  scant  a 


quarter  of  a  mile  from  Greta  Bridge,  and  not 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,"  is  a 
picturesque  tower,  surrounded  by  buildings  of 
different  ages,  now  converted  into  a  farm- 
house and  offices.  The  battlements  of  the 
tower  .itself  are  singularly  elegant,  tiie  archi- 
tect having  broken  them  at  regular  intervals 
into  different  heights:  while  those  at  the  cor- 
ners of  the  tower  project  into  octangular  tur- 
rets. They  are  also  from  space  to  space 
covered  with  stones  laid  across  them,  as  in 
modern  embrasures,  the  whole  forming  an 
uncommon  and  beautiful  effect.  The  sur- 
rounding buildings  are  of  a  less  happy  form, 
being  pointed  into  high  and  steep  roofs.  A 
wall,  with  embrasures,  encloses  the  southern 
front,  where  a  low  portal  arch  affords  an  entry 
to  wiiat  was  the  castle-court.  At  some  dis- 
tance is  most  happily  placed,  between  the 
stems  of  two  magnificent  elms,  the  monument 
alluded  to  in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have  been 
brought  from  the  ruins  of  Egliston  Priory,  and 
from  i he  armoury  with  which  it  is  richly 
carved,  appears  to  have  been  a  tomb  of  the 
Fitz-Hushs. 

The  situation  of  Mortham  is  eminently 
beautiful,  occupying  a  high  bank,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  which  the  Cireta  winds  out.  of  the  dark, 
narrow,  and  romantic  dell,  which  the  text  has 
attempted  to  describe,  and  flows  onward 
through  a  more  open  valley  to  meet  the  Tees 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle. 
Mortham  is  surrounded  by  old  trees,  happily 
and  widely  grouped  with  Mr.  Momtt's  new 
plantations. 

NOTE  V. 

There  dig.  and  tomb  your  precious  heap ; 
And  bid  the  dead,  your  treasure  keep. — P.  263. 

If  time  did  not  permit  the  Bucaniers  to 
lavish  away  their  plunder  in  their  usual  de- 
baucheries, they  were  wont  In  hide  it,  with 
many  superstitious  solemnities,  in  the  desert 
islands  and  keys  which  they  frequented,  and 
where  much  treasure,  whose  lawless  owners 
perished  without  reclaiming  it,  is  still  sup- 
posed to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of 
mankind  are  often  the  most  superstitious; 
and  these  pirates  are  said  to  have  had  recourse 
to  a  horrid  ritual,  in  order  to  secure  an  un- 
earthly guardian  to  their  treasures.  They 
killed  a  Negro  or  Spaniard,  and  buried  him 
with  the  treasure,  believing  that  his  spirit 
would  haunt  the  spot,  and  terrify  away  all 
intruders  I  cannot  produce  any  other  au- 
thority on  which  this  custom  is  ascribed  to 
them  than  that  of  maritime  tradition,  which 
is,  however,  amply  sufficient  for  the  purposes 
of  poetry. 


NOTE  W. 


Tlie  power 


That  unsubdiird  and  lurking  lies 
TII  take  lla  felon  by  surprise. 
And  furfi:  him.  as  by  maijic  spell, 
it  his  despite  his  an/It  to  tell.— P.  264, 

All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administra- 
tion of  criminal  justice,  must,  remember  many 


302 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


occasions  in  which  malefactor!  appear  to  have 
conducted  themselves  with  a  species  of  infa- 
tuation, either  by  m:ix:ng  unnecessary  confi- 
dences respecting  their  guilt,  or  hy  sudden 
and  involuntary  allusions  to  circumstances  hy 
which  it  could  not  fail  to  lie  exposed.  A  re- 
mark-able instance  occurred  in  the  celebrated 
case  of  Eugene  Aram.  A  skeleton  being 
found  near  Knaresboroueh.  was  supposed,  by 
the  persons  who  gathered  around  the  spot,  to 
be  the  remains  of  one  Clarke,  who  had  disap- 
peared some  years  before,  under  circum- 
stances leadin?  to  a  suspicion  of  his  having 
been  murdered.  One  Houseman,  who  had 
mingled  m  the  crowd,  suddenly  said,  while 
looking  at  the  skeleton,  and  hearing  the 
opinion  which  was  buzzed  around,  "  That  is 
no  more  Dan  Clarke's  bone  than  it  is  mine !" 
—  a  sentiment  expressed  so  positively,  and 
with  such  peculiarity  of  manner,  as  to  lead  all 
who  heard  him  to  infer  that  he  must,  necessa- 
rily know  where  the  real  body  had  been  in- 
terred. Accordingly,  hems;  apprehended,  he 
confessed  having  assisted  Eugene  Aram  to 
murder  Clarke,  and  to  hide  his  body  in  Saint 
Robert's  Cave.  It  happened  to  the  author 
himself,  while  conversing  with  a  person  ac- 
cused of  an  atrocious  crime,  for  the  purpose 
of  rendering  him  professional  assistance  upon 
his  trial,  to  hear  the  prisoner,  after  the  most 
solemn  and  reiterated  protestations  that  he 
was  guiltless,  suddenly,  and,  as  it  were,  invo- 
luntarily, in  the  course  of  his  communications, 
make  such  an  admission  as  was  altogether  in- 
compatible with  innocence. 


NOTE  X. 

Brackenhury's  dismal  toieer. — P.  265. 

This  tower  has  been  already  mentioned.  It 
is  situated  near  the  north-eastern  extremity 
of  the  wall  which  encloses  Barnard  Castle, 
and  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  the  pri- 
son. By  an  odd  coincidence,  it  hears  a  name 
which  we  naturally  connect  with  imprison- 
ment, from  its  being  that  of  Sir  Robert  Brack- 
enbury.  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  London, 
under" Edward  IV.  and  Richard  III.  There  is. 
indeed,  some  reason  to  conclude,  that  the 
tower  may  actually  have  derived  the  name 
from  that  family,  for  Sir  Rol>ert  Brackenhury 
himself  possessed  considerable  property  not 
far  from  Barnard  Castle. 


NOTE  Y. 

ffobles  and  kniohte.  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 


Riaht  heavy  shall  ha  ransom  br. 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee  !  —  P.  266. 

After  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor,  the  Earl 
of  Newcastle  retired  beyond  sea  in  disgust, 
and  many  of  his  followers  laij  down  their 
arms,  anil  made  the  best  composition  they 
could  with  the  Committees  of  Parliament. 
Fines  were  imposed  upon  them  in  proportion 
to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  delinquency, 


and  these  fines  were  often  bestowed  upon 
such  persons  as  had  deserved  well  of  the 
Commons.  In  some  circumstances  i!  hap- 
pened, that  the  oppressed  cavaliers  were  fain 
to  form  family  alliances  with  s-ome  powerful 
person  among  the  triumphant  party.  The 
whole  of  Sir  Robert  Howard's  excellent  co- 
medy of  The  Committee  turns  U|K>n  the  plot  of 
Mr  and  Mrs.  Pay  to  enrich  their  family,  by 
compelling  Arabella,  whose  estate  was  under 
sequestration,  to  marry  their  son  Abel,  as  the 
price  by  which  she  was  to  compound  with 
Parliament  for  delinquency ;  that  is,  for  at- 
tachment to  the  royal  cause. 


NOTE  Z. 

The  Indian,  prowlinq  for  his  prey. 

Who  hears  the  settlers  trark  his  way.— P.  266. 

The    patience,  abstinence,  and    ingenuity, 
exerted  by  the  North  American  Indians,  when 
in   pursuit   of  plunder  or  vengeance,  is  the 
most  distinguished  feature  in  their  character; 
and  the  activity  and  address  which  they  dis- 
play in  their  retreat  is    equally  surprising.  I 
Adair.  whose   absurd  hypothesis  and   turgid 
style  do  not  affect  the  general  authenticity  of 
Ins  anecdotes,  has  recorded  an  instance  which  | 
seems  incredible. 

"When  the  Chickasali  nation  was  engaged 
in  a  former  war  with  the  Muskohge.  one  of  ; 
their  young  warriors  set  off  against  them  to 
revenge  the  blood  of  a  near  relation.  *  *  * 
He  went  through  the  most  unfrequented  and 
thick  parts  of  the  woods,  as  such  a  dangerous 
enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived  opposite  to 
the  great  and  old  beloved  town  of  refuge, 
Koosah,  which  stands  high  on  the  eastern 
side  of  a  bold  river,  about  250  yards  broad, 
that  runs  by  the  late  dangerous  Albehama- 
Port,  down  to  the  black  poisoning  Mobile,  and 
so  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  he  con- 
cealed himself  under  cover  of  the  top  of  a 
fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  of  the  ford  of  the  old 
trading-path,  where  the  enemy  now  and  then 
pass  the  river  in  their  light  poplar  canoes.  All 
,  his  war-store  of  provisions  consisted  of  three 
J  stands  of  barbicued  venison,  till  he  had  an 
;  opportunity  to  revenge  blood,  and  return 
i  home.  He  waited  with  watchfulness  and  pa- 
tience almost  three  days,  when  a  young  man, 
:  a  woman,  and  a  girl,  passed  a  little  wide  of 
|  him  an  hour  before  sunset.  The  former  he 
shot  down,  tomahawked  the  other  two,  and 
scalped  each  of  them  in  a  trice,  in  full  view 
of  the  town.  By  way  of  bravado,  he  shaked 
the  scalps  before  them,  sounding  the  awful 
death-whoop,  and  set  off  along  the  trading- 
path,  trusting  to  his  heels,  while  a  great  many 
of  the  enemy  ran  to  their  arms  and  gave  chase. 
Seven  miles  from  thence  he  entered  the  great 
blue  ridge  of  the  Apalahche  Mountains.  About 
an  hour  before  day  he  had  run  over  seventy 
miles  of  that  mountainous  tract;  then,  afier 
sleeping  two  hours  in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning 
his  back  against  a  tree,  he  set  off  again  with 
fresh  speed.  As  he  threw  away  the  venison 
when  he  found  himself  pursued  by  the  enemy, 
he  was  obliged  to  support  nature  with  such 
herbs,  roots,  and  nuts,  as  his  sharp  eyes,  with 
a  running  glance,  directed  him  to  snatch  up 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


303 


in  his  course.  Though  I  often  have  rode  that 
war-path  alone,  when  delay  might  have  proved 
dangerous,  and  with  as  line  ami  strong  horses 
as  any  ill  America,  it  took  me  five  d:iys  to  ride 
from  the  aforesaid  Koosali  to  tins  sprightly 
warrior's  place  in  the  Ckuckaaah  country,  tlie 
distance  of  300  computed  miles;  yet  he  ran  ii. 
anil  got  home  safe  and  well  at  about  eleven 
o'clock  of  the  third  day.  which  was  only  one 
day  and  a  half  and  two  nights." — Adair's  His- 
tory of  lite  American  Indians.  Loud.  1775.  4to., 
p.  395. 


NOTE  2  A. 

In  Redfsdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 

Whnt  Kuoktn  edac..  and  Sedswnir  high. 

To  butjle  rung  and  blood-hound's  cry. — P.  266. 

"  What  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are 
that  inhabit  these  valleys  in  the  marches  of 
both  kingdoms,  John  Lesley,  a  Srotche  man 
himself,  and  Bishop  of  Ross,  will  inform  you. 
They  sally  out  of  their  own  borders  in  the 
night,  in  troops,  through  unfrequented  by-ways 
and  many  intricatewindings.  All  the  day-time 
they  refresh  themselves  and  their  horses  in 
lurking  holes  they  had  pitched  upon  before, 
till  they  arrive  in  the  dark  in  those  places  they 
have  a  design  upon.  As  soon  as  they  have 
seized  upon  the  booty,  they,  in  like  manner, 
return  home  in  the  night,  through  blind  ways, 
and  fetching  many  a  compass.  The  more 
skilful  any  captain  is  to  pass  through  those 
wild  deserts,  crooked  turnings,  and  deep  pre- 
cipices, in  the  thickest  mists,  his  reputation  is 
the  greater,  and  he  is  looked  upon  as  a  man 
of  an  excellent  head.  And  they  are  so  very 
cunnins,  that  they  seldom  have  their  booty 
taken  from  them,  unless  sometimes  when,  by 
the  help  of  blood  hounds  following  them  ex- 
actly upon  the  tract,  they  may  chance  to  fall 
into  the  hand  of  their  adversaries.  When  be- 
ing taken,  they  have  so  much  persuasive  elo- 
quence, and  so  many  smooth  insinuating  words 
at  command,  that  it  they  do  not  move  their 
judges,  nay.  and  even  their  adversaries,  (not- 
withstanding the  severity  of  their  natures.)  to 
have  mercy,  yet  they  incite  them  to  admiration 
and  compassion." — Camden's  Britannia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  of  Tyne  and 
Reed  were,  in  ancient  times,  so  inordinately 
addicted  to  these  depredations,  that  in  l.'.tii, 
the  Incorporated  Merchant-adventurers  of 
Newcastle  made  a  law  that  none  born  in 
these  districts  should  be  admitted  apprentice 
The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be  so  generally 
addicted  to  rapine,  that  no  faith  should  be  re- 
posed in  those  proceeding  from  "such  lewde 
and  wicked  prosenitors."  This  regulation 
continued  to  stand  unrepealed  until  1771.  A 
beggar,  in  an  old  play,  describes  himself  as 
"born  in  Redesdale,  in  Northumberland, and 
come  of  a  wight-riding  surname,  called  the 
Robsons,  good  honest  men  mid  true,  saving  a 
tittle  shifting  for  their  living.  God  help  them  !" — 
a  description  which  would  have  applied  to 
most  Burderers  on  both  sides. 

Reidswair,  famed  for  a  skirmish  to  which  it 
gives  name,  [see  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p. 
15,]  is  MII  the  very  edge  of  Ihe  Carter-fell, 


hich  divides  England  from  Scotland.  The 
Rooken  is  a  place  upon  Reedwater.  Bertram, 
being  desor.bed  as  a  native  of  these  dales, 

here  the  habits  of  hostile  depredation  long 
survived  the  union  of  the  crouns.  m;iy  have 
been,  in  some  degree,  prepared  by  education 
for  the  exercise  of  a  similar  trade  in  the  wars 
of  the  Bucauiers. 


NOTE  2B. 

Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.— P.  266. 

After  one  of  the  recent  battles,  in  which  the 
Irish  rebels  were  defeated,  one  of  their  most 
active  leaders  was  found  in  a  hog.  in  which  he 
was  immersed  up  to  the  shoulders,  while  his 
head  was  concealed  by  an  impending  ledge  of 
turf.  Beins  delected  and  seized,  notwith- 
standing his  precaution,  he  became  solicitous 
to  know  how  his  retreat  had  been  discovered 
'•I  caught,"  answered  the  Sutherland  High- 
lander, by  whom  he  was  taken,  "ihe  sparkle 
of  your  eye."  Those  who  are  accustomed  10 
mark  hares  upon  their  form  usually  discover 
them  by  the  same  circumstance. 


NOTE  2  C. 

Here  stood  a  wretch  prepared  to  chnnae 
Hit  soul's  rtdcmptton  for  revenge ! — P.  267. 

It  is  agreed  hy  all  the  writers  upon  masic 
and  witchcraft,  that  revenge  was  the  most 
common  motive  for  the  pretended  compact  be- 
tween Satan  and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity 
of  Reginald  Scot  has  veiy  happily  stated  how 
such  an  opinion  came  to  root  itself,  not  only  in 
the  minds  of  the  public  and  of  the  judges,  but 
even  in  that  of  the  poor  wretches  themselves 
who  were  accused  of  sorcery,  and  were  often 
firm  believers  in  their  own  power  and  their 
own  guilt. 

'•  One  sort  of  such  as  are  said  to  be  witches, 
are  women  which  he  commonly  old,  lame, 
blear-eyed,  pale,  foul,  and  full  of  wrinkles; 
poor,  sullen,  superstitious,  or  papists,  or  such 
as  know  no  religion;  in  whose  drowsie  minds 
the  devil  hath  gotten  a  tine  seat;  so  as  what 
mischief,  mischance,  calamity,  or  slauahter  is 
brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily  perswaded  the 
same  is  done  hy  themselves,  imprinting  in  their 
minds  an  earnest  and  constant  imagination 
thereof.  ....  These  go  from  house  to 
house,  and  from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  of  milk, 
vest,  drink,  pottage,  or  some  such  relief,  with- 
out the  which  they  could  hardly  live;  neither 
obtaining  for  their  service  or  pains,  nor  yet  by 
their  art,  nor  yet  at  the  devil's  hands,  (with 
whom  they  are  said  to  make  a  perfect  and  vi- 
sible bargain,)  either  beauty,  money,  promo- 
tion, wealth,  pleasure,  honour,  knowledge, 
learning,  or  any  other  benefit  whatsoever. 

"It  falleth  out  many  a  time,  that  neither 
their  necessities  nor  their  expectation  is  an- 
swered or  served  in  those  places  where  they 


304 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


beg  or  borrow,  but  rather  their  lewdness  is  by 
their  neighbours  reproved  And  farther,  m 
tract  of  time  the  witch  waxeth  odious  and  te- 
dious to  her  neighbours,  and  they  again  are 
despised  and  despited  of  her ;  so  as  sometimes 
she  cureth  one.  and  sometimes  another,  and 
that,  from  I  he  master  of  the  house,  his  wife, 
children,  cattle,  <tc.,  to  the  little  pig  that  lieth 
in  the  stie.  Thus,  in  process  of  time,  they 
have  all  displeased  her.  and  she  hath  wished 
evil  luck  unto  them  all ;  perhaps  with  curses 
.•mil  imprecations  made  in  form.  DoubTe-s  (at 
length)  some  of  her  neighbours  die  or  full  sick, 
or  some  of  their  children  are  visited  with  dis- 
eases that  vex  them  strangely,  as  apoplexies, 
epilepsies,  convulsions,  hoi.  fevers,  worms,  ike., 
which,  by  ignorant  parents,  are  supposed  to  be 

the  vengeance  of  witches 

"The  witch,  on  the  other  side,  expecting 
her  neighbours'  mischances,  and  seeing  things 
sometimes  come  to  pass  according  to  her 
wishes,  curses,  and  incantations,  {for  Bodin 
himself  confesses,  that  not  above  two  in  a 
hundred  of  Iheir  witc.hirigs  or  wishings  take 
effect,)  being  called  hetore  a  justice,  by  due 
examination  of  the  circumstances,  is  driven 
to  see  her  imprecations  and  desires,  and  her , 
neighbours'  harms  and  losses,  to  concur,  and, ! 
as  it  were,  to  take  effect ;  and  so  confesseth  i 
that  she  (as  a  goddess)  hath  brought  such  I 
things  to  pass  Wherein  not  only  she.  but  the  I 
accuser,  and  also  the  justice,  are  foully  de- 1 
ceived  and  abused,  as  being,  through  her  con-  J 
fession,  and  other  circumstances,  perswaded  j 
(to  the  injury  of  God's  glory)  that  she  hath  ' 
done,  or  can  do.  that  which  is  proper  unly  to 
God  himself.'1 — Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft. 
Loud,  1655,  fol.  p.  4, 5. 


NOTE  2  D. 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  donna 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  dooms.— P.  268. 

The  troops  ot  the  Kins,  when  they  first  took 
the  field,  were  as  well  disciplined  as  could  he 
expected  from  circumstances.  But  as  the  eir- 
cums'ances  nf  Charles  became  less  favourable, 
mid  his  funds  for  regularly  paying  his  forces 
decreased,  habits  of  military  license  prevailed 
among  them  in  sreaier  e'xcess.  l.acy  the 
player,  who  served  his  master  during  the  Civil 
War,  brought  out,  after  the  Restoration,  a 
piece  called  The  Old  Troop,  in  which  he 
seems  to  have  commemorated  some  real  inci- 
dents which  occurred  in  his  military  career. 
The  names  of  the  officers  of  ihe  Troop  suffi- 
ciently express  their  habits.  We  have  Flea- 
flint  Plunder-Master-Generul.  Captain  Ferret- 
farm,  and  Quarter-Master  Burn-drop  The 
officers  of  the  Troop  are  in  league  with  these 
worthies,  and  connive  at  their  plundering  the 
country  for  a  suitable  share  in  the  booty.  All 
this  was  undoubtedly  drawn  from  the  life, 
which  Lacy  had  an  opportunity  to  study.  The 
moral  of  the  whole  is  comprehended  in  a  re- 
buke given  to  the  lieutenant,  whose  disorders 
in  the  country  are  said  to  prejudice  the  King's 
cause  more  limn  his  courage  in  the  field  could 
recompense.  The  piece  is  by  no  meuns  void 
of  farcical  humour. 


NOTE  2E. 

BrignaU's  woods,  and  ScarqiU's  wavr., 

E'en  nout,  o'er  many  a  sister  cane. — P.  268. 

The  hanks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford 
Bridee.  abound  in  seam."  of  greyish  slate,  which 
are  wrought  in  some  places  to  a  very  great 
depth  under  eround,  thus  forming  artificial 
caverns,  which,  when  the  seam  has  been  ex- 
hausted, are  gradually  hidden  by  the  under- 
wood which  grows  in  profusion  upon  the  ro- 
mantic hanks  of  the  river.  In  times  of  public 
confusion,  they  might  be  well  adapted  to  the 
purposes  of  banditti. 


NOTE  2  P. 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land. 

P.  270. 

There  was  a  short  war  with  Spain  in  1625-6. 
which  will  be  found  to  agree  pretty  well  with 
the  chronology  of  the  poem.  But  probably 
Bertram  held  an  opinion  very  common  among 
the  maritime  heroes  of  the  age,  that  "there 
was  no  peace  beyond  the  Line."  Tne  Spanish 
auarda-costas  were  constantly  employed  in  ag- 
eressions  upon  the  trade  and  settlements  of 
the  Knglish  and  French ;  and,  by  their  own 
severities,  gave  room  for  the  system  of  buca- 
inenng,  at  first  adopted  in  self-defence  and  re- 
taliation, and  afterwards  persevered  in  from 
habit  and  thirst  of  plunder. 


NOTE  2  G. 


Our  comrade's  strife.— P.  270. 


The  laws  of  the  Bucaniers,  and  their  suc- 
cessors the  Pirates,  however  severe  and  equi- 
table, were,  like  other  laws,  often  set  aside  by 
the  stronger  party.  Their  quarrels  about  the 
division  of  the  spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they 
(  as  frequently  arose  out  of  mere  frolic,  or  the 
tyrannical  humour  of  ttieir  chiefs.  An  anec- 
i  dote  of  Teach,  (called  Bluckbeard.)  shows  that 
1  their  habitual  indifference  for  human  life  ex- 
tended to  their  companions,  as  well  as  their 
enemies  and  captives. 

•' One  uight,  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands, 
the  pilot,  and  another  mun.  Black  beard,  with- 
out any  provocation,  privately  draws  out  a 
I  small  pair  of  pistols,  and  cocks  them  under 
i  the  table,  which,  beina  perceived  by  the  man, 
1  he  withdrew  upon  deck,  leaving  Hands,  the 
pilot,  and  the  captain  together.  When  the 
pistols  were  ready,  he  blew  out  the  candles, 
and  crossing  his  hands,  discharaed  them  at  his 
company.  Hands,  the  master,  wus  shot  through 
i  the  knee,  and  lamed  for  life ;  the  other  pistol 
!  did  no  execution."  —  Johnson's  History  of  Pi- 
\  roles.  Lend.  1724,  8vo,  vol.  i.  p.  38. 
j  Another  anecdo'e  of  this  worthy  may  be 
also  mentioned.  "  The  hero  of  whom  we  are 
writing  was  thoroughly  accomplished  this  way, 
and  some  of  his  frolics  of  wickedness  were  so 
extravagant,  as  if  he  aimed  at  making  his  men 
i  believe  he  was  a  devil  incarnate;  for,  being 


APPENDIX   TO    ROKEBY. 


305 


one  day  at  sea,  and  a  little  flushed  with  drink, 
•Gurnet  says  lie, '  let  us  make  a  hell  of  our 
own.  and  try  how  long  we  can  bear  it.'  Ac- 
conlingly,  he.  with  two  or  Ihree  others,  went 
down  into  the  hoi. I,  and.  closing  up  all  the 
hiitches.  filled  several  pots  full  of  brimstone 
and  oilier  combustible  matter,  and  set  it  on 
fire,  and  so  continued  till  they  were  almost 
suffocated,  when  some  of  the  men  cried  out 
for  air.  At  length  he  opened  the  hatches,  not 
a  little  pleased  that  he  held  out  the  longest." — 
Ibid,  p.  90. 


NOTE  2  H. 


-mv  ranijcrs  170 


Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe. — P.  270. 

"  Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman 
should  go  to  his  muster's  chamber,  and  if  he 
serve  a  king,  then  let  him  go  to  the  master  of 
the  game's  chamber,  to  know  in  what  quarter 
he  determineth  to  hunt  the  day  following,  that 
he  may  know  his  own  quarter;  that  done,  he 
may  go  to  bed.  to  the  end  that  he  may  rise  the 
earlier  in  the  morning,  according  to  the  time 
and  season,  and  according  to  the  place  where 
he  must  html :  then  when  he  is  up  and  ready, 
let  him  drinke  a  good  draught,  and  fetch  his 
hound,  to  make  him  l>reake  his  fast  a  little: 
and  let  him  not  forget  to  fill  his  hottel  with 
good  wine :  that  done,  let  him  take  a  little 
vinegar  into  the  palnie  of  his  hand,  and  put  it 
in  the  nostrils  of  his  hound,  for  to  make  him 
snull'e,  to  the  end  his  scent  may  he  the  per- 

fecter,  then  let  him  go  to  the  wood 

When  the  huntsman  perceiveth  that  it  is  time 
to  begin  to  heat,  let  him  put  his  hound  before 
him,  ami  beat  the  outsides  of  springs  or 
thickets;  and  if  he  find  an  hart  or  deer  that 
likes  him,  let  him  mark  well  whether  it  he 
fresh  or  not,  which  he  may  know  as  well  by 
the  maner  of  his  hounds  drawing,  as  also  by 
the  eye When  he  hath  well  con- 
sidered what  maner  of  hart  it  may  be,  and 
hath  marked  every  thin?  to  judge  by.  then  let 
him  draw  till  he  come  to  the  couert  where  he 
is  KOne  to ;  and  let  him  harbour  him  if  he  can, 
still  marking  ail  his  tokens,  as  well  by  the 
slot  as  by  the  entries,  foyles,  or  such-like. 
That  done,  let  him  plash  or  bruse  down  small 
twigges.  some  aloft  and  some  below,  as  the 
art  requireth,  and  therewithal!,  whitest  his 
hound  is  note,  let  him  beat  the  outsides,  and 
malie  his  ring-walkes,  twice  or  thrice  about 
the  wood." — The  Noble  Art  of  Venerie,  or 
Hunting.  Load.  1611,  4to,  p.  76,  77. 


Song- 


NOTE  2  I. 

-Adieu  for  evermore. — P.  271. 


The  last  verse  of  this  son?  is  taken  from  the 
fragment  of  an  old  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  I 
only  recollected  two  verses  when  the  first 
edition  of  Rokeby  was  published.  Mr.  Thomas 
Sheridan  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire 
copy  of  this  beautiful  song,  which  seems  to 
express  the  fortunes  of  some  follower  of  the 
Stuart,  family: — 


That 
That 


we  left  fiir  Scotland's  strand, 
sa'forourrishtful  king 
we  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 
My  de-ir, 
we  cVr  saw  Irish  laud. 


all  is  d. 


For  I  i 
For  1 1 


y  native  land,  adieu! 
My  dear, 

I  the  Irish  shore, 

.v,-hia  bridle-reins  a  thakf, 


Adieu  fc 

"The  sole 
And  the 
But  I  ha 
And  ne'i 

Andnr'i 


"  When  day  is  gone  and  night  ii 

I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 

The  lee-laug  night,  and  weep, 

My  dear, 

The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep." 


NOTE  2K. 

Here-cross  on  Stanmore. — P.  271. 

This  is  a  fragment  of  an  old  cross,  with  its 
pediment,  surrounded  by  an  intrenchment, 
upon  the  very  summit  of  the  waste  ridge  of 
Sianmore,  near  a  small  house  of  entertain- 
ment called  the  Spittal.  It  is  called  Rere- 
cross,  or  Ree^cross,  of  which  Holinshed  gives 
us  the  following  explanation : — 

"  At  length  a  peace  was  concluded  betwixt 
the  two  kings  vnder  these  conditions,  that 
Malcolme  should  enjoy  that  part  of  Northum- 
berland which  lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumber- 
land, and  Stainmore,  and  doo  homage  to  the 
Kinge  of  England  for  the  same.  In  the  midst 
of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a  crosse  set  up, 
with  the  Kmge  of  England's  image  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  Kinge  of  Scotland's  on  the  other, 
tosjgnifie  that  one  is  to  march  to  England,  and 
the  other  to  Scotland.  This  crosse  was  called 
the  Roi-cross,  that  is,  the  crosse  of  the  King." 
—Holinshed.  Lond.  1808.  4U>,  v.  280. 

Holinshed's  sole  authority  seems  to  have 
been  Boethms.  But  it  is  not  improbable  that 
his  account  may  be  the  true  one,  although 
the  circumstance  does  not  occur  in  Wintoun's 
Chronicle.  The  situation  of  the  cross  and  the 
pains  taken  to  defend  it,  seem  to  indicate  that 
it  was  intended  for  a  land-mark  of  importance. 


NOTE  2  L. 

Hast  thou  lodged  our  deer  /—P.  272. 

The  duty  of  the  ranger,  or  pricker,  was  first 
to  lodge  or  harbour  the  deer ;  i  e.  to  discover 
his  retreat, as  described  at  length  in  note,  2H, 
and  then  to  make  his  report  to  his  prince,  01 

master : — 


306 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


*  Before  the  King  I  come  report  to  make, 
Then  hushl  and  peace  for  noble  Tristrame*a  cake  .  . 

My  l.oond  did  sti.'k,  and  /vera'd  to  Tent  Home  beast. 

I  mi«M  behold  the  hart  wa»  feeding  trim  : 
His  head  waa  high,  and  large  in  each  degree. 
Well  panlmed  eke,  and  aeem'd  full  sound  to  be. 
Of  colour  browne.  he  beareth  eight  and  tenne. 
Of  stately  height,  and  long  he  seemed  then. 
His  beam  seein'd  great,  in  good  proportion  led, 
Well  barred  and  round,  well  pearled  neare  his  head. 
He  seemed  fay  re  tweene  blarke  and  berrie  brnoude  ; 
He  ~  en.es  well  fed  by  all  the  signel  I  found. 
For  when  I  had  well  marked  him  with  eye, 
I  atept  aside,  to  walch  where  he  would  !ye. 
And  when  I  bad  JO  wayted  fall  an  houre, 
That  he  might  be  al  layre  and  in  hi»  bonre, 
I  cast  about  to  harbour  him  full  sure ; 
My  honnd  by  sent  did  me  thereof  assure  .  .  . 
"  Then  if  he  a»k  what  riot  or  »iew  I  found. 

The  toea  were  great,  the  joynl  bones  round  and  short, 
The  Rhinne  bones  large,  the  dew-claws  close  in  port: 
Bhort  iornted  waa  he,  hollow-footed  eke. 
An  hart  to  hunt  u  an;  man  ran  aeeke." 

T'ne  Art  of  Vmene,  nt  supra,  •}.  97. 


NOTE  2M. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soar'd  on  high. 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky. 
Till,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Hade  Reged's  Brilons  dread  the  yoke. — P.  271. 

About  the  year  of  God  866.  the  Danes, 
under  their  celehrated  leaders  Inguar  (more 
properly  Aenar)  and  Huhha.  sons,  it  is  said,  of 
the  stili  more  celehrated  Regnar  fxxlbrog.  in- 
vaded Northumberland,  bringing  with  them 
the  magical  standard,  so  often  mentioned  in 
poetry,  culled  Reafen,  or  Rumfan,  from  its 
bearing  the  figure  of  a  ruven : — 

"  Wrought  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king, 
Of  furioiia  Iv*r  in  a  midnight  hour : 
While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  em  banted  song 
Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labourM  through  the  elands, 

Were  all  abroad,  and  miiing  with  the  wo»f 
Their  baleful  power  :  The  sistejs  erer  sung, 
'  Shake,  staudanl,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes.' " 

Thomtun  and  Malla'l  Alfred. 

The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  their  in- 
cursions, and  began  to  colonize,  establishing  a 
kind  of  capital  at  York,  from  which  they 
spread  their  conquests  and  incursions  in  every 
direction.  Staumnre,  which  divides  the  moun- 
tains of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  was 
prohahly  the  boundary  of  the  Danish  kingdom 
in  that  direction.  The  district  to  the  west, 
known  in  ancient  British  history  by  the  name 
of  Reged.  had  never  been  conquered  by  the 
Saxons,  and  continued  to  maintain  a  precarious 
independence  until  it  was  ceded  to  Malcolm. 
Kins  of  Scots,  by  William  the  Conqueror, 
prohahly  on  account  of  its  similarity  in  lan- 

fuage  and  manners  to  the  neighbouring  British 
injrdom  of  Strath-Clyde. 
Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish 
sovereignty  in  Northumberland,  the   curious 
may  consult  the  various  authorities  quoted  in 
the"  GfSta  ct  Vetlima  Dannrum  fxlri   Daniam. 
torn.  ii.  p.  40.    The  most  powerful  of  then- 
Northumbrian   leaders  seems  to  have'  been 
Ivar,  called,  from  the  extent  of  his  conquests, 
Widfwn,  that  is.  The  Strider. 


NOTE  2N. 

Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  camf, 
Fix'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name.— P.  272. 
The  heathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces 
of  their  relision  in  the  upper  part  of  Teesdale. 
Balder-garth,  which  derives  its  name  from  the 
unfortunate  son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract  of  waste 
land  on  the  very  ridge  of  Stanmore:  and  a 
brook,  which  falls  into  the  Tees  near  Barnard 
Castle,  is  named  after  the  same  deity.  A  field 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees  is  also  termed 
Woden-Croft,  from  the  supreme  deity  of  the 
Edda.  Thorsgill,  of  which  a  desciipnon  is 
attempted  in  stanza  ii..  is  a  beautiful  little 
brook  and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruins 
of  Egliston  Abbey.  Thor  was  the  Hercules 
of  the  Scandinavian  mythology,  a  dreadful 
giant-queller,  and  in  that  capacity  the  cham- 
pion of  the  gods,  and  the  defender  of  Asgard, 
the  northern  Olympus,  against,  the  frequent 
attacks  of  the  inhabitants  of  Jotunliem.  There 
is  an  old  poem  in  the  Edda  of  Soemund.  railed 
,  the  Song  of  Thrym,  which  tarns  upon  the  loss 
j  and  recovery  of  the  Mace,  or  Hammer,  which 
was  Thor's  principal  weapon,  and  on  which 
much  of  his  power  seems  to  have  depended. 
It  may  be  read  to  great  advantage  in  a  version 
equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the  Miscel- 
laneous Translations  and  Poems  of  the  Hon- 
ourable William  Herbert. 


NOTE  20. 

Whn  has  not  heard  hotc  brave  O'Neale 

In  Mnylish  blood  imbrued  his  steel  /—P.  273. 

The  O'Neale  here  meant,  for  more  than  one 
succeeded  to  the  chieftainship  during  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  Hugh,  the  grandson 
of  Con  O'Neale,  called  Con  Bacco,  or  the 
Lame.  His  father.  Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  ille- 
gitimate, and.  being  the  son  of  a  blacksmith's 
wife,  was  usually  called  Matthew  the  Black- 
smith. His  father,  nevertheless,  destined  his 
succession  to  him;  and  he  was  created.  l>v 
Elizabeth,  Baron  of  Duncanoon.  I'pon  the 
death  of  Con  Barco,  this  Matthew  was  slain 
by  his  brother.  Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the 
same  fate,  and  was  protected  by  the  English. 
Shane  O'Neale,  his  uncle,  called  Shane  Uymas, 
was  succeeded  by  Turlough  J.ynogh  O'Neale ; 
after  whose  death  Hugh,  having  assumed  the 
chieftainship,  became  nearly  as  formidable  to 
the  English  as  any  by  whom  it  had  been  pos- 
sessed He  rebelled  repeatedly,  and  as  often 
made  submission?,  of  which  it  was  usually  a 
condition  that  he  should  not  any  lonser 
assume  the  title  of  O'Neale:  in  lieu  of  which 
he  was  created  Earl  of  Tyrone.  But  this 
condition  he  never  observed  longer  than  until 
the  pressure  of  superior  force  was  wil  hdrawn. 
His  haftlins  the  gallant  Earl  of  Essex  in  the 
field,  and  overreaching  him  in  a  treaty,  w::s 
the  induction  to  that  nobleman's  tragedy. 
!.  ird  Mountjoy  succeeded  in  tinailvsnhjugatini 
u'.Nealr  :  bat  it  was  not  till  the  succession  of 
James,  to  whom  he  made  personal  submission. 
and  was  received  with  civility  nt  court.  Yet, 
according  to  Morrison,  "no  respect  to  him 
could  containe  many  women  in  those  parts. 


APPENDIX   TO    KOKEBY. 


307 


who  had  lost  hnsbandes  and  children  in  the 
Irish  warres,  from  flinging  durt  mid  stones  at 
the  eiirle  as  he  passed,  and  from  reuiling  hiir 
With  hitter  words;  yea,  when  the  earle  lun 
been  at.  court,  and  there  obtaining  his  majesti's 
direction  for  his  pardon  and  performance  of 
all  conditions  promised  him  by  the  LOR 
Mountjoy,  was  about  September  to  rei  nrne,  he 
durst  no't  pass  by  those  parts  without  direc- 
lion  to  the  shiriffes.  to  convey  him  with  troops 
of  horse  from  place  to  place,  till  he  was  safely 
imbarked  and  put  to  sea  for  Ireland." — 
Itinerary,  p.  296. 


NOTE  2  P. 

But  chiff  arose  his  victor  pride. 
When  that  brave  Marshal  f ought  and  died. 
P.  273. 

The  chief  victory  which  Tyrone  obtained 
over  the  English  was  in  a  battle  fought  near 
Black  water,  while  he  besieged  a  fort  garrisoned 
by  the  English,  which  commanded  the  pusses 
into  his  country. 

"  This  captain  and  his  few  warders  did  with 
no  less  courage  surfer  hunger,  and,  bavins 
eaten  the  few  horses  they  had,  lived  vpon 
hearties  growiug  in  the  ditches  and  wals.  suf- 
fering all  extremities,  till  the  lord-lieutenant, 
in  Ihe  moneth  of  August,  sent  Sir  Henry  Bag- 
nal,  marshall  of  Ireland,  wiih  the  most  choice 
companies  of  foot  and  horse-troopes  of  the 
English  army  to  vici  ual  this  fort,  and  to  raise 
the  rebels  siege.  When  the  English  entered 
the  place  and  thicke  woods  beyond  Armagh, 
on  the  east  side,  Tyrone  (with  all  the  rebels 
assembled  to  him)  pricked  forward  with  rage, 
enuy,  and  settled  rancour  against  the  mar- 
shall. assayled  the  English,  and  turning  his 
full  force  against  the  niarshall's  person,  had 
the  successe  to  kill  him,  valiantly  fighting 
among  the  thickest  of  the  rebels.  Whereupon 
the  English  being  dismayed  with  his  death, 
the  rebels  obtained  a  great  victory  against 
them.  I  terme  it  great,  since  the  English, 
from  their  first  arriual  in  that  kingdome,  neuer 
had  received  so  great  an  ouerthrow  as  this, 
commonly  called  tile  Defeat  of  Blaokewater : 
thirteene  valiant  captaines  and  l.TOO  common 
souldiers  (whereof  many  were  of  the  old  com- 
nies which  had  serued  in  Brittany  vnder 
eneral  I>iorreys)  were  slain  in  the  field.  The 
yielding  of  the  fort  of  Biackewater  followed 
this  disaster,  when  the  assaulted  guard  saw 
no  hope  of  relief:  but  especially  vpon  mes- 
sagesseut  to  Captain  Williams  from  our  broken 
forces,  retired  10  Armagh,  professing  that  all 
their  safely  depended  vpon  his  yielding  the 
fort  into  the  hands  of  Tyrone,  without  which 
danger  Captnme  Williams  professed  that  no 
want  or  miserie  should  have  induced  him 
thereunto." — Fynes  Mori/son's  Itinerary.  Lon- 
don. 1617,  fol  part  ii.  p.  24. 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  per- 
sonal animosity  against  the  knight-marshal, 
Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  whom  he  accused  of  de- 
taining the  letters  which  he  sent  to  Queen 
Elizabeth,  explanatory  of  his  conduct,  and 
offering  terms  of  submission.  The  river,  called 
by  the  English,  Blaekwater,  is  termed  in  Irish, 


Avon-Duff,  which  has  the  same  signification. 
Both  names  are  mentioned  by  Spenser  in  his 
"Marriage  of  the  Thames  and  the  Medway.1' 
But  I  understand  that  his  verses  relate  not  to 
the  Blaekwater  of  Ulster,  but  to  a  river  of  the 
same  name  in  the  south  of  Ireland  :  — 


NOTE  2  Q. 

The  Tanist  he  to  great  O'Ncale. — P.  273. 

"Etutox.  What  is  that  which  you  call  Tanist 
and  Tanistry  ?  These  he  names  and  terms 
never  heard  of  nor  known  to  us. 

"Jren.  It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish, 
that  presently  after  the  death  of  one  of  their 
chiefe  lords  or  captaines,  they  doe  presently 
assemble  themselves  to  a  place  generally  ap- 
pointed and  knowne  unto  them,  to  choose  an- 
other in  his  stead,  where  they  do  nominate 
and  elect,  for  the  most  part  not,  the  eldest 
sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  de- 
ceased, but  the  next  to  hint  in  blood,  that  is, 
the  eldest  and  worthiest,  as  commonly  the 
next  brother  unto  him.  if  he  have  any,  or  the 
next  cousin,  or  so  forth,  as  any  is  elder  in  that 
kindred  or  sept;  and  then  next  to  them  doe 
they  choose  the  next  of  the  blood  to  be  Tanist, 
who  shall  next  succeed  him  in  the  said  cap- 
tainry,  if  he  live  thereunto. 

"Eudox.  Do  they  not  use  any  ceremony  in 
this  election,  for  all  barbarous  nations  are 
commonly  great  observers  of  ceremonies  and 
superstitious  rites? 

"Iren.  They  use  to  place  him  that  shall  be 
their  captaine  upon  a  stone,  always  reserved 
to  that  purpose,  and  placed  commonly  upon  a 
hill.  In  some  of  which  I  have  seen  formed 
and  engraven  a  foot,  which  they  say  was  the 
measure  of  their  first  captaine's  foot ;  whereon 
hee  standing,  receives  an  oath  to  preserve  all 
the  ancient  former  custoines  of  the  countrey 
inviolable,  and  to  deliver  up  the  succession 
peaceably  to  his  Tanist,  and  then  hath  a  wand 
elivered  unto  him  by  some  whose  proper 
ffice  that  is;  after  which,  descending  from 
the  stone,  he  turueth  himself  round,  thrice 
forwards  and  thrice  backwards. 

'Eudox.  But  how  is  the  Tanist  chosen? 

'Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot 
upon  the  stone,  and  receiveth  the  like  oath 
that  the  captaine  did."  —  Spenser's  Virw  of  the 
State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works,  Lond.  1805,  8vo. 
vol  viii.  p.  306. 

The  Tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale,  was  the 
heir-apparent  of  his  power.  This  k  ind  of  suc- 
cession appears  also  to  have  regulated,  in  very 
remote  times,  the  succession  to  the  crown  of 
Scotland.  It  would  have  been  imprudent,  if 
not  impossible,  to  have  asserted  a  minor's 
right  of  succession  in  those  stormy  days,  when 
the  principles  of  policy  were  summed  up  in 
my  friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines  :  — 

Sufficeth  them :  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  wtj  have  the  power. 
And  they  should  keep  who  can." 


308 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


NOTE  2  R. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread,  cjc. — P.  273. 

There  is  here  an  attempt  to  describe  the 
ancient  Irish  dress,  of  which  a  poet  of  Queen 
Kliznbeth's  day  has  given  us  the  1'olluwing 
particulars :  — 

and  thereupon  did  muse, 
To  we  a  briile  of  heavenhe  hewn 

This  bride  il  is  the  nolle. 

With  writhed  glibbes,  like  wicked  spirit*, 

with  vis  tge  rough  aud  stearne; 
With  m-ulles  upon  their  poalle*, 

iiKteadof  civil!  cappet; 
Witli  speares  in  hand,  and  swoidea  besydt-s, 

to  beare  off  after  clappes ; 
With  juckellrti  long  and  large, 

which  siimiiJ  simplicite. 
Though  spilfull  thru  which  the;  do  bf  are 

Their  shirtcs  be  very  strange, 

not  reaching  past  the  thie; 
Witb  ple.ito  on  pleate»  Ibei  pleated  an 

a*  thick  AX  pleaies  may  lye. 

the  Irish  karne  uo  goe. 

will  h  fancy  first  did  breade. 
His  nkirtt*  be  very  short-, 

with  pleales  »f  I  thick  about, 
And  Irish  trouzrs  mot-  to  put 

Derrick'*  Imaee  ot  Ireland,  apud  Someri'  Tract*. 
Edin.     ibUJ,  -lio  ,  vol   i.  p.  ii~j. 

Some  curious  woixlen  engravings  accom- 
pany this  poem,  from  which  it  would  seem 
that  the  ancient  Irish  dress  was  (the  bonnet 
excepted)  very  similar  to  that  of  the  Scottish 
Highlanders.  The  want  of  a  covering  on  the 
head  was  supplied  by  the  mode  of  plaiting 
and  arranging  the  hair,  which  was  called  the 
ylibbe.  These  gliblies,  according  to  Spenser, 
I  were  fit  marks  for  a  thief,  since,  when  he 
wished  to  disguise  himself,  he  could  either  cut 
it  off  entirely,  or  so  puil  it  over  his  eyes  as  to 
render  it  very  h;ird  to  recognize  him.  This, 
however,  is  nothing  to  the  reprobation  with 
which  the  same  poet  regards  that  favourite 
part  of  the  Irish  dress,  the  mantle. 

"  It  is  a  fit  house  for  an  ou'law,  a  meet  bed 
for  a  rebel,  aud  an  apt  cloke  for  a  thief. 
First,  the  ou;l,iw  being  for  his  many  crimes 
and  villanyes  banished  from  the  townes  and 
houses  of  honest  men,  and  wandring  in  wasie 
places  far  from  danger  of  law,  maketh  his 
mantle  his  house,  and  under  it  cnvereth  him- 
self from  the  wrath  of  heaven,  from  the 
o.'Ji-nce  of  the  earth,  and  from  the  sight  of  men. 
When  it  raiueth,  it  is  his  pent-house;  when  it 
hloweth,  it  is  his  tent;  when  11  freezeth,  it  is 
his  tabernacle.  In  summer  he  can  wear  it 
louse,  in  winter  he  can  wrap  it  close  ;  at  all 
times  he  can  use  it :  never  heavy,  never  rum- 
bersome.  Likewise  for  a  rebel  it  is  as  service- 
able; for  in  liis  warre  that  he  maketh,  (if  at 
least  il  deserve  the  name  of  warre.)  when  he 
still  flyetli  from  his  foe,  and  lurke'h  m  the 
thicke  woods  and  straite  passages,  wai:mg  lor 
advantages,  it  is  his  bed.  yea,  and  almost  his 
household  stuff.  For  the  wood  is  his  house 
against  all  weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his 


couch  to  sleep  in.  Therein  he  wrappeth  him- 
self round,  and  couchetli  himself  strongly 
against  Ihe  gnats,  which,  in  that  country,  doe 
more  annoy  the  miked  rebels  while  they  keep 
the  woods,  and  doe  mure  sharply  wound  them, 
than  all  their  enemies  swords  or  speares, 
which  can  seldom  come  nigh  I  hem  :  yea,  and 
oftentimes  their  mantle  serveth  them  when 
they  are  neere  driven,  being  wrapped  about 
their  left  armp,  instead  of  a  target,  for  it  is 
hard  to  cut  thorough  with  a  sword  ;  besides,  it 
is  light  to  beare,  light  to  throw  away,  and  be- 
ing (as  they  commonly  are)  naked,  it  is  to 
them  all  in  all.  Lastly,  for  a  Ihiefe  it  is  so 
handsome  as  it  may  seem  it  was  first  invented 
for  him ;  for  under  it  he  may  cleanly  convey 
any  fit  pillage  that  Cometh  handsomely  in  his 
way,  and  when  he  goeth  abroad  in  the  night 
in  freebooting,  it  is  his  best  and  surest  friend ; 
for  lying,  as  they  ofien  do,  nvo  or  three  nights 
together  abroad  to  watch  fur  their  booty,  witn 
that  they  can  prettily  shroud  themselves  un- 
der a  bush  or  h;inks;de  till  they  may  conve- 
niently do  their  errand  :  and  when  all  is  over, 
he  c;m  in  his  mantle  passe  through  any  town 
or  company,  being  close  hooded  over  his  head, 
as  he  useth.  from  knowledge  of  any  to  whom 
he  is  indangered.  Besides  this,  he  or  any  man 
els  that  is  disposed  to  mischief  or  villany.may, 
under  his  mantle,  goe  privily  armed  without 
suspicion  of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his 
skean,  or  pistol,  if  he  please,  to  he  always  in 
readiness." — Sjifnser's  Vieu  of  the  State  of  Ire- 
land. a;md  Wiirfa,  lit  supra,  viii.  367. 

The  javelins,  or  darts,  of  the  Irish,  which 
they  threw  with  great  dexterity,  appear,  from 
one  of  the  pr.nts  already  mentioned,  to  have 
been  about  four  feet  long,  with  a  strong  steel 
head  and  thick  knotted  shaft. 


NOTE  2  S. 

With  wild  mnjeslic  port  and  tone. 

Like  tnvoi/  n]  some  barbarous  l/ironf. — P.  273. 

The  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with 
the  English,  and  with  each  o'her.  were  wont 
to  assume  the  language  and  style  of  inde- 
pendent royalty.  Morrison  has  preserved  a 
summons  from  Tyrone  to  a  neighbouring  chief- 
tain, which  runs  in  the  following  terms:  — 

"  O'.Nealecommendeth  him  unto  you,  Morish 
Fitz-Thomas ;    O'Neale    requesteth    you,   in 
God's  name,  to  take  part  with  him,  aud  fight 
for  your  conscience  and  right ;  ami  in  so  do- 
ing, O'Neale  will  spend  to  see  you  righted  in  ; 
ail  your  aUrtirs.  and  will  help  you.    And  if  you 
come  not  at  O'Neale  betwixt  this  and  to-mor- 
row at  twelve  of  the  clocke,  and  take  his  part, 
O'Neale  is  not  beholding  to  you,  and  will  doe  : 
to  the  uttermost  of   his  power  to  overthrow 
you.  if  you  ramie  not  to  him  at  furthest  by  Sat-  i 
tunlay  at  noone.     From  Knocke  Uuinayue  in 
Calrie,  the  fourth  of  February,  1.099. 

"O'Neale  ri-questeth  you  to  come  speake 
with  him, and  doth  glue  you  his  word  that  you 
sliail  receive  no  harme  neither  in  comming  i 
nor  going  from  him.  whether  yon  be  friend  or  j 
not,  and  bring  with  you  to  O'Nmlt  Gerat  Fitz-  ' 
gerald. 

(Subscribed)         "O'NEALE." 


APPENDIX   TO    ROKEBY. 


309 


N ->r  did  the  royalty  of  O'Neale  consist  in  epithet  from  nine  nations,  or  tribes,  whom  he 
wor .Is  ;done.  Sir  John  Harrington  paid  him  a  i  held  under  his  subjection,  and  from  whom  he 
visit  at  the  i  ime  of  Ins  truce  with  Essex,  and,  I  took  hostages.  From  one  of  Neal's  sons  were 

derived  1  he  Kinel-eoguin,  or  Race  of  Tyrone, 
which  afforded  monarchs  both  to  Ireland  and 
to  Ulster.  3Neal  (according  to  O'Flaherty's 
Ogygia)  was  killed  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  in 
one  of  his  descents  on  the  coast  of  Bretagne. 


after 


ntioning  his  "fern   table,  and    fern 


forms,  spread  under  the  stately  canopy  of 
heaven,''  he  notices  what  constitutes  the  real 
power  of  every  monarch,  the  love,  namely, 
an  I  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  "  His  guards, 
for  the  most  part,  were  beardless  boys  without 
shirts;  who  in  the  frost  wade  as  familiarly 
through  rivers  as  water-spaniels.  With  what 
charm  such  a  master  makes  them  love  him,  I 
know  not;  hut  if  he  bid  come,  they  come;  if 
go.  they  do  go ;  if  he  say  do  this,  they  do  it."— 
Nityce  Antiques.  Lond.  1781,  8vo.,  vol.  i.  p.  251. 


NOTE  2  T. 

His  foslnr-fatlier  lets  his  guide. — P.  274. 

There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the 
Irish  than  that  which  connected  the  foster- 
fa!  her.  as  well  as  the  nurse  herself,  with  the 
child  they  brought  up. 

"  Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time, 
money,  and  affection  on  their  foster-children 
than  their  own ;  and  in  return  take  from  them 
clothes,  money  for  their  several  professions, 
and  arms,  and.  even  for  any  vicious  purposes, 
fortunes  and  cattle,  not  so  much  by  a  claim  of 
right  as  hy  extortion  ;  and  they  will  even  carry 


NOTE  2  V. 

Shane-Dymas  wild.— P.  274. 

This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  Wanton, 
held  the  title  and  power  of  O'Neale  ift  the 
earlier  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  against  whom 
he  rebelled  repeatedly. 

"Tins  chieftain  is  handed  down  to  us  as  the 
most  proud  and  profligate  man  on  earth.  He 
was  immoderately  addicted  to  women  and 
wine.  He  is  said  to  have  had  200  tuns  of  wine 
at  once  in  his  cellar  at  Dandram,  hut  usque- 
baugh was  his  favourite  liquor.  He  spared 
neither  age  nor  condition  of  the  fair  sex. 
Allho'  so  illiterate  that  he  could  not  write,  he 
was  not  destitute  of  address,  his  understand- 
ing was  strong,  and  his  courage  daring.  He 
had  600  men  for  his  guard ;  4000  foot,  1000 
horse  for  the  field.  He  claimed  superiority 
over  all  the  lords  of  Ulster,  and  called  him- 
self king  thereof.  When  commissioners  were 
sent  lo  treat  with  him.  he  said,' That,  tho'  the 


those  things  off  as  plunder.     All  who  have  j  Queen  Were  his  sovereign  lady,  he  never  made 
been  nursed  by  the  same  person  preserve  a  j  pea(,e  w,tj,  ner  but  at  her  lodging;   that  she 


greater  mutual  affection  and  confidence  in 
each  other  than  if  they  were  natural  brothers, 
whom  they  will  even  hate  for  the  sake  of 
these.  When  chid  by  their  parents,  they  fly 
to  their  foster-fa! hers,  who  frequently  encou- 
rage them  to  make  open  war  on  their  parents, 
train  them  up  to  every  excess  of  wickedness, 
and  make  them  most  abandoned  miscreants ; 
as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  nurses  make  the 
young  women,  whom  they  bring  up  for  every 
excess.  If  a  foster-child  is  sick,  it  is  incredible 
how  soon  the  nurses  hear  of  it,  however  dis- 
tant, and  with  what  solicitude  they  attend  it 
by  day  and  night."—  GiraUus  Cambrcnsis, 


quoted  by  Camden,  iv. 
This  custom,  like 


ny  other  Irish  usages, 


prevailed  till  of  late  in  the  Scottish  Highlands, 
and  was  cherished  hy  the  chiefs  as  an  easy 
mode  of  extending  their  influence  and  con- 
nexion ;  and  even  in  the  Lowlands,  during  the 
last  century,  the  connexion  between  the  nurse 
and  foster-child  was  seldom  dissolved  but  by 
the  death  of  one  party. 

NOTE  2  U. 

Great  Nidi  of  the  Pledges  Nine.— P.  274. 

Neal  Naighvallach,  or  Of  the  Nine  Hostages, 
is  said  to  have  been  Monarch  of  all  Ireland, 
during  the  end  of  the  fourth  or  beginning  of 
the  fifih  century.  He  exercised  a  predatory 
warfare  on  the  coast  of  England  and  of  Bre- 
tagne, or  Armorica  ;  and  from  the  latter  coun- 
try brought  off  the  celebrated  Saint  Patrick,  a 

outh  of  sixleen.  among  other  captives,  whom 


he  transported  to  Ireland.     N 


•  captives 
«eal  deri 


ved  his 


had  made  a  wise  Earl  of  MacarVymore,  but 
that  he  kept  as  good  a  man  as  he;  that  he 
cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  Earl ;  that  his 
blood  and  power  were  better  than  the  best ; 
that  his  ancestors  were  Kings  of  Ulster ;  and 
that  he  would  give  place  to  none.'  His  kins- 
man, the  Earl  of  Kildare.  having  persuaded 
him  of  the  folly  of  contending  with  the  crown 
of  England,  he  resolved  to  attend  the  Queen, 
but  in  a  slyle  suited  to  his  princely  dignity. 
He  appeared  in  London  with  a  magnificent 
train  of  Irish  Galloglasses.  arrayed  in  the 
richest  habiliments  of  their  country,  their 
heads  bare,  their  hair  flowing  on  their  shoul- 
ders, with  their  long  and  open  sleeves  dyed 
with  saffron.  Thus  dressed,  and  surcharged. 
with  military  harness,  and  armed  with  ba'tle- 
axes,  they  afforded  an  astonishing  spectacle  to 
the  citizens,  who  regarded  them  as  the  in- 
truders of  some  very  distant,  part  of  the  globe. 
But  at  Court  his  versatility  now  prevailed  ; 
his  title  to  the  sovereignty  of  Tyrone  was 
pleaded  from  English  laws  and  Irish  institu- 
tions, and  his  al  legal  ions  were  so  specious, 
that  the  Queen  dismissed  him  with  presents 
and  assurances  of  favour.  In  England  this 
transaction  was  looked  on  as  the  humiliation 
of  a  repenting  rebel :  in  Tyrone  it  was  con- 
sidered as  a  treaty  of  pence  he! .ween  two  po- 
tentates."—  Cam'Jfii's  Britannia,  by  Gough. 
Lond.  1806.  fol.  vol.  iv.  p.  442. 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English. 
an:l  forsaken  by  his  allies,  this  Shane-Dymas 
fled  to  Clandeboy.  then  occupied  by  a  colony 
of  Scottish  Highlanders  of  the  family  of  Mac- 
Donell.  He  was  at  first  courteously  received  ; 
but  by  degrees  they  began  to  quarrel  about 
the  slaughter  of  some  of  their  friends  whom 
Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  death,  and  advancing 


310 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


from  words  to  deeds,  fell  upon  him  with  their 
broadswords, and  cut  him  to  pieces.  After  his 
death  a  law  was  made  '.hat  none  should  pre- 
sume to  take  the  name  and  title  of  O'.Neule. 


NOTE  2W. 

Geraldine.—P.  274. 


The  O'Ne«les  were  closely  allied  with  this 
powerful  and  warlike  family ;  for  Henry  Owen 
O'N'eale  married  the  da  lighter  of  Thomas 
Earl  of  Kildare.  and  their  son  Con-  More  mar- 
ried his  cousin-german,  a  daughter  of  Gerald 
Karl  of  Kildare.  This  Con-More  cursed  any 
of  his  posterity  who  should  learn  the  English 
language,  sow  corn,  or  huild  houses,  so  as  to 
invite  the  English  to  settle  in  their  country. 
Others  ascribe  this  anathema  to  his  son  Con- 
Bacco.  Fearflatha  O'Gnive.  hard  to  the 
O'Neales  of  Clannaboy,  complains  in  the 
same  spirit  of  ihe  towers  and  ramparts  with 
which  the  strangers  had  disfigured  the  fair 
sporting  fields  of  Erin.— See  Walker's  Irish 
Bards,  p.  140. 


NOTE  2X. 

He  chose  that  honour 'd  flag  to  bear. — P.  275. 

Lacy  informs  us,  in  the  old  play  already 
quoted,  how  the  cavalry  raised  by  the  country 
gentlemen  for  Charles's  service  were  usually 
officered.  "  You,  comet,  have  a  name  that's 
proper  for  all  cornets  to  be  called  by.  for  they 
are  all  beardless  boys  in  our  army.  The  most 
part  of  our  horse  were  raised  thus:  —  The 
honest  country  gentleman  raises  the  troop  at 
his  own  charge ;  then  he  gets  a  Low-country 
lieutenant  to  fight  his  troop  safely;  then  he 
sends  for  his  son  from  school  to  be  Ins  cornet : 
and  then  he  puts  off  his  child's  coat  to  put  on 
a  buff-coat :  and  this  is  the  constitution  of  our 
army." 


NOTE  2Y. 

,  the  next  degree 
In  that  old  time  to  chivalry. — P.  275. 

Originally,  the  order  of  chivalry  embraced 
three  ranks:—!.  The  Page;  2  The"  Squire;  3. 
The  Knight;  —  a  gradation  which  seems  to 
have  been  imitated  in  the  mystery  of  free- 
masonry. But,  before  the  reign  of  Charles  I., 
the  custom  of  serving  as  a  squire  had  fallen 
into  disuse,  though  the  order  of  the  page  was 
still,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  observance.  This 
state  of  servitude  was  so  far  from  inferring 
any  thing  degrading,  that  it  was  considered  as 
the  regular  school  for  acquiring  every  quality 
necessary  for  future  distinction.  The  proper 
nature,  and  the  decay  of  the  institution,  are 
pointed  out  by  old  Ben  Jonson.  with  his  own 
forcible  moral  colouring.  The  dialogue  occurs 
between  Lovell.  "a  compleat  gentleman,  a 
soldier,  and  a  scholar,  known  to  have  been 
page  to  the  old  Lord  Beaufort,  and  so  to  have 
followed  him  in  the  French  wars,  after  com- 
panion of  his  studies,  and  left  guardian  to  his 
son.''  and  the  facetious  Goodstock.  host  of  the 
Light  Heart.  Lovell  had  offered  to  take  Good- 


st(>ck's  son  for  his  page,  which  the  latter,  in 
reference  to  the  recent  abuse  of  the  establish- 
ment, declares  as  "a  desperate  course  of 
life  :"— 

"  Lot'ell.  Call  you  that  desperate,  which  by 

a  line 

Of  institution,  from  onr  ancestors 
Hath  been  derived  down  to  us.  and  received 
In  a  succession,  for  the  noblest  way 
Of  breeding  up  our  youth,  in  le'ters,  arms, 
Fair  mien,  discourses,  civil  exercise, 
And  all  the  blazon  of  a  gentleman  ? 
Where  can  he  learn  to  vnult,  to  ride,  to  fence, 
To  move  his  iKxly  gracefully  ;  to  speak 
His  language  purer;  or  to  tune  his  mind. 
Or  manners,  more  to  the  harmony  of  nature. 
Than  in  the  nurseries  of  nobility  1 
'•Host.  Ay,   that    was  when   the  nursery's 

self  was  noble. 

And  only  virtue  made  it.  not  the  market, 
That  ijtles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum, 
Or  common  outcry.    Goodness  gave  the  great- 
ness, 

And  greatness  worship  :  every  house  became 
An  academy  of  honour :  and  those  parts 
We  see  departed,  in  the  practice,  now, 
Quite  from  the  institution. 

"  Lorell.  Why  do  you  say  so  ? 
Or  think  so  enviously  ?    Do  they  not  still 
Learn   there   the   Centaur's  skill,  the  art  of 

Thrace. 

To  ride  ?  or,  Pollux'  mystery,  to  fence? 
The   Pyrrhic  gestures,   both    to   dance    and 

spring 

In  armour,  to  be  active  in  the  wars! 
To  study  figures,  numbers,  and  proportions. 
May  yield  them  great  in  counsels,  and  the  arts 
Grave  Nestor  and  the  wise  Ulysses  practised  ? 
To  make   their  English    sweet    upon    their 

tongue. 

As  reverend  Chaucer  savs  ? 
"  Host.  Sir,  you  mistake ; 
To  play  Sir  Paodarpa,  my  copy  hath  it, 
And  carry  messages  to  Madame  Cressida; 
Instead  of  backing  the  brave  steed  o'  mornings. 
To  court  the  chambermaid  :  and  for  a  leap 
0' the  vaulting  horse,  to  ply  the  vaulting  house : 
For  exercise  of  arms,  a  bale  of  dice. 
Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the 

cheat. 

And  nimbleness  of  hand  ;  mistake  a  cloak 
Cpon  my  lord's  back,  and  pawn  it;  ease  his 

pocket 

Of  a  superfluous  watch ;  or  gelc  a  jewel 
Of  an  odd  stone  or  so ;  twinge  two  or  'hree 

buttons 

From  off  my  lady's  gown  :  These  are  the  arts 
Or  seven  liberal  deadly  sciences 
Of  pagery,  or  rather  paganism. 
As  the  tides  run  ;  to  which  if  he  apply  him, 
He  may  perhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 
A  year  the  earlier;  come  to  take  a  lecture 
Upon  Aquinas  at  St.  Thomas  a  Watering's. 
And  so  go  forth  a  laureat  in  hemp  circle  !" 
Ben  Jonson  s  New  Inn,  Act  I.   Scene  III. 


NOTE  2Z. 

Secm'd  half  abandon'd  to  decay  — P.  278. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Rokebv  stood  exactly 

upon  the  site  of  the  present  mansion,  by  which 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


311 


a  part  of  its  walls  is  enclosed.  It  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  profusion  of  fine  wood,  and  the 
park  in  which  it  stands  is  adorned  by  tlie 
junction  of  the  Greta  and  of  the  Tees.  The 
title  of  Baron  Kokeby  of  Armagh  was,  in 
1777,  conferred  on  the  Right  Reverend  Richard 
Robinson,  Primate  of  Ireland,  descended  of 
the  Robinsoas,  formerly  of  Rokeby,  iu  York- 
shire. 


NOTE  3  A. 

Rnkrki/s  lords  of  martini  fame, 

1  can  count  them  name,  by  name. — P.  280. 

The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  very 
ancient  and  once  powerful  family,  was  kindly 
supplied  to  the  author  by  Mr.  Rokeby  of 
Northamptonshire,  descended  of  the  ancient 
Burons  of  Rokeby : — 

"  Pedigree  of  the  House  of  Rokeby. 

1.  Sir   Alex.    Rokeby.   Knt.   married    to  Sir 

Hump.  Lift.:e's  i  daughter. 

2.  Ralph    Rokeby,   Esq.    to    Tho.   Lnmley's 

daughter. 

3.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Tho.  Hubborn's 

daughter. 

4.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Biggot's 

daughter. 

5.  Sir  Thos.   Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  de 

Melsass*  daughter  of   Bennet-Hall,  in 
Holderness. 

6.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Sir  Brian  Stapleton's 

daughter  of  Weighill. 

7.  Sir  Thos.  Kokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Ury's 

daughter  3 

8.  Ralph  Kokeby.  Esq  to  daughter  of  Mans- 

field, heir  of  Morion. 3 

9.  SirTho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Stroode's  daughter 

and  heir. 

10.  Sir   Ralph    Rokeby,  Knt.   to   Sir   James 

Strangwayes'  daughter. 

11.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby.  Knt.  to  Sir  John  Ho- 

tham's  daughter. 

12  Ralph  Rokeby.  Esq.  to  Danby  of  Yafforth's 
daughter  and  heir.* 

13.  Tho.    Rokeby,   Ksq.   to    Rob.   Constable's 

daughter  of  Cliff,  sent,  at  law. 

14.  Christopher  Rokeby.  Esq.  to  Lasscells  of 

Bnickenhurgh's  daughter. & 

15.  Thos.   Rokeby,  Esq.   to  the  daughter  of 

Thweng. 

16.  Sir  Thomas   Rokeby,   Knt.   to  Sir  Ralph 

Lawson's  daughter  of  Brough. 

17.  Frans.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Faucelt's  daughter, 

citizen  of  London. 

18.  Thos.    Rokeby.  Esq.  to  the   daughter  of 

Wickliffe  of  Gales. 

Hiyh  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire. 

1337.  11  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thos.  de 
Rokeby.  ' 

1313.  17  Edw.  3.  Thos.  de  Rokeby,  pro  sept. 
annis. 

1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby.  Justici- 
ary of  Ireland  for  six  vears ; 
died  at  the  castle  of  Kilk'i. 


a  r« 


1407.  8  Hen.  4.    Thos.  Rokeby  Miles,  defeated 
and  slew  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
thumberland at  the  battle 
of  Bramham  Moor. 
1411.  12  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles. 

1486 Thomas  Rokeby.  Esq. 

1539 Robert  Holgate",  Bish.  of  Lan- 

daff,  afterwards  P.  of  York, 
Ld.  President  of  the  Council 
for    the    Preservation    of 
Peace  in  the  North. 
1564.  6  Eliz.         Thomas  Younge,  Archbishop 

of  Yorke,  Ld.  President. 
30  Hen.  8.  Tho.  Rokeby,  LL  D.  one  of 

the  Council. 
Jn   Rokeby,  LL.D.  one  of  the 

Council. 

1572.  15  Eliz.       Henry     Hastings,    Earl     of 

Huntingdon.  Ld.  President. 

Jo  Rokehy,  Esq.  one  of  the 

Council. 

Jo.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  ditto. 
Ralph   Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of 

the  Secretaries. 
1574.  17  Eliz.       Jo     Rokeby,     Precentor    of 

York.      ' 

7  Will.  3.  Sir  J.  Rokeby,  Knt.  one  of 
the  Justices  of  the  King's 
Bench. 

The  family  of  De  Rokeby  came  over  with 
the  Conqueror. 

The  old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In 
Bivw  Dextra. 

The  arms,  argent,  chevron  sable,  between 
three  rooks  proper. 

There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  found  in  our 
family  in  the  Scottish  history  about  the  affairs 
of  Dun-Bretton  town,  but  what  it  is.  and  in 
what  time.  I  know  not,  nor  can  have  conve- 
nient leisure  to  search.  But  Parson  Black- 
wood,  the  Scottish  chaplain  to  the  Lord  of 
Shrewsbury,  recited  to  me  once  n  piece  of  a 
Scottish  song,  wherein  was  mentioned,  that 
William  Wallis,  the  great  deliverer  of  the 
Scots  from  the  English  bondage,  should,  at 
Dun-Bretton,  have  been  brought  up  under  a 
Rokeby,  captain  then  of  the  place ;  and  as  he 
walked  on  a  cliff,  should  thrust  him  on  a 
sudden  into  the  sea.  and  thereby  have  gotten 
that  hold,  which,  I  think,  was  about  the  33d 
of  Edw.  I.  or  before.  Thus,  leaving  our  an- 
cestors of  record,  we  must  also  with  them  leave 
the  Chronicle  of  Malmeshury  Abbey,  called  Ku- 
logium  Historiarum,  out  of  which  Mr.  Leland 
reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy  down  un- 
written story,  the  which  have  yet  the  testimony 
of  later  times,  and  the  fresh  memory  of  men 
yet  alive,  for  their  warrant  and  creditt.  of 
whom  1  have  learned  it,  that  in  K.  Henry  the 
7th's  reign,  one  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  was  owner 
of  Morton,  and  I  guess  that  this  was  he  that 
deceived  the  fryars  of  Richmond  with  his 
felon  swine,  on  which  a  jargon  was  made." 

The  above  is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript 
written  by  Ralph  Rokeby ;  when  he  lived  is 
!  uncertain. 

i  To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  Parson 
i  Blackwood  alluded,  it  would  be  now  in  vain 
:  to  enquire.  But  in  Blind  Harry's  History  of 

5  From  him  »  the  bouse  of  Hotham,  and  of  Itit  n-cond 


312 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sir  William  Wallace,  we  find  a  legend  of  one 
Rukhie.  whom  lie  makes  keeper  of  Stirling 
Castle  under  the  English  usurpation,  and 
whom  Wallace  slays  with  his  own  hand  :— 

"  In  the  rreat  preM  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met, 
With  hi>  good  sword  a  stroke  upon  him  let ; 
Uerfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  he  draye, 
Bui  hi.  two  son.  escaped  among  the  lave." 
These  suns,  according  to  the  romantic  Minstrel. 
surrendered  the  castle  on  conditions,  and  went 
back  to  England,  hut  returned  to  Scotland  in 
the  days  of  Bruce,  when  one  of  them  became 
azain  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle.     Immediately 
after  this  achievement   follows   another  en- 
gagement, between  Wallace  and  those  West- 
ern  Highlanders  who  embraced  the  English 
interest,  at  a   pass  in   Glendonchart,  where 
many  were  precipitated  into  the  lake  over  a 
precipice.     These   circumstances    may   have 
been   confused    in    the    narrative   of   Parson 
Blackwood,   or    in   the   recollection   of  Mr. 
Rokehv. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  there  is 
mentioned,  among  the  English  warriors.  "Sir 
Raff  the  rvc.he  Hughe,"  which  may  apply  tn 
Sir  Ralph  Rokeby.  the  tenth  baron  in  the  pe- 
digree. The  more  modem  copy  of  the  ballad 
runs  thus:— 


This  would  rather  seeru  to  relate  to  one  of  the 
Nevilles  of  Raby.  But.  as  the  whole  ballad 
is  romantic,  accuracy  is  not  to  be  looked  for. 


NOTE  SB. 


•  The  Felon  Sow.— P.  280. 


The  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well 
as  a  serious  strain  of  romance :  find  although 
the  examples  of  the  latter  are  by  far  the  most 
numerous,  they  are.  perhaps,  the  less  valuable. 
The  comic  romance  was  a  sort  of  parody  upon 
the  usual  subjects  of  minstrel  poetry.  If  the 
latter  descr  bed  deeds  of  heroic  achievement, 
and  the  events  of  the  battle,  the  tourney,  and 
the  chase,  the  former,  as  in  the  Tournament 
of  Tottenham,  introduced  a  set  of  clowns  de- 
bating in  the  field,  with  all  the  assumed  cir- 
cumstances of  chivalry  :  or,  as  in  the  Hunting 
of  the  Hare,  (see  Weber's  Metrical  Romances, 
vol.  iii.,)  persons  of  the  same  description  fol- 
lowing the  chase,  with  all  the  grievous  mis- 
takes and  blunders  incident  to  such  unpractised 
sportsmen.  The  idea,  therefore,  of  Don  Quix- 
ote's frenzy,  although  inimitably  embodied  and 
brought  out,  was  not,  perhaps,  in  the  abstract, 
altogether  original  One  of  the  very  best  of 
these  mock  romances,  and  which  has  no  small 
portion  of  comic  humour,  is  the  Hunting  of 
the  Felon  Sow  of  Rokehy  by  the  Friars  of 
Richmond.  Ralph  Rokehy.  who  (for  the  jest 's 
sake  apparently)  bestowed  this  intractable 
animal  on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems 
to  have  flourished  in  the  time  of  Henry  VII., 
which,  since  we  know  not  the  date  of  Friar 

1  Both  the  MS.  and  Mr  Whitaker's  copy  read  aicatan, 

by  Mr.  Evans.  —3  Sow,  affording  to  provincial  pronuncia- 
tion. —  3  So ;  Yorkshire  dialect.  —  4  Fele,  man;  ;  Sax.  — 
6  A.omiption  of  quell,  to  kill.— 6  More,  greater.— 7  Went. 
—  8  Alive.  — »  Along  the  side  of  Greia.  —10  Barn,  child. 


Theobald's  wardenship.  to  which  the  poem 
refers  us.  may  indicate  that  of  the  composition 
itself.  Morton,  ilie  Mortham  of  the  text,  is 
mentioned  as  being  this  facetious  baron's  place 
of  residence;  accordingly,  Leland  notices,  that 
"Mr  Rokeby  hath  a  place  called  Mortham.  a 
little  beneath  Grentey  bridge,  almost  on  the 
mouth  of  Grentey."  That  1,0  information  may 
be  lacking  which  is  in  my  power  to  supply.  I 
have  to  notice,  that,  the  Mistress  Rokehy  of  the 
romance,  who  so  charitably  refreshed  the  sow 
after  she  had  discomfited  Friar  Middleton  and 
his  auxiliaries,  was.  as  appears  from  the  pedi- 
gree of  the  Rokehy  familv,  daughter  and  heir 
of  Danby  of  Yafforth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  putJished  in  Mr. 
Whitaker's  History  of  Craven,  but.  from  an 
inaccurate  manuscript,  not  corrected  very 
happily.  It  was  transferred  by  Mr.  Evans  to 
the  new  edition  of  his  Ealiads,  with  some 
well-judged  conjectuial  improvements.  I  have 
been  induced  to  give  a  more  authentic  and 
full,  though  still  an  imperfect,  edition  of  this 
humoursome  composition,  from  liemg  furnish- 
ed wi  h  a  copy  from  a  manuscript  in  the  pos- 
session of  Mr.  Rokeby,  to  whom  1  have  ac- 
knowledged my  obligations  in  the  last  Note. 
It  has  three  or  four  stanzas  more  than  that  of 
Mr.  Whitaker,  and  the  language  seems,  where 
they  differ,  to  have  the  more  ancient  and  ge- 
nuine readings. 

The  Felon  Sow  of  Roktby  and  the  Friars  of 

Richmond. 

Ye  men  that  will  of  auntersi  winne, 
That  late  within  this  land  hath  heene, 

Of  one  I  will  you  tell; 
And  of  a  sew"  that  was  sea3  strang, 
Alas !  that  ever  she  lived  sae  lang. 
For  fell*  folk  did  she  whell.* 

She  was  mare"  than  other  three, 
The  grisliest  beast  that  ere  might  be, 

Her  head  was  great  and  gray  : 
She  was  bred  in  Rokeby  wood, 
There  were  few  that  thither  goed,7 

That  came  on  lives  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlong^  Greta  side ; 
There  was  no  bren10  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  froe11  heaven  to  hell ; 
Nor  never  man  that  had  that  might, 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight, 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Ralph  of  Rokehy.  with  good  will. 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till," 

Full  well  to  garre'3  them  fare. 
Fryar  Miildletou  by  his  name. 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  her  ha  me, 

That  rued  him  sine1*  full  sure. 

With  him  tooke  he  wicht  men  two, 
Peter  Dale  was  one  of  thoe. 

That  ever  was  brim  as  heare ;" 
And  well  durst  strike  with  sword  and  knife, 
And  fight  full  manly  was  his  life, 

What  time  as  mister  ware. '6 

man  in  general.— 11  From.— H  To.— 13  Make  —14  Since. 
—  15  Fierce  a>  a  bear.  Mr  WhitakerM  copy  reads,  per- 
hapa  in  consequence  of  mistaking  the  MS  .  "  T'other  was 
Mr.  Wbiuker  read. 


APPENDIX 

10   ROKEBY.                       313 

These  three  men  went  at  God's  will, 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  heare, 

This  wicked  sew  while  they  came  till, 

But  rudelv  rushed  at  the  Frear, 

Liggati'  under  a  tree; 

That  blinked  all  hisblee;  is 

Rugg  and  rusty  was  her  haire  ; 

And  when  she  would  have  taken  her  hold, 

She  raise  up  with  a  felon  fare,2 

The  Fryar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold, 

To  tight  against  the  three. 

And  healed  him  '»  with  a  tree. 

She  was  so  grisely  for  to  meete. 
She  rave  the  earth  up  with  her  feete, 

She  was  as  brim20  as  any  beare, 
For  all  their  meete  to  labour  there,21 

And  bark  came  fro  the  tree  ; 

To  them  it  was  no  boote  : 

When  Fryar  Middleton  her  saugh.3 

Upon  trees  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood, 

Weel  ye  well  he  might  not  laugh, 

She  ranged  as  she  was  wood,22 

Full  earnestly  look't  hee. 

And  rave  them  up  by  roote. 

These  men  of  aunters  that  was  so  wight,* 

He  sayd,  "  Alas,  that  I  was  Frear  ! 

They  bound  them  bauldly*  for  to  fight, 

And  1  'shall  be  rugged  23  jn  sunder  here, 

And  strike  at  her  full  sare  : 

Hard  is  my  desiinie  ! 

Until  a  kiln  they  garred  her  flee, 

Wist2*  my  brethren  in  this  houre. 

Wold  God  send  them  the  victory, 

That  I  was  sett  in  such  a  stoure,2* 

The  wold  ask  him  noa  mare. 

They  would  pray  for  me." 

The  sew  was  in  the  kiln  hole  down, 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  woe, 

As  tlit/  were  on  the  balke  aboon,6 

Tooke  that  rape  from  the  other  two, 

For'  hurting  of  their  feet; 

And  then  they  fledd  all  three; 

They  were  so  saulteds  with  this  sew, 

They  fledd  away  by  Watling-street, 

That,  among  them  was  a  stalworth  stew, 

They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet, 

The  kiln  began  to  reeke. 

It  was  the  more  pity. 

Durst  noe  man  n<;igh  her  with  his  hand, 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne  ;  a* 

But  put  a  rape9  down  with  his  wand, 

The  sew  went  hame,  and  that  full  soone, 

And  haltered  her  full  meete; 

To  Morton  on  the  Greene  ; 

They  hurled  her  forth  against  her  will, 

When  Ralph  of  Rokeby  saw  the  rape,2? 

Whiles  tliev  came  into  a  hill 

He  wist  28  that  there  had  been  debate, 

A  little  fro  the  street.  10 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a  fray, 
If  they  should  live  to  Doomes-day, 

He  bad  them  stand  out  of  her  way. 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray,  — 

They  tharrow  H  it  ne'er  forgett; 

"  1  saw  never  so  keene  ; 

She  braded  12  upon  every  side, 
And  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide, 

Some  new  things  shall  we  heare 
Of  her  and  Middleton  the  Frear, 

For  nothing  would  she  lett.  '3 

Some  battell  hath  there  beene." 

She  gave  such  brades  1*  at  the  band 

But  all  that  served  him  for  nought 

That  Peter  Dale  had  in  his  hand, 

Had  they  not  better  succour  sought, 

He  might  not  hold  his  feet. 

They  were  served  therefore  loe. 

She  chafed  them  to  and  fro, 

Then  Mistress  Rokeby  came  anon. 

The  wight  men  was  never  soe  woe, 

And  for  her  brought  shee  meate  full  soone, 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 

The  sew  came  her  unto. 

She  bound  her  boldly  to  abide  ; 

She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower, 

To  Peter  Dale  she  came  aside, 
With  many  a  hideous  yell  ; 

[Hiatus  valde  deflendus,] 

She  gaped  soe  wide  and  cried  soe  hee, 

The  Fryar  seid,  "  1  conjure  thee,'* 
Thou  art  a  feind  of  hell. 

When  Fryar  Middleton  crime  home. 
His  brethren  was  full  fain  ilkone,30 

And  thanked  God  of  his  life  ; 

"Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  trainees 

He  told  them  all  unto  the  end.  ' 

I  conjure  thee  to  go  againe 

How  he  had  foughten  with  a  fiend, 

Where  them  wnst  wont  to  dwell." 

And  lived  through  mtckle  strife. 

He  snyned  "  him  with  crosse  and  creede, 

Took  forth  a  book,  began  to  reade 

"  We  gave  her  battell  half  a  day. 

In  St.  John  his  gospell. 

And  sithinSi  was  fain  to  fly  away, 

1  Lying.    2  \  fierce  countenance  or  manner  -  3  Saw. 
j  4  Wight,  brave.     Tile  Rokeby  MS.  reads  incouatefi,  and 

"  She  was  brim  as  any  boar, 
And  gave  a  grisly  hideous  roar, 

above  —7  To  prevent.  —  8  Annulled.  —9  Rope.  —  10  Wat- 

Besides  the  want  of  connection  between  the  last  line  and 

lin;  Street.     See   the   sequel.  —  11  Dare  —  12  Roshed.— 

he  two  former,  the  second  has  a  very  modern  sound,  and 

13  Leave  it  —14  Pulls.  —  15  This  line  is  wanting  in  Mr. 

he  reading  of  the  Rokehy  MS.  with  the  slight  alteration 

Whilaker's  copy,  whence  it    has  been   conjectured  that 

n  the  text,  is  much  better. 

something  is  wanting  after  this  stanza,  which  now  there 

22  Mad.  —23  Torn,  pulled.  —21  Knew  —25  Combat,  pe- 

i«  no  o~rasion  to  suppose.  —  1C  Evil  d.-vk-e  —  17  Bit-used, 

ilous  fight.  —  26  This  stanza,  with  the  two  fol'owing,  and 

!  —21  The  MS.  reads,  to  liibour  wnre      The  text  seems  to 

ion   —  '27  The  rope  about  the  sow's  neck.  —  28  Knew.  — 

wan  of  no  use  to  them.     Mr    Whitaker  reads. 

then,  after  that 

2T 

314 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


For  saving  of  onr  life  ;  l 
And  Peter  Dale  would  uever  billing 
Bur  as  fast  as  he  could  ryn.3 

Till  lie  came  to  ins  wiie." 

The  warden  said,  "I  am  full  of  woe, 
That  ever  ye  should  be  torment  so, 

But  wee  with  you  had  beene  ! 
Had  we  been  there  your  brethren  all. 
Wee  should  have  starred  the  warle  *  fall, 

That  wrought  you  all  this  teyne."  b 

Fryar  Middleton  said  soon,  "  Nay, 
In  faith  you  would  have  fled  away, 

When  most  mister'  had  beene; 
You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame. 
A  man  would  dins'  y»u  every  ilk  ane, 

And  it"  it  be  us  I  weme." 

He  look't  so  griesly  all  that  night. 
The  warden  saiJ.  "  Von  man  will  fight 

If  you  say  ought  hut  mod  ; 
Yon  suest  B  hath  grieved  him  so  sare, 
Hold  your  tongues  and  speake  noe  mare, 

He  looks  as  he  were  woode." 

The  warden  waged  *  on  the  morne. 
Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 

I  weine.  or  ever  shall  be  ; 
The  one  was  Gibbert  Griffin's  son. 
Full  micUe  worship  has  he  wonne, 

Both  by  land  and  sea. 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 
Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slam, 

His  dint  '»  hath  gait  them  die. 
These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke, 
Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  hooke, 

And  sealed  security. 

That  they  should  boldly  hide  and  fight, 
And  skomfit  her  in  maine  and  might, 

Or  therefore  should  they  die. 
The  warden  sealed  10  them  againe, 
And  said,  "  In  feild  if  ye  be  slain, 

This  condition  make  I  : 

"  We  shall  for  you  pray.  sin?,  and  read 
Todoomesday  with  hearty  sueede, 

With  all  our  progeny." 
Then  the  letters  well  was  made, 
Bands  bound  with  scales  brade.H 

As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

These  men  of  armes  that  weere  so  wight, 
With  armour  and  with  hrandes  bright, 

They  went  this  sew  to  see  ; 
She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd.11 
That  fur  her  they  were  sare  afer'd, 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

She  came  roveing  them  egaine  ; 
That  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

1  The  above  lino  are  wanting  in  Mr.  Whiiaker's  cop 

i  Harm  -  6  Need.—  7  B<-at.     The  c->py  in  Mr.  Whitaker' 
listory  of  Craven  reads,  perhaps  better,— 

"  The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one." 


ted  copy  read*,—  "  The  beast  hath,"  i 


He  braded  >3  out  his  brand  ; 
Full  spiteously  at  her  he  s'rake, 
For  all  the  fence  I  hat  he  could  make, 

She  gut  sword  out  of  hand  ; 
And  rave  in  sunder  half  Ins  shielde. 
And  bare  him  backward  in  the  feilde. 

He  might  not  her  gainstaud. 

She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geare, 
But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre, 

He  si  rake  at  her  full  strong. 
On  her  shoulder  till  she  held  the  sword ; 
Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng.1* 

Since  in  his  hands  he  hath  her  tane, 
She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,1* 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast; 
She  strave  so  stiffly  in  that  slower," 
That  through  all  his  rich  armour 

The  hiood  came  at  the  last. 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sea  sare. 
That  he  rave  off  both  hide  and  haire, 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  bone ; 
Anil  wiih  ail  force  he  felled  her  there, 
And  vt'ann  her  worthily  in  werre. 

And  baud  her  him  alone. 

And  lift  her  on  a  horse  sea  hee, 
Into  two  paniers  well-made  of  a  tre. 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay :  i» 
When  they  saw  her  come. 
They  sang  merily  Te  Deum, 

The  Fryers  on'that  day.1*1 

They  thanked  God  and  St.  Francis, 
As  they  had  won  the  best  of  pris,1' 

And  never  a  man  was  slame  : 
There  did  never  a  man  more  manly. 
Knight  Marcus,  nor  yett  Sir  Gui, 

Nor  Loth  of  Loulnyane.™ 

If  ye  will  any  more  of  this, 
In  the  Fryers  of  Richmond  'tis 

In  parchment  good  and  fine; 
And    how   Fryar    Middluton    that  was    so 

kend," 
At  Greta  Bridge  conjured  a  feind 

In  likeness  of  a  swine. 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man. 

That  Fryar  Theobald  was  warden  than, 

And  this  fell  in  his  time; 
And  Christ  them  bless  both  farre  and  neare, 
All  that  fur  solace  list  tiiis  to  heare, 

And  him  that  made  the  rhime. 

Ralph  Rokehy  with  full  good  will. 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  he  gave  her  till, 

This  sew  to  mend  their  fare  : 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  nanitt, 
Would  needs  bring  the  fat  sew  hame, 

That  rued  him  since  full  sare. 

—8  Hired,  a  York»hire  phrase.— 10  Blow.— II  riroad,  large. 

15  Bone  —  16  Meeting,  battle  —  17  Hie,  haoten.  —  If  The 
MS  reads,  mistakenly,  nrrf  day.  —  19  Price.  -JO  The 
father  of  Sir  Oawa  n,  in  the  romance  of  Arthur  and  Mer- 
The  MS.  is  thus  corrupted  — 

More  loth  of  Louth  Ryme. 
Tell  known,  or  perhaps  kind,  »ell  disposed. 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


315 


NOTE  3C. 

The  Filta  of  O'Neale  was  lie.— P.  280. 
The  Filea.  or  Ollamh  Re  Dan,  was  the  pro- 


wiih  them;  yet  they  hart  one  use  which  I 
knew  was  well  used  in  their  cuntre.  and  that. 
was,  they  dvde  were  no  hreches:  I  caused 
breches  of  lynen  clothe  to  he  made  for  them 
Whyle  1  was  with  them  I  caused  them  to 


per  hard,  or,  as  the  name  literally  implies,  |  leaue  many  rude  thynges.  as  well  in  clothyng 
poet.  Each  chieftain  of  distinction  had  one  or  ias  in  oilier  causes.  Moche  ado  I  had  at  the 
more  in  his  service,  whose  office  was  usually  ;  fyrst  to  cause  them  to  weare  gownes  of  sylke, 
hereditary.  The  late  ingenious  Mr.  Cooper  furred  with  myneuere  and  grav ;  for  hefore 
Walker  has  assembled  a  curious  collection  of  jthese  kynees  thought  themselfe  well  appa- 
parlicnlars  cnneerrimff  this  order  of  men.  in  relied  wlien  they  had  on  a  mantel!.  They 
his  Historical  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.  1  rode  alwuyes  without  saddles  and  styropes. 
There  were  itinerant  hards  of  less  elevated  !  and  with  great  payne  I  made  them  to  vide 
rank,  but  all  were  held  in  the  highest  vpnera- 'after  our  usage."  —  Lord  Berners1  Froissart. 
lion.  The  English,  who  considered  them  as  |  Lond.  1812.  4to  vol.  ii  p.  621. 
chief  supporters  of  the  spirit  of  national  Hide-  The  influence  of  these  hards  upon  their  pa- 
pemlence.  were  much  disposed  to  proscrihe  trons,  and  their  admitted  title  to  interfere  in 
this  race  of  poets,  as  Edward  1.  is  said  to  have  1  matters  of  the  weigh:  iest  concern,  may  he 
done  in  Wnles.  Spenser,  while  he  admits  the  !  also  proved  from  the  hehaviour  of  one  of  them 
merit  of  their  wild  poetry,  as  "savouring  of  at  an  interview  hetween  Thomas  Fitzgerald, 


sweet  wit  and  good  invention,  and  sprinkled 
nne  pre'ty  flowers  of  their  natural  de- 


plicatic 


usly  condemns  the  whole  ap-    Chancellor  Crorner.  who  made  a  long   and 


poetry,  as   ahased  to  ''the 


gracing  of  wickedness  and  vice  "  The  house- 
hold minstrel  was  admitted  even  to  the  feast 
of  the  prince  whom  he  served,  and  sat  at  the 


same  table 


It 


one  of  the  customs  of 


which  Sir  Richard  Sewry.  to  whose  cliaree 
Richard  II.  committed  the  instruction  of  four 
Irish  monarchs  in  the  civilization  of  the  period, 
found  it  most  difficult  to  break  his  royal  dis- 
ciples, though  he  had  also  much  ado  to  sub- 
ject them  to  other  English  rules,  and  particu- 
larly to  reconcile  them  to  wear  hreeches. 
"The  kyng.  my  souerevigne  lord's  enlent  was, 
that  in  maner,  countenaunce,  and  apparel  of 
clothyng.  they  shohle  use  according  to  the 
maner  of  Englande.  for  the  kynge  thought  to 
make  them  all  four  knyghtes :  they  had  a 
fayre  house  to  lodge  in,  in  Duvelyn,  ami  I  was 
charged  to  abyde  styll  with  them,  and  not  to 
departe  :  and  so  two  or  three  dayes  I  suffered 
them  to  do  as  thev  lyst.  and  sayde  nothyng  to 
them,  hut  folowed  their  owne  appetytes:  they 
wolde  sitte  at  the  table,  and  make  countenance 
nother  good  nor  fayre.  Than  I  thought  I 
shulde  cause  them  to  chaunge  that  maner; 
they  wolde  cause  their  mynstrells.  their  ser- 
uantes,  and  varieties,  to  sylte  with  them,  and 
•Me  in  their  owne  dyssche.  and  to  drinke 


in  all  thyngs  (except  their  heddes)  they  were 


son  of  the  Earl  of  Kildare.  then  about  to  re- 
nounce the  Knglish  allegiance,  and  the  Lord 


goodly  oration  to  dissuade  him  from  his  pur- 
pose. The  young  lord  had  come  to  the  coun- 
cil "armed  and  weaponed."  and  attended  by 
seven  score  horsemen  in  their  shirts  of  mail ; 
and  we  are  assureil  that  the  chancellor,  having 
set  forth  his  oration  "  with  such  a  lamentable 
action  as  his  cheekes  were  all  bebluhbered 
with  teares,  the  horsemen,  namelie.  such  as 
understood  not  English,  began  to  diuine  what 
the  lord-chancellor  meant  with  all  this  long 
circumstance;  some  of  them  reporting  that 
he  was  preaching  a  sermon,  others  said  that 
he  stood  making  of  some  heroicall  poetry  in 
the  praise  of  the  Lord  Thomas.  And  thus  as 
every  idiot  shot  his  foolish  bolt  at  the  wise 
chancellor  his  discourse,  who  in  effect  had 
nought  else  hut  drop  pretious  stones  before 
hogs,  one  Bard  de  Nelan.  an  Irish  rithmour. 
and  a  rotten  sheepe  to  infect  a  whole  flocke, 
was  chatting  of  Irish  verses,  as  though  his 
toong  had  run  on  pattens,  in  commendation  of 
the  Lord  Thomas,  investing  him  with  the  title 
of  Silken  Thomas,  hicans  his  horsemens  jacks 
were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with  silke  :  and 
in  the  end  he  told  him  that  he  lingered  there 
oner  long;  whereat  the  Lord  Thomas  being 
quickened,"  1  as  Holinshed  expresses  it.  bid 
jefiance  to  the  chancellor,  threw  down  con- 


of  their  cuppes  :  and  they  shewed  me  that  the    temptiiously  the  sword  of  office,  which,  in  his 
usage  of  their  cuntre  was  good,  for  they  sayd    father's  absence,  he  held  as  deputy,  and  rushed 


forth  to  engage  in  open  insurrection. 


and  lyved  as  comen.  So  the  fourthe  day  I  or- 
dayned  other  tables  to  be  couered  in  the  hall, 
after  the  usage  of  Englande,  and  I  made  these 
four  knyghtes  to  sytte  at  the  hyghe  table,  and 
there  mynstrels  at  another  horde,  and  their 
seruauntes  and  varieties  at  another  byneth 
them,  whereof  bv  semynge  they  were  dis- 
pleased, and  beheld  each  other,  and  wolde  not 
eate,  and  sayde,  how  I  wolde  take  fro  them 

their  good  usage,  wherein  they  had  been  no-       _ „  _  „.   . ^ 

rished.  Then  I  answered  them,  smylyng,  to  possessed  by  the  sept  of  the"  6'Neales.  and 
apeace  them,  that  it  was  not  honourable  for  i  Slieve-Donard,  a  romantic  mountain  in  the 
their  estates  to  do  as  they  dyde  before,  and  !  same  province.  The  c.ian  was  ruined  after 
that  they  must  leave  it,  and  use  the  custom  of  \  Tyrone's  great  rebellion,  and  their  places  of 
Englande.  and  that  it  was  'he  kynge's  pleasure  ;  abode  laid  desolate.  The  ancient  Irish,  wild 
thev  shulde  so  do.  and  how  he  was  charged  so  and  uncultivated  in  other  respects,  did  not 
to  order  them.  When  they  harcle  that,  thev  yield  even  to  their  descendants  in  practising 
suffred  it.  hycause  they  had  putte  themselfe  the  most  free  and  extended  hospitality;  and 

under  the  obesyance  of  the  Kynge  «(  England,    • 

and  parceuered  in  the  same  as  long  as  I  was  i  HoiiD«hed     Loud.  IMS,  4to.  vol.  ri.  p.  a»i. 


NOTE  3D. 

Ah,  dfrndcboy!  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-  Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  mart. 

P.  280. 

Clandebov  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly 


316 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


doubtless  the  banls  mourned  the  decay  of  the 
mansion  of  their  chiefs  in  strains  similar  to 
the  verses  of  the  British  Llywarr.h  Hen  on  a 
similar  occasion,  which  are  aftectins,  even 
through  the  discouraging  medium  of  a  literal 
translation;  — 

"  Silent-breathing   gale,  long  wilt   thou   be 

henrd  ! 

There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  praise, 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  do?  that  scented  well  the  prey,  and 

aerial  hawk. 

Have  been  trained  on  this  flrxir 
Before  Erlleon  became  polluted. 

This  hearth,  ah,  will  it  not  be  covered  with 

nettles ! 

Whilst  its  defender  lived. 
More  congenial  to  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy 

petitioner. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green 

sod! 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Elphin. 
Its  ample  cauldron  boiled  the  prey  taken  from 

the  foe. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad- 
stools ! 

Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  more  cheering 
was 

The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless 
warrior. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with 

spreading  brambles ! 

Till  now.  logs  of  burning  wood  lay  on  it. 
Accustom 'd  to  prepare  the  gifts  of  Reged ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thorns ! 
More  congenial  on  it  would  have  been  the 

mixed  group 
Of  Owain's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  ants ! 
More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright 

torches 
And  harmless  festivities ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  he  covered  with  dock- 
leaves  ! 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 
The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheer'd 
warriors. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the 

swine! 
More   congenial  to  it  would   have  been   the 

clamour  of  men. 
And  the  circline  horns  of  the  banquet." 

Btroic  Eleoifs  of  TJi/iearc  //*»,  by  Owen. 
Lend  1792,  8vo,  p.  41. 

"The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night. 

Without  fire,  without  bed— 

I  must  weep  a  while,  and  then  be  silent! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  eloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  candle — 
Except  God  doth,  who  will  endue  me  with 
patience ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  hems  liahted— 
Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence  ! 


The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  zloomy  seems  its  roof 
Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more — 
Woe  to  him  that  saw  it,  if  he  neglects  to  do 
good! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  art  thou  not  bereft  of 

thy  appearance  1 
Thy  shield  is  in  the  grave  ; 
Whilst  he  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  without  love  this 

nieht. 

Since  he  that  own'd  it  is  no  more — 
Ah,  death  :  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will 

leave  me ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  not  easy  this  night, 
On  the  top  of' the  rock  of  Hydwyth. 
Without  its  lord,  without  company,  without 
the  circling  feasts ! 

The  hall  of  Cynrtdylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  sonss — 
Tears  afflict  the  cheeks !  " 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  eloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  family — 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  pierces  me  to  see  it, 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire — 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill 

grief  this  night. 

After  the  respect  I  experienced  ;• 
Without  the  men.  without  the  women,  who 

reside  there ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  silent  this  night, 

A  fter  losing  its  master — 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do !" 

Ibid.  p.  77. 


NOTE  3  E. 

M'Ciirtin's  harp  —  P.  281. 

"MacCnrtin.  hereditary  Ollamh  of  North 
Munster  and  Filea  to  Donoiigh,  Earl  of  Tho- 
mond,  and  President  of  Munster.  This  noble- 
man was  amon2"st  those  who  were  prevailed 
upon  to  join  Elizabeth's  forces  !Soon  as  it  was 
known  that  he  had  basely  abandoned  the 
interests  of  his  country,  Maffvjrtin  presented 
an  adulatory  poem  to  MacCarthy.  chief  nf 
Sou'h  Minister,  and  of  the  Engenian  line.  who. 
with  O'Neil,  O'Donnel.  Lacy,  and  others,  were 
deeply  eneaeed  in  protecting  their  violated 
country  In  this  poem  he  dwells  with  rnp'nre 
on  the  courage  and  patriotism  of  MacCarthy: 
but  the  verse  that  should  (according  to  an 
established  law  of  the  order  of  the  banls)  be 
introduced  in  the  praise  of  O'Brien,  he  turns 
into  severe  satire  : — '  How  am  I  afflicted  (says 
he)  that  the  descendant  of  the  ereat  Brion 
Boiromh  cannot  furnish  me  with  a  theme 
worthy  the  honour  and  glory  of  his  exalted 
race!'  Lord  Thomond.  hearing  this,  vowed 
ve nseance  on  the  spirited  bard,  who  fled  for 
refuge  to  the  county  of  Cork.  One  day  ob- 
serving the  exasperated  nobleman  and  his 
equipage  at  a  small  distance,  he  thought  it 
was  in  vain  to  fly,  and  pretended  to  be  sud- 
denly seized  with  the  pangs  of  death;  direct- 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY.                        317 

ing  his  wife  to  lament  over  him.  and  tell  his 

room  to  Ihe  other,  might  have   feasted   the    | 

lordship,  that  the  sight  of  him.  by  awakening 

whole  neighbourhood,  and  an  appendage  to    i 

the  sense  of  his  inanititude.   had  so   much 

one  end  of  it  made  it  answer  at  other  times  |i 

affected  him  that  he  could  not  support  it  ;  :md 

for  the  old  game  of  shuffleboard.    The  rest 

desired  her  at  Hie  same  time  to  tell  his  lord- 

of the  furniture  is  in  a  suitable  style,  particu- 

ship, that  he  entreated,  as  a  dying  reques'.  his 

larly  an  arm-chair  of  cumbrous  workmanship 

forgiveness      Soon  as  Lord  Tlioinond   arrived. 

constructed  of  wood,  curiously  turned,  with  a 

the   feigned   tale  was  related  lo  him.    That 

liiuh  back  and  triangular  seat,  said  to  have 

nobleman  was  moved  to  compassion,  and  not 

been  used  by  Judge  Popham  in  the  reign  of  II 

only  declared   that  tie  most  heartily  forgnve 

Elizabeth.    The  entrance  into  the  hall  is  at 

him,  hut.  opening  his  purse,  presented  the  fair 
mourner  with  some  pieces  to  inter  him.    This 

one  end,  by  a  low  door,  communicating  with  a 
passage  that  leads  from  the  outer  door  in  the 

instance  of  his  lordship's  pity  and  generosity 

front  of  the  house  to  a  quadrangle  i  within; 

gave    courage    to   the   trembling  bard  ;   who. 

at  the  other,  it  opens  upon  a  gloomy  staircase. 

suddenly  springing  up,  recited  an  extempora- 

by which  you  ascend  to  the  first  floor,  and, 

neous  ode  in  praise  of  Donough,  and  re-enter- 

passing the  doors  of  some  bedchambers,  enter 

ing  into  his  service,  became  once  more   his 

a  narrow  gallery,  which  extends  alonsr  the 

favourite.  '—  Walker's  Memoirs  of   the   Irish. 

back  front  of  the  house  from  one  end  to  the 

Bards.    Loud.  1786,  4to,  p.  Ul. 

other  of  it.  and  looks  upon  an  old   earden. 

This  gallery  is  hung  with  portraits,  chiefly  in 

-  

the  Spanish  dresses  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

In  one  of  the  bedchambers,  which  you  pass  in 

NOTE   3  F. 

going  towards  the  gallery,  is  a  bedstead  with 

blue   furniture,  which   time   has   now  made 

The  ancient  English  minstreFs  dress.—  P.  281. 

dingy  and  threadbare,  and  in  the  bottom  of 

Among  the    entertainments    presented    to 
Elizabeth  at  Kenilworth  Castle,  was  the  intro- 
duction of  a  person  designed  to  represent  a 
travelling  minstrel,  who  entertained  her  with 
a  .solemn  story  out  of  the  acts  of  King  Arthur. 
Of  this  person's  dress  and   appearance   Mr. 
Laneham  has  given  us  a  very  accurate  account, 
transferred  by  Bishop  Percy  to  the  preliminary 
Dissertation  .on    Minstrels,    prefixed    to   his 
Reltques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i. 

one.  of  the  bed  curtains  yon  are  shown  a  place 
w  here  a  small  piece  has  been  cut  out  and  sewn 
in   a^ain,  —  a  circumstance  which  serves  to 
identify  the  scene  of  the  following  story  :  — 
"  It  was  on  a  dark  rainy  night  in  the  month 
of  November,  that  an  old  midwife  sat  musing 
by  her  cottage  fire-side,  when  on  a  sudden  she 
was  startled  by  a  loud  knockim;  at  the  door. 
On  opening  it  she  found  a  horseman,  who  told 
her  that  her  assistance  was  required  imme- 
diately by  a  person  of  rank,  and  that  she  should 

be  handsomely  rewarded  ;  but  that  there  were 

reasons  for  keeping  the  affair  a  strict  secret, 

and.  therefore,  she  must  submit  to  be  blind- 

JNoTE 3  G. 

folded,  and  to  he  conducted  in  that  condition 

Littlecote  Hall—  P.  284. 

to  the  bedchamber  of  the  lady.     With  some 
hesitation  the  midwife  consented  ;  the  horse- 

The tradition  from  which    the   ballad   is 

man  bound   her  eyes,  and  placed  her  on  a 

founded,  was  supplied  by  a  friend,  (the  late 

pillion  behind  him.   After  proceedm?  in  silence 

Lord  Webb  Seymour.)  whose  account  I  will 

for  many  miles  through  rough  and  dirty  lanes, 

not  do  the  injustice  to  abriiiee,  as  it  contains 

they  stopped,  and  the  midwife  was  led  into  a 

an  admirable  picture  of  an  old  English  hall  :  — 

house,  which  from  the  length  of  her  walk 

"  Littlecote  House  stands  in  a  low  and  lonely 

through  the  apartments,  as  well  as  the  sounds 

situation.    On  ihre.e  sides  it  is  surrounded  by 

about  her,  she  discovered  to  be  the  seat,  of 

a  park  that  spreads  over  the  adjoining  hill  ;  on 

wealth  and  power.     When  the  bandage  was 

the  fourth,  by  meadows  which  are  watered 

removed  from  her  eyes,  she  found  herself  in 

by  the  river  Kennet     Close  on  one  side  of  the 

a  bedchamber,  in  which   were  the   lady  on 

house  is  a  thick  grove  of  lofty  trees,  along  the 

whose  account  she  had  been  sent  for,  and  a 

verge  of   which   runs  one  of   the   principal 

man  of  a  haughty  and  ferocious  aspect.     The 

avenues  to  it  through   the  park.     It   is  an 

lady  was  delivered  of  a  fine  boy.    Immediately 

irregular  building  of  great  antiquity,  and  was 

the  man  commanded  the  midwife  to  give  him 

probably  erected  about  the  time  of  the  termi- 

the child,  and  catching  it  from  her,  he  hurried 

nation  of  feudal  warfare,  when  defence  came 

across  the  room,  and  threw  it  on  the  back  of 

no  longer  to  be  an  object  in  a  country  mansion. 

the  fire  that  was  blazing  in  the  chimney.    The 

Many  circumstances,  however,  in  the  interior 

child,  however,  was  strong,  and,  by  its  strug- 

of the  house,  seem  appropriate  to  feudal  times 

gles,  rolled  itself  upon  the  hearth,  when  the 

The  hall  is  very  spacious,  floored  with  stones, 

ruffian  again  seized  it  with  furv,  and,  in  spite 

and  lighted   by  large  transom  windows,  tnat 

of  the  intercession  of  the  midwife,  and   the 

are  clothed  with   casements.     Its  walls  are 

more  piteous  entreaties  of  the  mother,  thrust 

hung  with   old   military  accoutrements,  that 

it  under  the  grate,  and,  raking  the  live  coals 

have  lon»  been  left  a  prey  to  rust.    At  one  end 

upon  it.  soon  put  an  end  to  its  life.    The  mid- 

of  the  hall  is  a  ruuire  of  coats  of  mail  and 

wile,  after  spending  some  time  in  affording  all 

helmets,  and  there  is  on  every  side  abundance 

the    relief  in    her    power  to    the   wretched 

of  old-fashioned   pistols  and   guns,  many  of 

mother,  was  told  that  she  must  be  gone.    Her 

them  with   ma'chiociis.    Immediately  below 

former  conductor  appeared,  who  axa:n  bound 

the  cornice  hangs  a  row  of  leathern  jerkms. 

her  eyes,  and  conveyed  her  behind  him  to  her 

made  in  ihe  form  of  a  shirt,  supposed  lo  have 

been  worn  as  armour  by  the  vassals.    A  large 

1  I  think  there  is  a  chapel  on  one  tide  of  it,  but  am  not 

oak  table,  reaching  nearly  from  one  end  of  the 

318 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


own  home ;  he  then  paid  her  handsomely, 
and  deputed.  The  midwife  was  strongly 
agitated  by  the  horrors  of  the  preceding  mghi : 
and  she  iriimediatelv  made  a  deposition  of  the 
farts  before  a  magistrate.  Two  circumstances 
afforded  hones  of  detecting  the  house  in 
which  the  crime  had  heen  committed  :  one 
was.  Hint  the  niidwife,  as  she  sat  hy  the  bed- 
side, had  witr.  a  view  to  discover  the  place, 
cut  out  a  piece  of  the  hed-curtain.  and  sewn 
it  in  again;  the  other  was.  that  as  she  hud 
descended  the  staircase  she  had  counted  the 
steps.  Some  suspicions  fell  upon  oue  Darrell. 
at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  Lilt  lecote  House, 
and  the  domain  around  it.  The  house  was 
examined,  and  identified  by  the  midwife,  and 
Darrell  was  tried  at  Salisbury  for  the  murder. 
By  corrupting  his  judge,  he  escaped  the  sen- 
tence of  the  law ;  but  broke  his  neck  by  a  fall 
from  his  horse  in  hunting,  in  a  few  months 
after  The  place  where  this  happened  is  still 
known  by  the  name  of  Darrell's  Style, — a  spot 
to  be  dreaded  by  the  peasant  whom  the 
shades  of  evening  have  overtaken  on  his 
way. 

"  Littlecote  House  is  two  miles  from  Hun- 
eerford,  in  Berkshire,  through  which  the  Bath 
road  passes.  The  fact  occurred  in  the  reign 
of  Klizalie'h.  All  the  important  circumstances 
1  have  eiven  exactly  as  ttiey  are  told  in  the 
country ;  some  trifles  oi.lv  are  added,  either 
to  render  the  whole  connected,  or  to  increase 
the  impression." 

To  Lord  Webb's  edition  of  this  singular 
story,  the  author  can  now  add  the  following 
account,  extracted  from  Aubrey's  Correspon- 
dence. It  occurs  among  other  particulars  re- 
specting Sir  John  Popham  : — 

"Sir  *  *  *  Dayrell.  of  Littlecote,  in  Corn. 
Wilts,  having  gott  his  lady's  waiting  woman 
with  child,  when  her  travell  came,  sent  a  ser- 
vant wit  h  a  horse  for  a  midwife,  whom  he  was 
to  bring  hood-winked,  She  was  brought,  and 
layd  the  woman,  but  as  soon  as  the  child  was 
horn,  she  sawe  the  knight  take  the  child  and 
murther  it,  and  burn  it  in  the  fire  in  the 
chamber.  She  having  done  her  businesse, 
was  extraordinarily  rewarded  for  her  paines, 
and  sent  blindfolded  away.  This  horrid  action 
did  much  run  in  her  mind,  ami  she  had  a  de- 
sire to  discover  it.  but  knew  not  where  'twas. 
She  considered  with  herself  the  time  that  she 
was  riding,  and  how  many  miles  she  might 
have  rode  at  that  rale  in  that  time,  and  that  it 
must  be  some  great  person's  house,  for  the 
roome  was  12  fool  high  ;  and  she  should  know 
the  chamber  if  she  sawe  it.  She  went  to  a 
Justice  of  Peace,  and  search  was  made.  The 
very  chamber  found.  The  Knight  was  brought 
to  his  !rva.l;  and,  to  be  short,  this  judge  had 
this  noble  house,  parke  and  manner,  and  (I 
tlunke)  more,  fur  a  bribe  to  save  his  life 

••  Sir  John  Popham  gave  sentence  according 
to  lawe.  but  being  a  great,  person  aud  a  favour- 
ite, he  procured  a  noli  prosequi '' 

With  this  tale  of  horror  the  author  has 
combined  some  circumstances  of  a  similar 
legend,  which  was  current  at  Edinburgh 
during  his  childhood. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, when  the  large  castles  of  the  Scottish 
nobles,  and  even  the  secluded  hotels,  like 
those  of  the  French  noblesse,  which  they 
possessed  in  Edinburgh,  were  sometimes  the 


scenes  of  strange  and  mysterious  transact  ions, 
a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was  called  up  at  j 
midnight  to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  [mint  of 
death  This  was  no  unusual  summons;  but  I 
what  followed  was  alarming.  He  was  pul  into  I 
a  sedan-chair,  and  after  lie  had  IK  en  trans- 
ported to  a  rmio'e  part,  of  the  town,  tiie 
bearers  insisted  upon  his  being  blindfolded. 
The  request  was  enforced  by  a  cocked  pistol, 
and  submitted  to;  but  in  the  course  of  the 
discussion,  he  conjectured,  from  the  phrases 
employed  by  the  chairmen,  and  from  some 
part  of  their  dress,  not  completely  concealed 
by  their  cloaks,  that  they  were  greatly  above 
the  menial  station  they  had  assumed.  After 
many  turns  and  windings,  the  chair  was 
earned  up  stairs  into  a  lodging,  where  his 
eyes  were  uncovered,  and  he  was  introduced 
into  a  bedroom,  where  he  found  a  lady,  newly 
delivered  of  an  infant.  He  was  commanded 
by  his  attendants  to  say  such  prayers  hy  her 
bedside  as  weie  fitting  for  a  person  not  ex- 
pected to  survive  a  mortal  disorder.  He 
ventured  Jo  remonstrate,  and  observe  that  her 
safe  delivery  warranted  better  hopes.  But  he 
was  sternly  commanded  to  obev  the  orders 
first  given,  and  with  difficulty  recollected  him- 
self sufficiently  to  acquit  himself  of  the  task 
imposed  on  him.  He  was  then  again  hurried 
into  the  chair:  hut  as  they  conducted  him 
down  stairs,  lie  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol 
He  was  safely  conducted  home  ;  a  purse  of 
gold  was  forced  upon  him :  but  he  was  warned, 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  least  allusion  to 
this  dark  Iransac'inn  would  cost  him  his  life. 
He  betook  himself  to  rest,  and.  after  long  and 
broken  musing,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  From 
this  he  was  awakened  hy  his  servant,  with  the 
dismal  news  that  a  fire  of  uncommon  fury  had 
broken  out  in  the  house  of  *  *  *  *,  near  the 
head  of  the  Canongate,  and  that  it  was  totally 
nsumed:  with  the  shocking  addition,  that 
the  daughter  of  the  proprietor,  a  young  lady 
eminent  for  beauty  and  accomplishments,  had 
perished  in  the  flames.  The  clergyman  had 
his  suspicions,  hut  to  have  made  them  public 
would  have  availed  nothing.  He  was  tnmd  ; 
the  family  was  of  the  first  distinction  ;  above 
all,  the  deed  was  done,  and  could  not  be 
amended.  Time  wore  away,  however,  and 
with  it  Ins  terrors.  He  became  unhappy  at 
being  the  solitary  depositary  of  this  fearful 

|  mystery,  aud  mentioned  it  to  some  of  his 
brethren,  through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired 
a  sort  of  publicity.  The  divine,  however,  had 

1  heen  long  dead,  and  the  story  in  some  degree 

i  forgotten,  when  a  fire  broke  out  again  on  the 
very  same  spot  where  the  house  of  *  *  *  * 

|  had  formerly  stood,  and  which  was  now  occu- 
pied hy  buildings  of  an  interior  description. 
When  the  flumes  were  at  their  height,  the 

:  tumult,  which  usually  attends  such  a  scene, 
was  suddenly  suspended  by  an  unexpected 
apparition.  A  beautiful  female,  in  a  night- 
dress, extremely  rich,  but  at  least  half  a  cen- 
tury  old,  appeared  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
fire,  and  uttered  these  tremendous  words  in 
her  vernacular  idiom;  "  A  net  burned,  twin 
burned;  the  third  time  I'll  scare  you  all!" 
The  belief  in  this  story  was  formerly  so  st  rong, 
that  on  a  fire  breaking  out.  and  seeming  to 
approach  the  fatal  spot,  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  anxiety  testified,  lest  the  appantion  should 
make  good  her  denunciation. 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


319 


NOTE  3  H. 

As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  q'vrn 
At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas-even. — 1*.  285. 

Such  an  exhortation  was.  in  similar  circum- 
stances, actually  given  to  his  followers  by  a 
Welsh  chieftain  :— 

"Entiniy  tliil  continue  betweene  Howell  ap 
Rys  ap  Howell  Vaughan  and  the  sonnes  of 
John  ap  Meredith.  After  the  death  of  Kvau 
ap  Rebert.  Griffith  ap  Gronw  (cosen-german  to 
John  ap  Meredith's  soiines  of  Gwynfryn.  who 
had  long  served  in  France,  and  had  charge 
there)  comeing  home  to  live  in  the  countrey, 
it  happened  that  a  servant  of  his,  comeing  to 
fish  in  Stymllyn,  his  fish  was  taken  away,  and 
the  fellow  beaten  by  Howell  ap  Rys  his  ser- 
vants, and  by  his  commandment.  Griffith  ap 
John  ap  Gnmw  took  the  matter  in  such  dud- 
geon that  he  challenged  Howell  ap  Rys  to  the 
field,  which  he  refusing,  assembling  his  cosms 
John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  and  his  friends  to- 
gether, assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house, 
after  the  maner  he  had  seene  in  the  French 
warres,  and  consumed  with  fire  his  barnes  and 
his  out-houses.  Whilst  he  was  thus  assaulting 
the  hall,  which  Howell  ap  Rys  and  many  other 
people  kept,  being  a  very  strong  house,  he  was 
shot,  out  of  a  crevice  of  the  house,  through 
the  sight  of  his  heaver  into  the  head,  and 
slayne  outright,  being  otherwise  armed  al 
all  points.  Notwithstanding  his  death,  the 
assault  of  the  house  was  continued  with  great 
vehemence,  the  doores  fired  wuh  great  bur- 
thens of  straw  ;  besides  this,  the  smoake  of 
the  out-houses  and  barnes  not  farre  distant 
annoyed  gjeatly  the  defendants,  for  that  most 
of  them  lay  under  boordes  and  benches  upon 
the  floors,  in  the  hall,  the  better  to  avoyd  the 
smoake.  Dunn?  this  scene  of  confusion  onely 
the  old  man,  Howell  ap  Rys,  never  stooped, 
but  stood  valiantly  in  the  midst  of  the  floore. 
armed  with  a  gleve  in  bis  hand,  and  called  unto 
tnem.and  bid  'them  arise  like  men,  for  shame, 
for  he  had  known  there  as  great,  a  smoake  m 
that  hall  upon  Christmas-even'  In  the  end. 
seeing  i  he  house  could  noe  longer  defend 
them,  being  overlayed  with  a  multitude,  upon 
parley  twtweene  them.  Howell  ap  Rys  was 
content  to  yeald  himself  prisoner  to  Morris  ap 
John  ap  Meredith,  John  ap  Meredith's  eldest 
sonne,  soe  as  he  would  swear  unto  him  to 
bring  him  safe  to  Carnarvon  Castle,  to  abide 
the  triall  of  the  law  for  the  death  of  Graff  ap 
John  ap  Gronw,  who  was  cosen-german  re- 
moved to  the  said  Howell  ap  Kys,  and  of  the 
very  same  house  he  was  of.  Which  Morris 
ap  John  ap  Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a 
guard  about  the  said  Howell  of  his  trustiest 
fr.ends  and  servants,  who  kept  and  defended 
him  from  the  rage  of  his  kindred,  and  especi- 
ally of  Owen  ap  John  ap  Meredith,  his  brother, 
wh.i  was  very  eager  against  him.  They  passed 
by  leisure  thence  like  a  campe  to  Carnarvon  : 
the  whole  cuuutrie  being  assembled.  Howell 
his  frienus  posted  a  horseback  from  one  place 
or  otner  by  the  w;iy.  who  brought  word  that 
he  was  come  thither  safe,  for  they  were  in 
great,  fear  lest  he  should  be  muitiiered,  and 
that  Morns  ap  John  ap  Meredith  could  not  be 
able  to  defend  him,  neither  durst  any  of 
Howell's  friends  be  there,  for  fear  of  the  kin- 


dred In  the  end.  being  delivered  by  Morris 
ap  John  ap  Meredith  to  the  Constable  of  Car- 
narvon Castle,  and  there  kept  safely  in  ward 
untill  the  assises.  it  fell  out  by  law.  that  the 
burning  of  Howell's  houses,  and  assaulting 
him  in  his  owne  house,  was  a  more  haynnus 
offence  in  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  and  the 
rest,  than  the  death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap 
Gronw  in  Howell.  who  did  it  in  his  own  de- 
fence: whereupon  Morris  ap  John  ap  Mere- 
dith, with  thirty-five  more,  were  indicted  of 
felony,  as  appeareth  by  the  copie  of  the  in- 
dictment, which  I  had  from  the  records."— 
Sir  John  Wyntie's  History  of  the  Gicydir  Family. 
Loud.  1770,  8vo,  p.  116. 


NOTE  31. 

O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove. — P.  290. 

This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tyne- 
dale  Borderers  is  mentioned  in  the  interesting 
Life  of  Barnard  Gilpin.  where  some  account 
is  given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it  was 
tin-  custom  of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to 
visit. 

"This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on 
the  Borders,  where  Saxon  barbarism  held  its 
latest  possession.  These  wild  Northumbrians, 
indeed,  went  beyond  the  ferocity  of  their  an- 
cestors. They  were  not  content  with  a  duel : 
each  contending  party  used  to  muster  what 
adherents  he  could,  and  commence  a  kind  of 
petty  war.  So  that  a  private  grudge  would 
often  occasion  much  bloodshed. 

"it  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind 
was  on  foot  when  Mr.  Gilpin  was  at  Rolhbury, 
in  those  parts  During  the  two  or  three  days 
if  his  preaching,  the  contending  parties  ob- 
erved  some  decorum,  and  never  appeared  at 
church  together.  At  length,  however,  they 
met.  One  party  had  been  early  at  church, 
and  just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his  sermon,  the 
other  entered.  They  stood  not  long  silent. 
Inflamed  at  the  sight  of  each  other,  they  be- 
gan to  clash  their  weapons,  for  they  were  all 
armed  with  javelins  and  swords,  and  mutually 
approached.  Awed,  however,  by  the  sacred- 
ness  of  the  place,  the  tumult  in  some  degree 
ceased.  -Mr.  Gilpin  proceeded :  when  again 
the  combatants  began  to  brandish  their  wea- 
pons, and  draw  towards  each  other.  As  a  fray 
seemed  near,  Mr  Gilpin  stepped  from  the  pul- 
pit, went  between  them,  and  addressed  the 
leaders,  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel,  for  the 
present,  but  could  not  effect  an  entire  recon- 
ciliation. They  promised  him,  however,  that 
till  the  sermon  was  over  they  would  make  no 
more  disturbance.  He  then  went  again  into 
the  pulpit,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  in 
endeavouring  to  make  them  ashamed  of  what 
they  had  done.  His  behaviour  and  discourse 
affected  them  so  much,  that,  at  his  farther 
entreaty,  they  promised  to  forbear  all  acts  of 
hostility  while  he  continued  in  the  country 
And  so  much  respected  was  he  among  them, 
that  whoever  was  in  fear  of  his  enemy  used 
to  resort  where  Mr.  Gilpin  was,  esteeming  his 
presence  the  best  protection. 

"One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  church, 
in  those  parts,  before  the  people  were  assem- 
bled, he  observed  a  glove  hanging  up,  and  was 


320 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


informed  by  the  sexton,  that  it  was  meant  as 
a  challenge  to  any  nne  who  should  take  it 
down  Mr.  Gilpin  ordered  '.lie  sexton  to  reach 
it  to  him;  hut  upon  his  utterly  refusing  to 
touch  it,  he  look  it  down  himself,  and  put  it 
into  l.is  breast.  When  the  people  were  as- 
sembled, lie  went  into  the  pulpit,  and.  before 
he  concluded  his  sermon  took  occasion  to  re- 
buke them  severely  for  these  inhuman  chal- 
len?es.  'I  hear,"  saith  he, 'that  one  among 
you  hath  hanged  up  a  glove,  even  in  tliis 
sacred  place,  threatening  to  fight  any  one  who 
taketh  it  dowu :  see,  1  have  taken  it  down ;' 
and.  pulling  out  I  he  glove,  he  held  it  up  to  the 
congregation,  and  then  showed  them  how  un- 
suitable such  savage  practices  were  to  the 
profession  of  Christianity,  using  such  per- 
suasiveness to  mutual  love  as  he  thought 
would  most  affect  them." — Life  of  Barnard 
Gilpm.  Lond.  1753,  8vo.  p.  177. 


NOTE  3K. 

A  Horseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed. — P.  292. 

This,  and  what  follows,  is  taken  from  a  real 
achievement  of  Major  Robert  Plnlipson.  called 
from  his  desperate  and  adventurous  courage. 
Robin  the  Devil;  which,  as  being  very  inac- 
curotely  noticed  in  this  note  upon  the  first 
edition,  shall  be  now  given  in  a  more  authentic 
form.  The  chief  place  of  his  retreat  was  not 
Lord's  Island,  in  Dei-went  water,  but  Curwen's 
Island,  in  the  Lake  of  Windermere  : — 

"  This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the 
Philipsons,  a  family  of  note  in  Westmoreland. 
During  the  Civil  Wars,  two  of  them,  an  elder 
and  a  younger  brother, served  the  King.  The 
former,  who  was  the  proprietor  of  it,  com- 
manded a  regiment;  the  latter  was  a  major. 

"The  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was 
a  man  of  great  spirit  and  enterprise  ;  and  for 
his  many  feats  of  personal  bravery  had  ob- 
tained, among  the  Olivermns  of  those  parts, 
the  appellation  of  Robin  the  Devil. 

"  After  the  war  had  subsided,  and  the  dire- 
ful effects  of  public  opposition  had  ceased, 
revenge  and  malice  Ion;  kept  alive  the  ani- 
mosity of  individuals.  Colonel  Briggs.  a 
steady  friend  to  usurpation,  resided  at  this 
time  at  Keutlal,  and,  under  the  double  char- 
acter of  a  leading  magistrate  (for  he  was  a 
J  ustice-of- Peace)  aud  an  active  commander, 


held  the  cnuntrv  in  awe.  This  person  having 
heard  that  Major  Plnlipson  was  at  his  brother's 
Imuse  on  the  island  in  Windermere,  resolved, 
if  possible,  to  seize  and  punish  a  man  who 
had  made  himself  so  particularly  obnoxious. 
How  it  \\ascondnried.  myauthori'yi  does  not 
inform  us — whether  he  got  together  the  navi- 
gation ofthe  lake, and  blockaded  the  jiliCe  by 
sea,  or  whether  he  landed  and  carried  on  his 
approaches  in  form  Neither  do  we  learn  the 
strength  of  the  garrison  wiihin.  nor  of  the 
works  without.  All  we  le.-irn  is,  that  M:ijor 
Philipson  endured  a  siege  of  eight  months 
with  great  gallantry,  till  his  brother,  the 
Colonel,  raised  a  party  and  relieved  him. 

"It  was  now  the  Major's  turn  to  make  re- 
prisals. He  put  himself,  therefore,  at  the 
head  of  a  little  troop  of  horse,  and  rode  to 
Kendal.  Here,  being  informed  that  Colonel 
Briggs  was  at  prayers,  (for  it  was  on  a  Sunday 
morning.)  he  stationed  his  men  properly  in  the 
avenues,  and  himself  armed,  rode  directly  into 
the  church.  It  probably  was  not  a  regular 
church,  but  some  large  place  of  meeting.  It 
is  said  he  intended  to  seize  the  Colonel  and 
carry  him  off;  but  as  this  seems  to  have  been 
totally  impracticable,  it  is  rather  probable 
that  his  intention  was  to  kill  him  on  the  spur, 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  to  escape. 
Whatever  his  intention  was.  it  was  frustrated, 
for  Briggs  happened  to  be.  elsewhere. 

"The  congregation,  as  .might  be  expected, 
was  thrown  into  great  confusion  on  seeing  an 
armed  roan  on  horseback  make  his  appear- 
ance among  them;  and  the  .Major,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  their  astonishment,  turned  his 
horse  round. and  rode  quietly  out.  But  having 
given  an  alarm,  he  was  presently  assaulted  as 
lie  left  the  assembly,  and  being  seized,  his 
girths  were  cut,  and  lie  was  unhorsed 

"At  this  instant  his  parly  made  a  furious 
attack  on  the  assailants,  and  the  -Major  killed 
with  his  own  hand  the  man  who  had  seized 
him,  clapped  the  saddle  ungirthed  as  it  was, 
upon  his  horse,  aud,  vaulting  into  it.  rode  full 
speed  through  the  streets  of  Kendal.  calling 
his  men  to  follow  him;  and,  with  Ins  whole 
party  made  a  safe  retreat  to  his  asylum  in  the 
,  lake.  The  action  marked  the  man.  M;iny 
I  knew  him  :  and  they  who  did  not.  knew  as 
well  from  the  exploit  that  it.  could  be  nobody 
but  Robin  the  Devil." 


1  Dr.  Buin'l  History  of  VVetlmorelud. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


321 


t  Sfaiftal  nf  $mnuain: 


OR, 

Vale  of  St. 

A  LOVER'S  TALE. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION.  1 

In  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  the 
year  1809,  Three  Fragments  were  inserted, 
written  in  imitation  of  Living  Poets.  It  must 
iiave  been  apparent,  that  by  these  prolusions, 
nntnmg  burlesque,  or  disrespectful  to  the  au- 
thors, was  intended,  but  that  they  were  offered 
to  he  public  as  serious,  though  certainly  very 
imperifC'..  imitations  of  that  style  of  composi- 
tion, by  which  each  of  the  writers  is  supposed 
to  i>e  distinguished.  As  these  exercises  at- 
iract.-d  a  araater  decree  of  attention  ihan  the 
nutlior  anticipated,  he  lias  been  induced  to 
complete  one  of  them,  and  present  it  as  a 
separate  publication. 

It  is  not  in  this  place  that  an  examination  of 
the  works  of  the  master  wlnirn  he  has  here 
adopted  as  his  model,  can,  with  propriety,  be 
introduced  ;  since  his  general  acquiescence  in 
the  favourable  su.frage  of  the  public  must  ne- 
cessarily be  inferred  from  the  attempt  he  has 
now  made.  He  is  induced,  by  the  nature  of 
his  subject,  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on  what  has 
been  called  Romantic  Poetry  ; — the  popularity 
of  which  has  been  revived  in  the  present  day, 
under  the  auspices,  and  by  the  unparalleled 
success,  of  one  individual." 

The  original  purpose  of  poetry  is  either  reli- 
gious or  historical,  or,  as  must  frequently  hap- 
pen, a  mixture  of  boih.  To  modern  readers, 
the  poems  of  Homer  have  many  of  the  fea- 
tures of  pure  romance;  but  in  the  estimation 
of  his  contemporaries,  they  probably  derived 
their  chief  value  from  their  supposed  histo- 
rical authenticity.  The  same  may  be  gene- 
rally said  of  the  poetry  of  all  early  ages.  The 
marvels  and  miracles  which  the  poet  blends 
with  his  song,  do  not  exceed  in  number  or  ex- 
travagance the  figments  of  the  historians  of 
the  same  period  of  society;  and.  indeed,  the 
difference  betwixt  poetry  and  prose,  as  the 
vehicles  of  historical  truth,  is  always  of  late 
introduction.  Poets,  under  various  denomi- 
nations of  Bards,  Scalds,  Chroniclers,  and  so 
forth,  are  the  first  historians  of  all  nations. 
Their  intention  is  to  relate  the  events  they 
have  witnessed,  or  the  traditions  that  have 
reached  them ;  and  they  clothe  the  relation  in 
rhyme,  merely  as  the  means  of  rendering  it 
more  solemn  in  the  narrative  or  more  eusily 
committed  to  memory.  But  as  the  poetical 
hisiorian  improves  in  the  art  of  conveying  in- 
formation, the  authenticity  of  his  narrative 
unavoidably  declines.  He  is  tempted  to  dilate 
and  dwell  upon  the  evenls  that  are  interesting 
to  his  imagination,  and,  conscious  how  indif- 
ferent his  audience  is  to  the  naked  truth  of 
his  poem,  his  history  gradually  becomes  a 
romance. 


It  is  in  this  situation  that  those  epics  are 
found,  which  have  been  generally  regarded 
the  standards  of  poetry ;  and  it  has  happened 
somewhat  strangely,  that  the  moderns  have 
pointed  out  as  the  characteristics  and  peculiar 
excellencies  of  narrative  poetry,  the  very  cir- 
cumstances which  the  authors  themselves 
adopted,  only  because  their  art  involved  the 
duties  of  the  historian  as  well  as  the  poet.  It 
cannot  be  believed,  for  example,  that  Homer 
selected  the  siege  of  Troy  as  the  most  appro- 
priate subject  for  poetry  ;  his  purpose  was  to 
write  the  early  history  of  his  country;  the 
event  he  has  chosen,  though  not  very  fruitful 
in  varied  incident,  nor  perfectly  well  adapted 
for  poetry,  was  nevertheless  combined  with 
traditionary  and  genealogical  anecdotes  ex- 
tremely interesting  to  those  who  were  to 
listen  to  him ;  and  this  lie  has  adorned  by  the 
exertions  of  a  genius,  which,  if  it  has  been 
equalled,  has  certainly  been  never  surpassed. 
It  was  not.  till  comparatively  a  late  period  that 
the  general  accuracy  of  his  narrative,  or  his 
purpose  in  composing  it,  was  brought  into  ques- 
tion. Aox-tJ  irpuii-oy  [6  Avafayrfpay]  (KuOa 
<j>r]ai  <i>a6o(>ivos  tv  TrairolaTrfi  'loropi'u) 
T>IV  'Qpfipa  Troiijaiv  jnro<[>ijva<;9at  ttvai 
TTCpt  apery;  KUI  fnKaioauvtjs.^  But  what- 
ever theories  might  be  framed  by  speculative 
men,  his  work  was  of  an  historical,  not  of  an 
allegorical  nature.  EvuwAAtTo  //era  r« 
Mfirao  Kal  o~u  ixdaTOTi.  a<piKoiro,  ndvTa 
r«  cin%wpia  ^(tpuraro,  nal  tarapiiiiv 
tw v6dvi.ro'  c'iKos  it  j"'"  nv  Kal  juv^/uocruva 
iraiTu  v  ypaificadai-3  1  nstead  of  recommend- 
ing the  choice  of  a  subject  similar  to  that  of 
Homer,  it  was  to  he  expected  that  critics 
should  have  exhorted  the  poets  uf  these  latter 
days  to  adopt  or  invent  a  narrative  in  itself 
more  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament,  and  to 
avail  themselves  of  that,  advantage  in  order  to 
compensate,  in  some  degree,  the  inferiority  of 
genius.  The  contrary  course  has  been  incul- 
cated by  almost  all  the  writers  upon  the  Epo- 
pai'i ;  with  what  success,  the  fate  of  Homer's 
numerous  initiators  may  best  show.  The  tU- 
lunun:  suppticium  of  criticism  was  inflicted  on 
the  author  if  lie  did  not  choose  a  subject  which 
at  once  deprived  him  of  all  claim  to  originality, 
and  placed  him,  if  not  in  actual  contest,  at 
least  in  fatal  comparison,  with  those  giants  in 
the  land  whom  it  was  most  his  interest  to 
avoid.  The  celebrated  receipt  for  writing  an 
epic  poem,  which  appeared  in  The  Guardian, 
was  the  first  instance  in  which  common  sense 
was  applied  to  this  department  of  poetry; 


322 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and,  indeed,  if  the  question  be  considered  on 
its  own  merits,  we  must  be  satisfied  that  nar- 
rative poetry,  if  strictly  confined  to  the  great 
occurrences  of  history,  would  be  deprived  of 
the  individual  interest  which  it  is  so  well  cal- 
culated to  excite. 

Modern  poets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in 
seeking  simpler  subjects  of  verse,  more  inte- 
resting in  proportion  to  their  simplicity.  Two 
or  three  figures,  well  grouped,  suit  the  artist 
better  than  a  crowd,  for  whatever  purpose 
assembled.  For  the  same  reason,  a  scene  im- 
mediately presented  to  the  imagination,  and 
directly  brought  home  to  the  feelings,  though 
involving  the  fate  of  but  one  or  two  persons. 
is  rnure  favourable  for  poetry  than  the  political 
struggles  and  convulsions  which  influence  the 
fate  of  kingdoms.  The  former  are  within  the 
reach  and  comprehension  of  all.  and.  if  de- 
picted with  vigour,  seldom  fail  to  fix  attention  : 
The  other,  if  more  sublime,  are  more  vague 
and  distant,  less  capable  of  being  distinctly 
understood,  and  infinitely  less  capable  of  ex- 
citing those  sentiments  which  it  is  the  very 
purpose  of  poetry  to  mspire.  To  generalize  is 
always  to  destroy  effect.  We  would,  for  ex- 
ample, be  more  interested  in  the  fate  of  an 
individual  soldier  in  combat,  than  in  the  grand 
event  of  a  general  action  ;  with  the  happiness 
of  two  lovers  raised  from  misery  and  anxiety 
to  peace  and  union,  than  with  the  successful 
exertions  of  a  whole  nation.  From  what 
causes  this  may  originate,  is  a  separate  and 
obviously  an  immaterial  consideration.  Be- 
fore ascribing  this  peculiarity  to  causes  deci- 
dedly and  odiously  selfish,  it  is  proper  to  recol- 
lect, that  while  men  see  only  a  limited  space, 
and  while  their  affections  and  conduct  are  re- 
gulated, not  by  aspiring  to  an  universal  good, 
bat  by  exerting  their  power  of  making  them- 
selves and  others  happy  within  the  limited 
scale  allotted  to  each  individual,  so  long  will 


individual  history  and  individual  virtue  be  the 
readier  and  more  accessible  road  to  general 
interest  and  attention;  and.  perhaps,  we  may 
add,  that  it  is  the  more  useful,  as  well  as  the 
more  accessible,  inasmuch  as  it  affords  an  ex- 
ample capable  of  being  easily  imitated. 

According  to  the  author's  idea  of  Romantic 
Poetry,  as  distinguished  from  Epic,  the  former 
comprehends  a  fictitious  narrative,  framed  and 
combined  at  the  pleasure  of  the  writer;  be- 
ginning and  ending  as  he  may  judge  best : 
which  neither  exacts  nor  refuses  the  use  of 
supernatural  machinery ;  which  is  free  from 
the  technical  rules  of  the  Epee;  and  is  subject 
only  to  those  which  good  sense,  pood  taste, 
and  good  morals,  apply  to  every  species  of 
poetry  without  exception.  The  date  may  be 
in  a  remote  age,  or  in  the  present ;  the  story 
may  detail  the  adventures  of  a  prince  or  of  a 
peasant.  In  a  word,  the  author  is  absolute 
master  of  his  country  and  its  inhabitants,  and 
every  thing  is  permitted  to  him,  excepting  to 
be  heavy  or  prosaic,  for  which,  free  and  un- 
emharassed  as  he  is,  he  has  no  manner  of 
apology.  Those,  it  is  probable,  will  be  found 
the  peculiarities  of  this  species  of  composition ; 
and  before  joining  the  outcry  against  the  vi- 
tiated taste  that  fosters  and  encourages  it,  the 
jus' ice  and  grounds  of  it  ought  to  be  made 
perfectly  apparent.  If  the  want  of  sieges,  and 
battles,  and  great  military  evolutions,  in  our 
poetry,  is  complained  of,  let  us  reflect,  that  the 
campaigns  and  heroes  of  our  days  are  per- 
petuated in  a  record  that  neither  requires  nor 
admits  of  the  aid  of  fiction;  and  if  the  com- 
plaint refers  to  the  inferiority  of  our  bards,  let 
us  pay  a  just  tribute  to  their  modesty,  limiting 
them,  as  it  does,  to  subjects  which,  however 
indifferently  treated,  have  still  the  interest 
and  charm  of  novelty,  and  which  thus  pre- 
vents them  from  adding  insipidity  to  their 
other  more  insuperable  detects. 


nf 


INTRODUCTION. 


Come,  Lucy !  while  'tis  morning  hour, 

The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass ; 
So,  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power. 
We  shelter  in  our  poplar  bower. 
Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower. 

Though  vanish '<]  from  the  velvet  grass. 
Curbing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 
Slay  serve  us  for  a  silvan  bridge ; 

for  here  compell'd  to  disunite, 

Round  petty  isles  the  runnels  glide, 
And  charing  off  their  puny  spile. 
The  shallow  murniurers  waste  their  might, 

Yielding  to  footstep  free  and  light 
A  dry-shod  pass  from  side  to  side. 

II. 

Nay,  why  this  hesitating  pause  ? 
Anil,  Lucy,  as  thy  step  withdraws, 


Why  sidelong  eye  the  streamlet's  brim  I 

Titania's  foot  without  a  slip, 
Like  thine,  though  timid,  light,  and  slim, 

From  stone  to  stone  might  safely  trip, 

Nor  risk  the  glow-worm  clasp  to  dip 
That  binds  her  slipper's  silken  rim. 
Or  trust  thy  lover's  strength  :  nor  tear 

That  this  same  stalwart  arm  of  mine, 
Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  uprear, 
Shall  shrink  beneath  the  burden  dear 

Of  form  so  slender,  light,  and  fine  — 
So,  —  now,  the  danger  dared  at  last, 
Look  back,  and  smile  at  perils  past ! 

III. 

And  now  we  reach  the  favourite  glade, 
Paled  in  by  copsewood,  cliff,  and  stone, 

Where  neverliarsher  sounds  invade. 
To  break  affection's  whispering  tone, 

Than  the  deep  breeze  that  waves  the  shade, 
Thau  the  small  brooklet's  feeble  moan. 


THE   BRIDAL   OP   TRIERMAIN.                323 

Come  !  rest  thee  on  thy  wonted  seat  ; 

And  yet,  if  rank'd  in  Fortune's  roll, 

Moss'd  is  the  stone,  the  turf  is  green, 

I  might  have  learn'd  their  choice  unwise, 

A  place  where  lovers  best  may  meet. 

Who  rate  the  dower  above  the  soul. 

Who  would  that  not  their  love  be  seen. 

Ajid  Lucy's  diamonds  o'er  her  eyes. 

The  boughs,  that  dim  the  summer  sky, 

Shall  hide  us  from  each  lurking  spy, 

VII. 

That  fain  would  spread  the  invidious  tale, 

My  Ivre  —  it  is  an  idle  toy. 

How  Lucy  of  the  lofty  eye, 

That  borrows  accents  not  its  own, 

Noble  in  birth,  in  fortunes  high. 

Like  warbler  of  Colombian  s«y, 

She  for  whom  lords  and  barons  sigh, 

That  sings  but  in  a  mimic  tone.1 

Meets  her  poor  Arthur  in  the  dale. 

Ne'er  did  it  sound  o'er  sainted  well, 

-Nor  boasts  it  aught  of  Border  spell'; 

IV. 

Its  strings  no  feudal  slogan  pour, 

How  deep  that  blush  !  —  how  deep  that  sigh  ! 
And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye  ? 
Is  it  because  that  crimson  draws 
Its  colour  from  some  secret  cause, 
Some  hidden  movement  of  the  breast, 
She  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guess  'd? 
O  !  quicker  far  is  lover's  ken 
Than  the  dull  glance  of  common  men, 
And,  bv  strange  sympathy,  can  spell 

Its  heroes  draw  no  broad  claymore; 
No  shouting  clans  applauses  raise. 
Because  it  sung  their  father's  praise  ; 
On  Scottish  moor,  or  English  down, 
It  ne'er  was  graced  by  fair  renown  ; 
Nor  won.  —  best  meed  to  minstrel  true,  — 
One  favouring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch! 
By  one  poor  streamlet  sounds  its  tone, 
And  heard  by  one  dear  maid  alone. 

The  thoughts  the  loved  one  will  not  tell  ! 

VIII. 

And  mine,  in  Lucy's  blush,  saw  met 
The  hues  of  pleasure  and  regret; 
Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice, 
And  shared  with  LOTS  the  crimson  glow; 

But,  if  thou  bid'st,  these  tones  shall  tell 
Of  errant  knight,  and  damozelle  ; 
Of  the  dread  knot  a  Wizard  tied, 

Well  pleased  that  thou  art  Arthur's  choice. 

In  punishment  of  maiden's  pride, 

Yet  shamed  thine  own  is  placed  so  low: 
Thou  turn'st  thy  self-confessing  cheek, 
As  if  to  meet  the  breeze's  coolin0"  ' 

In  noies  of  marvel  and  of  fear, 
That  best  may  charm  romantic  ear. 
For  Lucy  loves,—  like  Collins.ill-starred  name;2 

Then,  Lucy,  hear  thy  tutor  speak,  " 
For  Love,  too,  has  his  hours  of  schooling. 

Whose  lay's  requital,  was  that  tardy  fame, 
Who  bound  no  laurel  round  his  living  head. 
Should    hang    it    o'er  his    monument  when 

V. 

dead,  — 

For  Lucy  loves  to  tread  enchanted  strand, 

Too  oft  my  anxious  eye  has  spied 
That  secret  grief  thou  fain  wouldst  hide, 

And  thread,  like  him.  the  maze  of  fairy  land; 
Of  golden  battlements  to  view  the  gleam, 

The  passing  pang  of  humbled  pride  ; 
Too  oft,  when  through  the  splendid  hall, 
The  load-star  of  each  heart  and  eye, 

And  slumber  soft  by  some  Elysian  stream  : 
Such  lays  she  loves,  —  and,  such  my  Lucy's 
choice. 

Mv  fair  one  leads  the  glittering  ball. 
Will  her  stol'n  glance  on  Arthur  fall, 

What  other  song  can  claim  her  Poet's  voice  ? 

With  such  a  blush  and  such  a  sigh! 

Thou  wouldst  not  yield,  for  wealth  or  rank, 

*wx~ww~^~w^  ~^~- 

The  heart  thy  worth  and  beauty  won, 

Nor  leave  me  on  this  mossy  hank, 
To  meet  a  rival  on  a  throne  : 
Why,  then,  should  vain  repinings  rise, 
That  to  thy  lover  fate  denies 

Efye  UrfOal  of  STrfemtafn. 

A  nobler  name,  a  wide  domain. 

CANTO   FIRST. 

A  baron's  birth,  a  menial  tram. 

Since  Heaven  assign'd  him,  for  his  part, 

A  lyre,  a  falchion,  and  a  heart? 

I. 

Where  is  the  maiden  of  mortal  strain. 

VI. 

That  may  match  with  the  Baron   of  Trier- 

My  sword  its  master  must  be  dumb  ; 

mam  ?  3 

But,  when  a  soldier  names  my  name, 

She  must  be  lovely,  and  constant,  and  kind, 

Approach,  my  Lucy  I  fearless  come, 

Holy  and  pure,  and  humble  of  mind, 

Nor  dread  to  hear  of  Arthur's  shame. 

Blithe  of  cheer,  and  gentle  of  mood. 

Mv  heart  —  'mid  all  yon  courtly  crew, 

Courteous,  and  generous,  and  noble  of  blood  — 

Of  lordly  rank  and  lofty  line, 

Lovely  as  the  sun's  first  ray, 

Is  there  to  love  and  honour  true, 

When  it  breaks  the  clouds  of  an  April  day  ; 

That  boasts  a  pulse  so  warm  as  mine  ? 

Constant  and  true  as  the  widow'd  'love, 

They  praised  thy  diamonds'  lustre  rare  — 

Kind  as  a  minstrel  that  sings  of  love  ; 

Match'd  with  thine  eyes,  I  thought  it  faded  ; 

Pure  as  the  fountain  in  rocky  cave. 

They  praised  the  pearls  that  bound  thy  hair  — 

W'here  never  sunbeam  kiss'd  the  wave; 

I  only  saw  the  locks  thev  braided  ; 

Humble  as  maiden  that  loves  in  vain, 

They  talked  of  wealthy  dower  and  land, 

Holy  as  Hermit's  vesper  strain  ; 

And  titles  of  high  birth  the  token  — 

Gentle  as  breeze  that  but  whispers  and  dies, 

I  thought  of  Lucy's  heart  and  hand, 

Yet  blithe  as  the  light  leaves  that  dance  in  its 

Nor  knew  the  sense  of  what  was  spoken. 

sighs  ; 

1  The  Mocking  B:rd. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  A.                         3  Ibid,  Note  B 

324 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Courteous  as  monarch  the  morn  he  is  crown'd. 
Generous  as  spring-dews  iliat  bless  the  glad 

ground ; 

Noble  her  blood  as  the  currents  that  met 
In  the  veins  of  the  noblest  Plantagenet — 
Such  must  her  form  be,  her  mood,  and  her 

strain. 

That  shall  match  with  Sir  Roland  of  Trier- 
main. 

II. 

Sir  Roland  de  Vaux  he  hath  laid  him  to  sleep, 
His  blood  it  was  fever'd,  his  breathing  was 

deep. 

He  had  been  pricking  against  the  Scot, 
The  foray  was  long,  and  the  skirmish  hot; 
His  dinted  helm  and  his  buckler's  plight 
Bore  loken  of  a  stubborn  fight. 

All  in  the  castle  must  hold  them  still, 
Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest, 
Wjih  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
Till  sleep  sink  down  upon  his  breast, 

Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill. 

III. 

It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day ; 
The  snn  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  grey, 
That  like  a  silvery  crape  was  spread 
Round  Skiddnw's  dim  and  distant  head, 
And  faintly  gleam'd  each  painted  pane 
Of  the  lordly  halls  of  Triermain, 

When  that  Baron  bold  awoke. 
Starting  he  woke,  and  loudly  did  call, 
Rousing  his  menials  in  bower  and  hall, 

While  hastily  he  spoke. 

IV. 

"  Hearken,  my  minstrels !    Which  of  ye  all 
Touch'd  his  Harp  with  that  dying  fall, 

So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  faint, 
It  seem'd  an  angel's  whisper'd  call 

To  an  expiring  saint  ? 

And  hearken,  my  merry-men !    What  time  or 
where 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heavenly 

brow. 

With  her  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  dark-brown  hair. 

That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now  V 

V. 

Answer'd  him  Richard  de  Bretville;  he 
Was  chief  of  the  Baron's  minstrelsy, — 
"Silent,  noble  chieftain,  we 

Have  sat  since  midnight  close. 
When  such  lulling  sounds   as  the  brooklet 

sings, 

Murmur'd  from  our  melting  strings, 
And  hush'd  you  to  repose. 

Had  a  harp-note  sounded  here, 

It,  had  caught,  my  watchful  ear, 
Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 
As  bashful  maiden's  half  I'orm'd  sigh, 

When  she  thinks  her  lover  near  " — 
Answer'd  I'hilip  of  Fasthwaile  tail. 
He  kept  guard  in  the  ouU-r-hall. — 
"Since  at  eve  our  watch  took  post, 
Not  a  foot  has  thy  portal  cross 'd  ; 

of  Dunmiil,  the  larl  Kinc  of  Cumberlaud'. 


Else  had  I  heard  the  steps,  though  low 
And  light  they  fell,  as  when  earth  receives, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves, 

That  drop  when  no  winds  blow." — 

VI. 

"Then  come  thou  hither,  Henry,  my  page, 
Whom  I  saved  from  thu  sack  of  Hermitage, 
When  that  dark  castle,  tower,  and  spire, 
Rose  to  the  skies  a  pile  of  fire. 

And  redden'd  all  the  Nine-static  Hill, 
And  the  shrieks  of  death,  that  wildly  broke 
Through  the  devouring  flame  and  smothering 
smoke. 

Made  the  warrior's  heart-blood  chill. 
The  trustiest  thou  of  all  my  train, 
My  fleetest  courser  thou  must  rein, 

And  ride  to  Lyulpli's  tower, 
And  from  the  Baron  of  Triermain 

Greet  well  that  sage  of  power. 
He  is  sprung  from  Druid  sires, 
And  British  bards  that,  tuned  their  lyres 
To  Arthur's  and  Pendnigon's  praise, 
And  his  who  sleeps  at  Dunmuilraise.i 
Gifted  like  his  gifted  race. 
He  the  characters  can  trace, 
Graven  deep  in  elder  time 
Upon  Hellyellyn's  cliffs  sublime; 
Sign  and  sigil  well  doth  he  know, 
And  can  bode  of  weul  and  woe, 
Of  kingdoms'  fall,  and  fate  of  wars, 
From  mystic  dreams  and  course  of  stars. 
He  shall  tell  if  middle  earth 
To  that  enchanting  shape  gave  birth, 
Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thing. 
Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring. 
Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes, 
Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies. 
For,  by  the  Blessed  Rood  I  swear, 
If  that  fair  form  breathe  vital  air, 
No  other  maiden  bv  niy  side 
Shall  ever  rest  De  Vaux's  bride  !" 

VII. 

The  faithful  Page  he  mounts  his  steed, 
And  soon  he  cross'd  green  trilling's  mead, 
Dash'd  o'er  Kirkoswald's  verdant,  plain. 
And  Eden  barr'd  his  course  in  vain. 
He  pass'd  red  Penrith's  Table  Kound,2 
For  feats  of  chivalry  renown'd, 
Left  Mayburgh's  mound  3  and  stones  of  power, 
By  Druids  raised  in  magic  hour. 
And  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way, 
Till  Ulfo's  <  lake  beneath  him  lay. 

V11I. 

Onward  he  rode,  the  pathway  still 
Winding  betwixt  the  lake  and  hill; 
Till,  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock, 
Struck  from  its  base  by  lightning  shock, 

He  saw  the  hoary  Sage: 
The  silver  moss  and  lichen  twined. 
With  fern  and  deer-hair  check 'd  and  lined, 

A  cushion  fit  forage; 
And  o'er  him  shook  the  aspin-tree, 
A  restless  rustling  canopy. 
Then  sprung  young  Henry  from  his  selle, 

And  greeted  Lyulph  grave, 
And  then  his  master's  tale  did  tell, 

And  then  for  counsel  crave. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 
i  UU.waler. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF    TRIE  R  MAIN. 


325 


The  Man  of  Years  mused  long  and  deep, 
Of  time's  lost  treasures  taking  keep, 
And  then,  as  rousing  from  a  sleep, 
His  solemn  answer  gave. 

IX. 

"That  maid  is  horn  of  middle  earth, 

And  may  of  man  be  won, 
Though  there  have  gliiled  since  her  birth 

Five  hundred  years  and  one. 
But  where's  the  Knight  in  all  the  north, 
That  dare  the  adventure  follow  forth, 
So  perilous  to  knightly  worth, 

In  the  valley  of  St.  John? 
Listen,  youth,  to  what  I  tell, 
And  bind  it  on  thy  memory  well ; 
Nor  muse  that  1  commence  the  rhyme 
Far  distant  'mid  the  wrecks  of  time. 
The  mystic  tale,  by  bard  and  sage, 
Is  handed  down  from  Merlin's  age. 

X. 

LYTJLPH'S  TAX,!!. 
"  Kin?  Arthur  has  ridden  from  merry  Carlisle 

When  Pentecost  was  o'er : 
He  journey'd  like  errant-knight  the  while, 
And  sweetly  the  summer  sun  did  smile 

On  mountain,  moss,  and  moor. 
Above  his  solitary  track 
Rose  Glaramara's  ridgy  back, 
Amid  whose  yawning  gulfs  the  sun 
Cast  umber'd  radiance  red  and  dun, 
Though  never  sunbeam  could  discern 
The  surface  of  that  sable  tarn.1 
In  whose  black  mirror  yon  may  spy 
The  stars,  while  noontide  lights  the  sky. 
The  gallant  King  he  skirted  still 
The  margin  of  that  mighty  hill; 
Rock  upon  rocks  incumbent,  hung, 
And  torrents,  down  the  gullies  flung, 
Join'd  the  rude  river  that  hrawl'd  on, 
Recoiling  now  from  crag  and  stone, 
Now  diving  deep  from  human  ken, 
And  raving  down  its  darksome  glen, 
The  Monarch  judged  this  desert  wild, 
With  such  romantic  ruin  piled, 
Was  theatre  by  Nature's  hand 
For  feat  of  high  achievement  plann'd. 

XI. 

"  0  rather  he  chose,  that  Monarch  bold, 

On  vent'rous  quest  to  ride. 
In  plate  and  mail,  by  wood  and  wold. 
Than,  with  ermine  trapp'tl  and  cloth  of  gold, 

In  princely  bower  to  bide ; 
The  bursting  crash  of  a  foe  man's  spear, 

As  it  shiver'd  against  his  mail, 
Was  merrier  music  to  his  ear 

Than  courtier's  whisper'd  tale: 
And  the  clash  of  Caliburn  more  dear, 

When  on  the  hostile  casque  it  rung-, 
Than  all  the  lays 
To  their  monarch's  praise 

That  the  harpers  of  Reged  sung. 
He  loved  better  to  rest  by  wood  or  river, 
Than  in  bower  of  his  bride,  Dame  Guenever, 
For  he  left  that  lady,  so  lovely  of  cheer. 
To  follow  adventures  of  danger  and  fear ; 


And  the  frank-hearted  Monarch  full  little  did 

wot, 
That  she  smiled,  in  his  absence,  on  brave 

Lancelot. 

XII. 

"He  rode,  till  over  down  and  dell 
The  shade  more  broiid  and  deeper  fell ; 
And  though  around  the  mountain's  head 
Flow'd  streams  of  purple,  and  gold,  and  red. 
Dark  at  the  base,  unblest  by  beam, 
Frown'd   the    black   rocks,  and  roar'd    the 

stream. 

With  toil  the  Kin?  his  way  pursued 
By  lonely  Threlkeld's  waste  and  wood, 
Till  on  his  course  obliquely  shone 
The  narrow  valley  of  Saint  John, 
Down  sloping  to  the  western  sky. 
Where  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  lie. 
Right  glad  to  feel  those  beams  again, 
The  King  drew  up  his  charger's  rein ; 
With  gauntlet  raised  he  screen'd  his  sight, 
As  dazzled  with  the  level  light, 
And.  from  beneath  his  glove  of  mail, 
Scann'd  at  his  ease  the  lovely  vale. 
While  'gainst  the  sun  his  armour  bright 
Gleam'd  ruddy  like  the  beacon's  light. 

XIII. 

"  Paled  in  by  many  a  lofty  hill, 
The  narrow  dale  lay  smooth  arid  still, 
And,  down  its  verdant  bosom  led, 
A  winding  brooklet  found  its  bed. 
But,  midmost  of  the  vale,  a  mound 
Arose  with  airy  turrets  crown'd. 
Buttress,  and  rsmpire's  circling  bound, 

And  mighty  keep  and  tower ; 
Seem'd  some  primeval  giant's  hand 
The  castle's  massive  walls  had  plann'd, 
A  ponderous  bulwark  to  withstand 

Ambitious  Nimrnd's  power. 
Above  the  moated  entrance  slung, 
The  balanced  drawbridge  trembling  hung, 

As  jealous  of  a  foe ; 
Wicket  of  oak,  as  iron  hard, 
With  iron  studded,  clench 'd.  and  barr'd, 
And  prong'd  portcullis,  join'd  to  guard 

The  gloomy  pass  below. 
But  the  grey  walls  no  banners  crown'd, 
Upon  the  watch-tower's  airy  round 
No  warder  stood  his  horn  to  sound, 
No  guard  beside  the  bridge  was  found. 
And,  where  the  Gothic  gateway  frown'd 

Glanced  neither  bill  nor  bow. 

XIV. 

Beneath  the  castle's  gloomy  pride, 
In  ample  round  did  Arthur  ride 
Three  times ;  nor  living  thing  he  spied, 

Nor  heard  a  living  sound. 
Save  that,  awakening  from  her  dream, 
The  owlet  now  began  to  scream. 
In  concert  with  the  rushing  stream, 

That  wash'd  the  battled  mound. 
He  lighted  from  his  goodly  steed, 
And  he  left  him  to  graze  on  bank  and  mead ; 
And  slowly  he  climb'd  the  narrow  way, 
That  reach'd  the  entrance  grim  and  grey, 
And  he  stood  the  outward  arch  below, 
And  his  bugle-horn  prepared  to  blow. 


326                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

In  summons  blithe  and  bold, 

Four  of  the  train  combined  to  rear 

Deeming  to  rouse  from  iron  sleep 

The  terrors  of  Tintadgel's  spear;  a 

The  suardian  of  this  dismal  Keep, 

Two.  laughiug  at  their  lack  of  strength, 

Which  well  he  guess  'd  the  hold 

Dragg'd  Caliburn  in  cumbrous  length  ; 

Of  wizard  stern,  or  goblin  grim, 

One.  while  she  aped  a  martial  stride. 

Or  pagan  of  gigantic  limb. 

Placed  on  her  brows  the  helmet's  pride  : 

The  tyrant,  of  the  wold. 

Then  scream'd.  'twixt  laughter  and  surprise. 

XV 

To  feel  its  depth  o'erwhelm  her  eves. 

"  The  ivory  bngle's  golden  tip 
j  Twice  tourh'd  the  Monarch's  manly  lip, 
And  twice  his  hand  withdrew 

Wiih  revel-shout,  and  triumph-song, 
Thus  gaily  march'd  the  giddy  throng. 

xv  m. 

—  Think  not  but  Arthur's  heart  was  good  ! 

"Tliniiisr'i  manv  a  gallery  and  hall 

His  shield  was  cross'd  by  the  blessed  rood, 

They  led.  I  \\C-IMI.  their  royal  thrall  ; 

Had  a  pagan  host  before  him  stood, 

At  length,  benea'h  a  fair  arcade 

He    had   charged   them   through   and 

Their  march  and  sons  at  once  they  staid. 

through  ; 

The  eldest  maiden  of  the  band, 

Yet  the  silence  of  that  ancient  place 
Sunk  on  his  heart,  and  he  paused  a  space 

(The  lovely  maid  was  scarce  eighteen,) 
Raised,  with  imposing  air.  her  hand, 

Ere  yet  his  horn  he  blew. 

And  reverent  silence  did  command, 

But,  instant  as  its  'larum  rung. 

On  entrance  of  their  Queen, 

The  castle  gate  was  open  flim;r. 

And  they  were  mute.  —  But  as  a  glance 

Portcullis  rose  with  crashing  groan 

Thev  steal  on  Arthur's  countenance 

Full  harshly  up  its  groove  of  stone; 

Bewilder'd  with  surprise, 

The  balance-beams  obey'd  the  blast. 
And  down  the  trembling  drawbridge  cast; 
The  vaulted  arch  before  him  lay, 

Their  smother'd  mirth  again  'gan  speak, 
In  archly  dimpled  chin  and  cheek, 
And  laughter-lighted  eyes. 

With  nought  to  bar  the  gloomy  way, 

And  onward  Arthur  paced,  with  hand 

XIX. 

On  Caiiburn's  '  resistless  brand. 
XVL 

"  The  attributes  of  those  high  days 
Now  only  live  in  minstrel-lays  ; 

"  A  hundred  torches,  flashing  bright, 
Dispell'd  at  once  the  gloomy  night 

For  Nature,  now  exhausted,  still 
Was  then  profuse  of  good  and  ill. 
Strength  was  gieantjc.  valour  high, 

That  lour'd  along  the  walls. 
And  show'd  the  King's  astonish'd  sight 

And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky, 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 

The  inmates  of  the  halls. 

As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream. 

Nor  wizard  stern,  nor  goblin  grim, 
Nor  giant  huge  of  form  and  limb, 

Yet  e'en  in  that  romantic  age, 
Ne'er  were  such  charms  by  mortal  seen, 

IS'or  heathen  kniaht,  was  there; 
But  the  cressets,  which  odours  flung  aloft, 
Show'd  by  their  yellow  light  and  soft, 
A  band  of  damsels  fair. 
Onward  they  came,  like  summer  wave 
That  dances  to  the  shore  ; 
An  hundred  voices  welcome  gave, 
And  welcome  o'er  and  o'er! 
An  hundred  lovely  hands  assail 
The  bucklers  of  the  monarch's  mail, 
And  busy  labour'd  to  unhasp 
Rivet,  of  steel  and  iron  clasp. 

As  Arthur's  dazzled  eyes  ensage. 
When  forth  on  that  enchanted  stage. 
With  glittering  train  of  maid  and  page, 
Advanced  the  castle's  Queen  ! 
While  up  the  hall  she  slowly  pass'd, 
Her  dark  eye  on  the  King  she  cast, 
That  flash'd  expression  strong  ; 
The  longer  dwelt  that  lingering  look, 
Her  cheek  the  livelier  colour  took, 
And  scarce  the  shame-faced  King  could  brook. 
The  gaze  that  lasted  long. 
A  sage,  who  had  that  look  espied. 

One  wrapp'd  him  in  a  mantle  fair, 
And  one  flung  odours  on  his  hair; 
His  short  curl'd  rinslets  one  smooth'd  down, 
One  wreathed  them  with  a  myrtle  crown. 

Where  kindling  passion  strove  with  pride, 
Had  whisper'd,  'Prince,  beware! 
From  the  chafed  tiger  rend  the  prey, 
Rush  on  the  lion  when  at  bav, 

A  bride  upon  her  wedding-day. 
Was  tended  ne'er  by  troop  so  gay. 

Bar  the  fell  dragon's  blighted  way 
But  shun  that  lovely  snare  !'  — 

XVII. 

XX. 

"  Loud  laush'd  they  all,  —  the  King,  in  vain, 

"  At  once  that  inward  strife  suppress'd, 

With  questions  task'd  the  giddy  train; 

The  dame  approacli'd  her  warlike  guest, 

Let  him  entreat,  or  crave,  or  call. 

With  greeting  in  that  fair  degree, 

'Twas  one  reply,  —  loud  langh'd  they  all 
Then  o'er  him  mimic  chains  thev  fling, 

Where  female  pride  and  courtesy 
Are  blended  with  such  passing  art 

Framed  of  the  fairest  flowere  of'  spring. 

As  awes  at  once  and  charms  the  heart. 

While  some  their  gentle  force  unite. 

A  courtly  welcome  first  she  gave, 

Onward  to  drag  the  wondering.  knisht, 

Then  of  his  goodness  'gan  to  crave 

Some,  bolder,  uree  his  pace  with  blows, 

Construction  fair  and  true 

Dealt  with  the  lily  or  the  rose. 

Of  her  light  maidens'  idle  mirth. 

Behind  him  were  in  triumph  borne 

W  ho  drew  from  lonely  glens  their  birth, 

The  warlike  arms  he  late  had  worn. 

Nor  knew  to  pay  to  stranger  worth 

lThl«  wa«  the  name  of    King   Arthur's  well-known 

a  Tintadgel  Cutle,  in  Cornwall,  it  reported  to  hire  been 

•word,  sometimes  also  called  Kxcalibor. 

the  birth-place  of  Kin*  Arthur. 

THE    BRIDAL   OF    TRIERMAIN. 


327 


And  dignity  their  due; 
And  then  she  pray'd  that  he  would  rest 
That  night  her  castle's  honour'd  guest. 
The  Monarch  meetly  thanks  express'd; 
The  banquet  rose  at  her  behest, 
With  lay  and  tale,  and  laugh  and  jest, 

Apace  the  evening  flew. 

XXI. 

"  The  Lady  safe  the  Monarch  by, 
Now  in  her  turn  ahash'd  and  shy. 
And  with  inilifference  seein'd  to  hear 
The  toys  he  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 
Her  bearing  modest  was  anil  fair. 
Yet  shadows  of  constraint  were  there, 
That  show'd  an  over-cautious  care 

Some  inward  thought  to  hide ; 
Oft  did  she  pause  in  full  reply, 
And  oft  cast  down  her  large  dark  eye, 
Oft  check'd  the  soft  voluptuous  sigh, 

That  heaved  her  bosom's  pride. 
Slight  symptoms  these,  but  shepherds  know 
How  hot  the  mid-day  sun  shall  glow, 

From  the  mist  of  morning  sky; 
And  so  the  wily  Monarch  guess'd, 
That  this  assumed  restraint  evpress'J 
More  ardent  passions  in  the  breast, 

Than  ventured  to  th«  eye. 
Closer  he  press'd,  while  beakers  rang, 
Wlnle  maidens  laugh'd  and  minstrels  sang-, 

Still  closer  to  her  ear- 
But  why  pursue  the  common  taleT 
Or  wherefore  show  how  knights  prevail 

When  ladies  dare  to  hear? 
Or  wherefore  trace,  from  what,  slight  cause 
Its  source  one  tyrant  passion  draws, 

Till,  mastering  all  within. 
Where  lives  the  man  that  has  not  tried, 
How  mirth  can  into  folly  glide, 

And  folly  into  sin!" 


2TJ)e 


l  of  Stfermafru 


CANTO  SECOND. 


1. 

LTTJLPH'S  TA.LB,  CONTINUED. 

"  Another  day,  another  day, 
And  yet  another  glides  away ! 
The  Saxon  stern,  the  pagan  Dane, 
Maraud  on  Britain's  shores  again. 
Arthur,  of  Christendom  the  flower, 
Lies  loitering  in  a  lady's  bower ; 
The  horn,  that  foe  men  wont  to  fear, 
Sounds  but  to  wake  the  Cumbrian  deer, 
And  Caliburn,  the  British  pride, 
Hangs  useless  by  a  lover's  side. 

II. 

"  Another  day,  another  day, 
And  yet  another,  glides  away! 
Heroic  plans  in  pleasure  drown'd, 
He  thinks  not  of  the  Table  Round; 
In  lawless  love  dissolved  his  life. 
He  thinks  not  of  his  beauteous  wife: 
Better  he  loves  to  snatch  a  flower 
From  bosom  of  lus  paramour, 


Than  from  a  Saxon  knight  to  wrest 

The  honours  of  his  heathen  crest ! 

Better  to  wreathe,  'mid  tresses  brown, 

The  heron's  plume  her  hawk  struck  down, 

Than  o'er  the  altar  give  to  flow 

The  banners  of  a  Paynim  foe. 

Thus,  week  by  week,  and  day  by  day, 

His  life  inglorious  glides  away : 

But  she,  lhat  soothes  his  dream,  with  fear 

Beholds  his  hour  of  waking  near ! 

HI. 

"  Much  force  have  mortal  charms  to  stay 
Our  peace  in  Virtue's  toilsome  way; 
But  Guendolen's  might  far  outshine 
Each  maid  of  merely  mortal  line. 
Her  mother  was  of  human  birth, 
Her  sire  a  Genie  of  the  earth. 
In  days  of  old  deem'd  to  preside 
O'er  lovers'  wiles  and  beauty's  pride. 
By  youths  and  virgins  worslupp'd  long, 
With  festive  dance  and  choral  song. 
Till,  when  the  cross  to  Britain  came, 
On  heathen  altars  died  the  flame. 
Now,  deep  in  Wastdale  solitude. 
The  downfall  of  his  rights  he  rued, 
And,  horn  of  his  resentment  heir. 
He  train'd  to  guile  that,  lady  fair. 
To  sink  in  slothful  sin  and  shame 
The  champions  of  the  Christian  name. 
Well  skill'd  to  keep  vain  thoughts  alive. 
And  all  to  promise,  nought  to  give, — 
The  timid  youth  had  hope  in  store, 
The  bold  and  pressing  gaiu'd  no  more. 
As  wilder'd  children  leave  their  home. 
After  the  rainbow's  arcn  to  roam, 
Her  lovers  barter'd  lair  esteem. 
Faith,  fame,  and  honour,  for  a  dream. 

IV.  '    / 

"  Her  sire's  soft  arts  the  soul  to  tame 
She  practised  thus — till  Arthur  came; 
Then,  frail  humanity  had  part, 
And  all  the  mother  rlaim'd  her  heart. 
Forgot  each  rule  her  father  gave, 
Sunk  from  a  princess  to  a.slave. 
Too  late  must  Guendolen  deplore. 
He,  that  has  all,  can  hope  no  more  ! 
Now  must  she  see  her  lover  strain, 
At  every  turn,  her  feeble  chain ; 
Watch,  to  new-bind  each  knot,  and  shrink 
To  view  each  fast-decaying  link. 
Art  she  invokes  to  Nature's  aid. 
Her  vest  to  zone,  her  locks  to  braid; 
Each  varied  pleasure  heard  her  call, 
The  feast,  the  tourney,  and  the  ball : 
Her  storied  lore  she  next  applies, 
Taxing  her  mind  to  aid  her  eyes : 
Now  more  than  mortal  wise,  and  then 
In  female  softness  sunk  again ; 
Now,  raptured,  with  each  wish  complying, 
With  feign'd  reluctance  now  denying , 
Each  charm  she  varied,  to  retain 
A  varying  heart,  and  all  in  vain! 

V. 

"  Thus  in  the  garden's  narrow  bound, 
Flank'd  by  some  castle's  Gothic  round, 
Fain  would  the  artist's  skill  provide, 
The  limits  of  his  realms  to  hide. 
The  walks  in  labyrinths  he  twines, 
Shade  alter  shade  with  skill  combines, 


328                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

With  many  a  varied  flowery  knot, 

And  copse,  and  arbour,  decks  the  spot, 

IX. 

Tempting  the  h;isty  foot  to  stay, 

"Beyond  the  outmost  wall  she  stood, 

And  linger  on  the  lovely  way  
Vain  art  !  vain  hope  !  'tis  fruitless  all  ! 

Attired  like  huntress  of  the  wood 
Sandall'd  her  feet,  her  ankles  bare, 

At  length  we  reach  the  boundin:  wall, 

A  ml  eagle-plumage  deck'd  her  hair; 

And,  sick  of  flower  and  trim-dress'd  tree, 

l-'irrn  was  her  look,  her  hearing  bold, 

Long  for  rough  glades  and  forest  free. 

And  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  gold. 

'  Thou  goest  !'  she  said,  '  and  ne'er  again 

VI. 

Must  we  two  meet,  in  joy  or  pain. 

"  Three  summer  months  had  scantly  flown 
When  Arthur,  in  embarrass'd  tone. 
Spoke  of  his  liegemen  and  his  throne; 
Said,  all  too  Ions  had  been  his  stay, 
And  duties,  which  a  Monarch  sway, 
Duties,  unknown  to  humbler  men. 
Must  tear  her  knight  from  Guendolen.- 
She  listen'd  silently  the  while. 
Her  mood  express'd  in  bitter  smile  ; 
Beneath  her  eye  must  Arthur  quail, 

Full  fain  would  I  this  hour  delay, 
Thoueh  weak  the  wish  —  vet,  wilt  thou  stay? 
—No  !  thou  look'st  forward.     Still  attend,— 
Part  we  like  lover  and  like  friend,' 
She  raised  the  cup  —  •  Not  this  the  juice 
The  slugsrish  vines  of  earth  produce  ; 
Pledge  we,  at  parting,  in  the  draught 
Which  Genii  love  !'  —  she  said,  and  quafTd  ; 
And  strange  unwonted  lustres  fly 
From  her  flush'd  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 

And  oft  resume  the  nnfinish'd  tale, 

X"  •      ' 

Confessins,  by  his  downcast  eve. 

. 

The  wrong  he  sought  to  justifv. 

"The  conrteous  Monarch  bent  him  low, 

He  ceased.     A  moment  mute  she  gazed, 

And.  stooping  down  from  s:iddlehow. 

And  then  her  looks  to  heaven  she  raised. 

Lifted  the  cup,  in  act  to  drink. 

One  palm  her  temples  veil'd,  to  hide 

A  drop  escaped  the  goblet's  brink  — 

The  tear  that  sprung  in  spite  of  pride  ! 

Intense  as  liquid  fire  from  hell. 

The  other  for  an  instant  press'd 
The  foldings  of  her  silken  vest  ! 

Upon  the  charger's  neck  it  fell. 
Screaming  with  aerony  and  fright, 

He  bolted  twenty  feet  upright  — 

VII. 

—The  peasant  slill  can  show  the  dint, 

"  A   ner  reproachful  sign  and  look, 
The  hint  the  Monarch's  conscience  took. 
Eager  he  spoke—'  No.  lady,  no  ! 
Deem  not  of  British  Arthur  so, 
Nor  think  he  can  deserter  prove 
To  the  dear  pledge  of  mutual  love. 
I  swear  by  sceptre  and  by  sword. 
As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 
That  if  a  boy  shall  claim  my  care. 
That  boy  is  born  a  kingdom's  heir  ; 
But,  if  a  maiden  Fate  allows. 
To  choose  that  maid  a  fitting  spouse, 
A  sumirBr-day  in  lists  shall  strive 
My  kmghu  —the  bravest  kni?hts  alive,— 
And  he,  the  .  »st  and  bravest  tried. 
Shall  Arthur's  .^ughter  chum  for  bride.'  — 
He  spoke,  with  voice  resolved  and  high  — 
The  lady  deign'd  him  not  reply. 

Where  his  hoofs  lighted  on  the  flint.— 
From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew, 
Scatterine  a  shower  of  fiery  dew, 
That  burn'd  and  blighted  where  it  fell!  I 
The  frantic  steed  rush'd  up  the  dell. 
As  whistles  from  the  bow  the  reed  , 
Nor  bit  nor  rein  could  check  his  speed, 
Until  he  eain'd  the  hill  ; 
Then  breath  and  sinew  fail'd  apace, 
And.  reeling  from  the  desperate  race, 
He  stood,  exhausted,  still. 
The  Monarch,  hreaihless  and  amazed, 
Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed  
Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy, 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky  ;  * 
But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown'd, 
The  lonely  streamlet  brawl'd  around 
A  tufted  knoll,  where  dimly  shone 
Fragments  of  rock  and  rifted  stone. 

Musine  on  this  stransre  hap  the  while, 

VI  J  I. 

The  king  wends  back  to  fair  Carlisle  ; 

"At  dawn  of  morn,  ere  on  the  brake 

And  cares,  that  cumber  royal  sway, 

His  matins  did  a  warbler  make, 

Wore  memory  of  the  past  away. 

Or  stirr'd  his  wing  to  brush  away 

A  single  dew-drop  from  the  spray. 

XI. 

Ere  yet  a  sunbeam,  through  the  mist, 
The  castle-battlements  had  kiss'd. 

"  Full  fifteen  years,  and  more,  were  sped. 
Each  brought  new  wreaths  to  Arthur's  head. 

The  gates  revolve,  the  drawbridge  falls, 
And  Arthur  sallies  from  the  walls. 
DofFd  his  soft  garb  of  Persia's  loom, 

Twelve  bloody  fields,  with  glory  fought, 
The  Saxons  to  subjection  brought  :  3 
Rythou,  the  mighty  giant,  slam 

And  steel  from  spur  to  helmet-plume, 
His  Lybian  steed  full  proudly  trode, 

By  his  good  brand,  relieved  Bretagne  : 
The  Pictish  Ciillamore  in  light. 

And  joyful  neigh'd  beneath  his  load. 

And  Roman  Lucius,  own'd  his  misht; 

The  Monarch  gave  a  passing  sigh 

And  wide  were  through  the  world  renown'd 

To  penitence  and  pleasures  by, 

The  glories  of  his  Table  Round. 

When,  lo!  to  his  astonish  'd  ken 

Each  knight  who  sought  adventurous  fame, 

Appear'd  the  form  of  Gueudolen. 

To  the  bold  court  of  Britain  came, 

tore,  somewhat  similar  to  that  which  is  here  ascribed  to 

King  Auhur,  having  befallen  one  of  the  ancient  Kings  of 

3  Arthur  is  said  to  hare  defeated  the  Saxons  in  twelve 

Denmark.    The  horn  in  which  the  burning  liquor  was 

pitched   battles,   and  lo  have  achieved  the  other  feats 

presented  to  that  Monarch,  is  said  still  to  be  preserved  in 

alluded  to  in  the  text. 

the  Royal  Museum  at  Copenhagen. 

THE   BRIDAL   OP   TRIERMAIN.                329 

And  all  who  suflfer'd  causeless  wrong,                  But  'twas  a  face  more  frank  nnd  wild, 

From  tyrant  proud,  or  faitour  strong, 

Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  child, 

Sought  Arthur's  presence  to  complain. 

Where  less  of  magic  beauty  smiled 

Nor  there  for  aid  implored  in  vain. 

Thau  of  the  race  of  men  ; 

And  in  the  forehead's  haughty  grace, 

XII. 

The  lines  of  Britain's  royal  race, 

"  For  this  the  King,  with  pomp  and  pride, 

Peudragon's  you  might  ken. 

Held  solemn  court  at  Whitsuntide, 

And  summon'd  Prince  and  Peer, 

XV. 

All  who  owed  homage  for  their  land. 
Or  who  craved  knighthood  from  his  hand, 
Or  who  had  succour  to  demand, 
To  come  from  far  and  ne;ir. 
At  such  high  tide,  were  glee  and  game 
Mingled  with  feats  of  murtial  fame, 
For  many  a  stranger  champion  came, 
In  lists  to  break  a  spear  ; 
And  not  a  knisht  of  Arthur's  host, 
i  Save  that  he  trode  some  foreign  coast, 
i  But  at  this  feast  of  Pentecost 
Before  him  must  appear. 
Ah,  Minstrels  !  when  the  Table  Round 

"Faltering,  yet  gracefully,  she  said  — 
•  Great.  Prince  !  behold  an  orphan  maid, 
In  her  departed  mother's  name, 
A  father's  vow'd  protection  claim  ! 
The  vow  was  sworn  in  desert  lone, 
In  the  deep  valley  of  St.  John." 
At  once  the  King  the  suppliant  raised, 
And  kiss'd  her  brow,  her  beauty  praised; 
His  vow,  he  said,  should  well  be  kept, 
Ere  in  the  sea  the  sun  was  dipp'd,  — 
Then,  conscious,  glanced  upon  his  queen  ; 
But  she,  unruffled  at  the  scene 
Of  human  frailly,  construed  mild, 

Arose,  with  all  its  warriors  crown'd, 
There  was  a  theme  for  bards  to  sound 

Look'd  upon  Lancelot  and  smiled. 

In  triumph  to  their  string! 

XVI. 

Five  hundred  years  are  past  and  gone, 
But  time  shalf  draw  his  dying  groan, 

"  '  Up  !  up  !  each  knight  of  gallant  crest 

Ere  he  behold  the  British  throne 

Take  buckler,  spear,  and  brand  ! 

Begirt  with  such  a  ring  ! 

He  that  to-day  shall  bear  him  best, 

Shall  win  my  Gvneth's  hand. 

XIII. 

And  Arthur's  daughter,  when  a  bride. 

"  The  heralds  named  the.  appointed  spot, 
As  Caerleon  or  Camelot. 

Shall  bring  a  noble  dower; 
Both  fair  Strath-Clyde  and  Reged  wide, 

Or  Carlisle  fair  and  free. 

And  Carlisle  town  and  tower.' 

At  Penrilh,  now.  the  feast  was  set. 

Then  might  you  hear  each  valiant  knight, 

And  in  fair  Eamont's  vale  were  met 

To  page  and  squire  that  cried. 

The  flower  of  Chivalry. 

'Bring  my  armour  bright,  and   my  courser 

There  Galaad  sate  with  manly  grace, 

"wight! 

Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face  ; 

'Tis  not  each  dny  that  a  warrior's  might 

There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace,l 

May  win  a  royal  bride.' 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there: 

Then  cloaks  and  caps  of  maintenance 

And  Dinadam  with  lively  glance, 
And  Lanval  with  the  fairy  lance, 

In  haste  aside  they  fling  : 
The  helmets  glance,  and  gleams  the  lance, 

And  Mordred  with  his  look  askance, 

And  the  steel-weaved  hauberks  ring. 

Brunor  and  Bevidere. 

Small  care  had  they  of  their  peaceful  array, 

Why  should  I  tell  of  numbers  more  ! 

They  might  gather  it  that,  wolde  ; 

Sir  Cay,  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 

For  brake  and  bramble  glitter'd  gay, 

Sir  Carodac  the  keen. 

With  pearls  and  cloth  of  gold. 

The  gentle  Gawam's  courteous  lore, 

Hector  de  Mares  and  Pellinore, 

XVII. 

And  Lancelot,  that  ever  more 
Look'd  stol'n-wise  on  the  Queen." 

"  Within  trumpet  sound  of  the  Table  Round 
Were  fiftv  champions  free. 

XIV. 

And  they  all  arise  to  fight  that  prize,  — 

They  all  arise  but  three. 

"  When  wine  and  mirth  did  most  abound, 

Nor  love's  fond  troth,  nor  wedlock's  oath. 

And  harpers  play'd  their  blythest.  round, 

One  gallant  could  withhold, 

A  shrilly  trumpet  shook  the  ground, 

For  priests  will  allow  of  a  broken  vow, 

And  marshals  clear'd  the  ring; 

For  penance  or  for  gold. 

A  maiden,  on  a  palfrey  white, 
Heading  a  hand  of  damsels  hright, 

But  sigh  and  glance  from  ladies  bright 
Among  the  troop  were  thrown. 

Paced  through  the  circle,  to  alight 
And  kneel  before  the  King. 

To  plead  their  rielit,  and  true-love  plight. 
And  'plain  of  honour  flown. 

Arthur,  with  strong  emotion,  saw 
Her  graceful  boldness  check'd  by  awe, 

The  knights  they  busied  them  so  fast, 
With  buckling  spur  and  belt, 

Her  dress,  like  huntress  of  the  wold. 
Her  bow  and  baldric  trapp'd  with  gold, 

That  sigh  and  look,  by  ladies  cast, 
Were  neither  seen  nor  felt, 

Her  sandall'd  feet,  her  ankles  bare. 
And  the  eagle-plume  that  deck'd  her  hair. 

From  pleading,  or  upbraiding  glance, 
Each  gallant  turns  aside, 

Graceful  her  veil  she  backward  flung  
The  King,  as  from  his  seat  he  sprung, 
Almost  cried,  '  Guemlolen  !' 

And  only  thought.  '  If  speeds  my  lance, 
A  queen  becomes  mv  bride  ! 
She  has  fair  Strath-Clyde,  and  Reged  wide, 

1  See  Appendix,  Nolc  F. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

28» 

1  330                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  Carlisle  tower  and  town  ; 

But,  Gyneth,  when  the  strife  grows  warm, 

She  is  the  loveliest  maid,  beside, 

And  threatens  death  or  deadly  harm, 

That  ever  heir'd  a  crown.' 

Thy  sire  entreats,  thy  king  commands, 

So  in  haste  their  coursers  they  bestride, 

Thou  drop  the  warder  from  thy  hands. 

And  strike  their  visors  down. 

Trust  thou  thy  father  with  thy  fate, 

Doubt  not  he  choose  thee  fitting  mate  ; 

XVIIT. 

Nor  be  it  said,  through  Gyneth's  pride 

"The  champions,  arm'd  in  martial  sort, 

A  rose  of  Arthur's  chaplet  died.' 

Have  throng'd  into  the  list. 

And  but  three  knights  of  Arthur's  court 

XXI. 

Are  from  the  tourney  miss'd. 
And  still  these  lovers'  fame  survives 

"  A  proud  and  discontented  glow 
O'ershadow'd  Gyneth's  brow  of  snow  ; 

For  faith  so  constant  shown,  — 
There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighlwur's 

She  put  the  warder  by  :  — 
'  Reserve  thy  boon,  my  liege,'  she  said, 

wives. 

'Thus  chalTer'd  down  and  limited, 

And  one  who  loved  his  own.1 

Debased  and  narrow'd  for  a  maid 

The  first  was  Umcelot  de  l^c, 

Of  less  degree  than  I. 

The  second  Tristrem  bold. 

No  petty  chief,  but  holds  his  heir 

The  third  was  valiant  Carodac, 

At  a  more  honour'd  price  and  rare 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold, 

Than  Britain's  King  holds  me! 

What  time,  of  all  King  Arthur's  crew, 
(Thereof  came  jeer  and  laugh,) 

Although  the  sun-burn'd  maid,  for  dower, 
Has  but  her  father's  rugged  tower, 

He,  as  the  mate  of  lady  true, 

His  barren  hill  and  lee.  — 

Alone  the  cup  could  quaff. 

King  Arthur  swore.  "  By  crown  and  sword. 

Though  envy's  tongue  would  fain  surmise, 

As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 

That  but  for  very  shame. 

That  a  whole  summer's  day  should  strive 

Sir  Carodac,  to  fight  that  prize. 

His  knights,  the  bravest  knights  alive  !" 

Had  given  both  cup  and  dame  ; 
Yet.  since  but  one  of  that  fair  court 

Recall  thine  oath  !  and  to  her  glen 
Poor  Gyneth  can  return  agen  ; 

Was  true  to  wedlock's  shrine, 

Not  on  thy  daughter  will  the  stain 

Brand  him  who  will  with  base  report,  — 

That  soils  thy  sword  and  crown  remain. 

He  shall  be  free  from  mine. 

But  think  not  she  will  e'er  be  bride 

Save  to  the  bravest,  proved  and  tried  ; 

XIX. 
"  Now  caracoled  the  steeds  in  air. 
Now  plumes  and  pennons  wanton'd  fair, 

Pendragon's  daughter  will  not  fear 
For  clashing  sword  or  splinter'd  spear, 
Nor  shrink  though  blood  should  flow; 

As  all  around  the  lists  so  wide 

And  all  too  well  sad  Gaendolen 

In  panoply  the  champions  ride. 

Hath  taught  the  faithlessness  of  men, 

King  Arthur  saw  with  startled  eye, 
The  flower  of  chivalry  march  by, 
The  bulwark  of  the  Christian  creed. 

That  child  of  hers  should  pity,  when 
Their  meed  they  undergo.'  — 

The  kingdom's  shield  in  hour  of  need. 

XXII. 

Too  late  he  thought  him  of  the  woe 
Might  from  their  civil  conflict  flow  ; 
For  well  he  knew  they  would  not  part 

"  He  frown'd  and  sigh'd,  the  Monarch  bold  :— 
'I  give—  what  1  may  not  withhold  ; 

Till  cold  was  many  a  gallant  heart. 

For,  not  for  danger,  dread,  or  death, 

His  hasty  vow  he  gan  to  rue. 

Must  British  Arthur  break  his  faith. 

And  Gyneth  then  apart,  he  drew; 

Too  late  I  mark,  thy  mother's  art 

To  her  his  leading-staff  resign'd, 

Hath  taught  thee  this  relentless  part. 

But  added  caution  grave  and  kind. 

I  blame  her  not,  for  she  had  wrong, 

But  not  to  these  my  faults  belong. 

XX. 

Use,  then,  the  warder  as  thou  wilt; 

"  '  Thou  see'st,  my  child,  as  promise-bound, 

But  trust  me,  that,  if  life  be  spilt. 

1  hid  the  trump  for  tourney  sound. 
Take  thou  my  warder  as  the  queen 
And  umpire  of  the  martial  scene  ; 

In  Arthur's  love,  in  Arthur's  grace, 
Gyneth  shall  lose  a  daughter's  place." 
With  that  he  turn'd  his  head  aside, 

But  mark  thou  this  :  —  as  Beauty  bright 

Nor  brook'd  to  gaze  upon  her  pride, 

Is  polar  star  to  valiant  knight, 

As,  with  the  truncheon  raised,  she  sate 

As  at  her  word  his  sword  he  draws, 

The  arbilress  of  mortal  fate  ; 

His  fairest  guerdon  her  applause, 
So  gentle  maid  should  never  ask 

Nor  brook'd  to  mark,  in  ranks  disposed, 
How  the  bold  champions  stood  opposed. 

Of  knighthood  vain  and  dangerous  task  ; 

For  shrill  the  trumpet-flourish  fell 

And  Beauty's  eyes  should  ever  be 

Upon  his  ear  like  passing  bell  ! 

Like  the  twin  stars  that  soothe  the  sea. 

Then  first  from  sight  of  martial  fray 

And  Beauty's  breath  shall  whisper  peace, 

Did  Britain's  hero  turn  away. 

And  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 

I  tell  thee  this,  lest  all  too  far. 

XXIII. 

These  knights  urge  tourney  into  war. 
Blithe  at  the  trumpet  let  them  go, 
And  fairly  counter  blow  for  blow;  — 
:  No  striplings  these,  who  succour  need 
For  a  razed  helm  or  falling  steed. 

"  But  Gyneth  heard  the  clangour  high, 
As  hears  the  hawk  the  partridge  cry. 
Oh,  blame  ber  not  !  the  blood  was  hers, 
That  at  the  trumpet's  summons  stirs  I— 
And  e'en  the  gentlest  female  eye 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

Might  the  brave  strife  of  chivalry 

THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN.                331 

A  while  untroubled  view; 

And  sternly  raised  his  hand  :  — 

So  well  accomplish'd  was  each  knight, 

'Madmen,'  he  said,  'your  strife  forbear; 

To  strike  and  to  defend  in  tight. 

And  thou,  fair  cause  of  mischief,  hear 

Their  meeting  was  a  goodly  sisilit, 

The  doom  thy  fates  demand  ! 

While  plate  and  mail  held  true. 

Long  shall  close  in  stony  sleep 

The  lists  wi'h  painted  plumes  were  strown, 

Eyes  for  ruth  that  would  not  weep  ; 

Upon  the  wind  at  random  thrown, 

Iron  lethargy  shall  seal 

But  helm  and  breastplate  bloodless  shone, 

Heart  that  pity  sconfd  to  feel. 

It  seem'd  their  feather'd  crests  alone 

Yet.  because  thy  mother's  art 

Should  this  encounter  rue. 

W'arp'd  thine  unsuspicious  heart, 

And  ever,  as  the  combat  grows. 

And  for  love  of  Arthur's  race, 

The  trumpet's  cheerv  voice  arose, 

Punishment  is  blent  with  grace, 

Like  lark's  shrill  song  the  flourish  flows, 

Thou  shall  bear  thv  penance  lone 

Heard  while  the  gale  of  April  blows 

In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John, 

The  merry  greenwood  through. 

And  this  weird  '  shall  overtake  thee; 

Sleep,  until  a  knight  shall  wake  thee, 

XXIV. 

For  feats  of  arms  as  far  renown'd 

"  But  soon  to  earnest  grew  their  game, 
The  spears  drew  blood,  the  swords   strucl 
flame. 

As  warrior  of  the  Table  Round. 
Long  endurance  of  thy  slumber 
Well  may  teach  the  world  to  number 

And,  horse  and  man,  to  ground  there  came 
Knights,  who  shall  rise  no  more  ! 

All  their  woes  from  Gyneth's  pride, 
When  the  Red  Cross  champions  died.' 

Gone  was  the  pride  the  war  that  graced, 

Gay  shields  were  cleft,  and  crests  defaced, 

XXVII. 

And  steel  coats  riven,  and  helms  unbraced, 

And  pennons  stream  'd  with  gore. 
Gone,  too.  were  fence  and  fair  array. 
And  desperate  strength  made  deadly  way 
At  random  through  the  bloody  fray, 
And  blows  were  dealt  with  headlong  sway, 
Unheeding  where  they  ftll  ; 
And  now  the  trumpet's  clamours  seem 
Like  the  shrill  sea-bird's  wailing  scream, 

"  As  Merlin  speaks,  on  Gyneth's  eye 
Slumber's  load  begins  to  lie; 
Fear  arid  anger  vainly  strive 
Still  to  keep  its  light  alive. 
Twice,  with  effort  and  with  pause. 
O'er  her  hrow  her  hand  she  draws  : 
Twice  her  strength  in  vain  she  tries, 
From  the  fatal  chair  to  rise. 

Heard  o'er  the  whirlpool's  gulling  stream, 

Merlin's  magic  doom  is  spoken, 
Vanoc's  death  must  now  be  wroken. 

0                                     ... 

Slow  the  dark-fringed  eyelids  fall, 

XXV. 

Curtaining  each  azure  ball. 

"  Seem'd  in  this  dismal  hour,  that  Fate 
Would  Camlan's  ruin  antedate, 

Slowly  as  on  summer  eves 
Violets  fold  their  dusky  leaves. 
The  weighty  baton  of  command 

And  spa-e  dark  Mordred's  crime  ; 
Already  gasping  on  the  ground 
Lie  twenty  of  the  Table  Round, 
Of  chivalry  the  prime. 

Now  bears  down  her  sinking  hand. 
On  her  shoulder  droops  her  head  ; 
Net  of  pearl  and  golden  thread. 
Bursting,  gave  her  locks  to  flow 

Arthur,  in  anguish,  lore  away 
From  head  and  beard  his  tresses  grey, 
And  she,  proud  Gyneth,  felt  dismay. 
And  quaked  with  ruth  and  fear; 

O'er  her  arm  and  breast  of  snow. 
And  so  lovely  seem'd  she,  there, 
Spell-bound  in  her  ivory  chair, 
That  her  angry  sire,  repenting, 

But  still  she  deem'd  her  mother's  shade 
Hung  o'er  the  tumult,  and  forbade 
The  sign  that  had  the  slaughter  staid, 

Craved  stern  Merlin  for  relenting', 
And  the  champions,  for  her  sake, 
Would  again  the  contest  wake  ; 

And  chid  tne  rising  tenr. 
Then  Brunor.  TauIas.'Mador,  fell, 
Helias  the  White,  and  Lionel, 

Till,  in  necromantic  night, 
liyneth  vanish'd  from  their  sight. 

And  many  a  champion  more; 

XXVIII. 

Rochomont  and  Dinadam  are  down, 

And  Ferrand  of  the  Forest  Brown 

"  Still  she  bears  her  weird  alone. 

Lies  gasping  in  his  gore 

In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John  : 

Vanoc.  by  mighty  Morolt  press'd 

And  her  semblance  oft  will  seem, 

Even  to  the  confines  of  the  list, 

Mingling  in  a  champion's  dream, 

Young  Vanoc,  of  the  beardless  face, 

Of  her  weary  lot  to  'plain, 

(Fame  spoke  the  youth  of  Merlin's  race,) 

And  crave  his  aid  to  burst  her  chain. 

O'erpower'd  at  Gyneth's  footstool  bled, 

While  her  wondrous  tale  was  new, 

His  heart's-blood  dyed  her  sandals  red. 

Warriors  to  her  rescue  drew. 

But  then  the  sky  was  overcast. 

East  and  west,  and  south  and  north. 

Then  howPd  at  once  a  whirlwind's  blast, 

From  the  Liffv.  Thames,  and  Forth. 

And,  rent  by  sudden  throes. 

Most,  have  sought  in  vain  the  glen, 

Yawn'd  in  mid  lists  the  quaking  earth, 

Tower  nor  castle  could  they  ken  ; 

And  from  the  gulf.  —  tremendous  birth!  — 

Not  at  every  time  or  tide. 

The  form  of  Merlin  rose. 

Nor  by  every  eye.  descried. 

Fast  and  vigil  must  be  borne, 

XXVI. 

Many  a  night  in  watching  worn, 

"  Sternly  the  Wizard  Prophet  eyed 

The  dreary  lists  with  slaughter  dyed, 

1  Doom. 

332 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   AVORKS. 


Ere  an  eye  of  mortal  powers 
Can  discern  those  magic  towers. 
Of  the  persevering  few, 
Some  from  hopeless  task  withdrew, 
When  they  read  the  dismal  threat 
Graved  u;  "ii  the  gloomy  gate. 
Few  have  uraved  the  yawning  door, 
And  those  few  return'd  no  more. 
In  the  lapse  of  time  (argot, 
Well  nigh  lost  is  Gyneth's  lot; 
Sound  her  sleep  as  in  the  tomb. 
Till  waken'd  by  the  trump  of  doom.' 

E>T>  OF  LTULPH'S  TALK. 


. 

Here  pause  my  tale ;  for  all  too  soon. 

My  Lucy,  comes  the  hour  of  noon. 

Already  from  thy  lofty  dome 

Its  courtly  inmates  'gin  to  roam, 

And  each,  to  kill  the  goodly  day 

That  God  has  granted  them,  his  way 
Of  lazv  sauntering  has  sought ; 

Lordlings  and  witlings  not  a  few, 
Incapable  of  doing  aught, 

Yet  ill  at  ease  with  nought  to  do. 

Here  is  no  longer  plane  for  me ; 

For,  Lucy,  thou  wouldst  blush  to  see 
Some  phantom,  fashionably  thin, 
With  limb  of  lath  and  kerchiefd  chin, 
And  lounging  gape,  or  sneering  grin, 

Steal  sudden  on  our  privacy. 

And  how  should  I.  so  humbly  born. 

Endure  the  graceful  spectre  s  scorn? 

Faith!  ill.  1  fear,  while  conjuring  wand 

Of  English  oak  is  hard  at  hand. 

II. 

Or  grant  the  hour  be  all  too  soon 

For  Hessian  hoot  and  pantaloon, 

And  grant  the  lounger  seldom  strays 

Beyond  the  smooth  and  gravell'd  maze. 

Laud  we  the  grids,  thai  Fashion's  train 

Holds  hearts  of  more  adventurous  strain. 

Artists  are  hers,  who  scorn  to  trace 

Their  rules  from  Nature's  boundless  grace, 

But  their  right  paramount  assert 

To  limit  her  by  pedant  art, 

Damning  whate'er  of  vast  and  fair 

Exceeds  a  canvass  three  feet  square. 

This  thicket,  for  their  gumption  fit, 

May  furnish  such  a  happy  bit. 

Bards,  too.  are  hers,  wont  to  recite 

Their  own  sweet  lays  by  waxen  light, 

Half  in  the  salver's  tingle  drown'd. 

While  the  chasse-cafe  glides  around ; 

And  such  may  hither  secret  stray. 

To  labour  an  extempore  : 

Or  sportsman,  with  his  boisterous  hollo, 

May  here  his  wiser  spaniel  follow, 

Or  stage-struck  Juliet  mav  presume 

To  choose  this  bower  for  tiring-room; 

And  we  alike  must  shun  regard, 

From  painter,  player,  sportman.  bard. 

Insects  that  skim  in  Fashion's  sky, 

Wasp,  blue-bottle,  or  butterfly, 

Lucy,  have  all  alarms  for  us, 

For  all  can  hum  and  all  can  buzz. 

III. 

But  oh.  my  Lucy,  say  how  long 
We  still  must  dread  this  trifling  throng. 


And  stoop  to  hide,  with  coward  art, 
The  genuine  feelings  of  the  heart ! 
No  parents  thine  whose  just  command 
Should  rule  their  child's  obedient  hand; 
Thy  guardians,  with  contending  voice, 
Press  each  his  individual  choice. 
And  which  is  Lucy's  ?— Can  it  be 
That  puny  fop.  trfmm'd  cap-a-pee, 
Who  loves  in  the  saloon  to  show 
The  arms  that  never  knew  a  fofi  ; 
Whose  saore  trails  along  the  ground, 
Whose  legs  in  shapeless  boots  are  drown'd ; 
A  new  Achilles,  sure, — the  steel 
Fled  from  his  breast  to  fence  his  heel ; 
One,  for  the  simple  manly  grace 
That  wont  to  deck  our  martial  race, 

Who  comes  in  foreign  trashery 
Of  tinkling  chain  and  spur, 

A  walking  haberdashery. 

Of  feathers,  lace,  and  fur : 
In  Rowley's  antiquated  phrase. 
Horse-milliner  of  modern  days? 

IV. 
Or  is  it  he,  the  wordy  youth. 

So  early  train'd  for  statesman's  part, 
Who  talks  of  honour,  faith,  and  truth, 

As  themes  that  he  has  got  by  heart ; 
Whose  ethics  Chesterfield  can  teach, 
Whose  logic  is  from  Single-speech  ; 
Who  scorns  the  meanest  thought  to  vent, 
Save  in  the  phrase  of  Parliament; 
Who  in  a  tale  of  cat  and  mouse, 
Calls  "order,"  and  "divides  the  house," 
Who  "craves  permission  to  reply," 
Whose  "  noble  friend  is  in  his  eye  ;" 
Whose  loving  tender  some  have  reckon'd 
A  motion,  you  should  gladly  second  ? 

V. 

What,  neither?    Can  there  be  a  third. 
To  such  resistless  swains  preferr'd  ! — 
0  why,  my  Lucy,  turn  aside, 
With'that  quick  glance  of  injured  pride? 
Forgive  me,  love.  I  cannot  bear 
That  alter'd  and  resentful  air. 
Were  all  the  wealth  of  Kussel  mine, 
And  all  the  rank  of  Howard's  line, 
All  would  I  give  for  leave  to  dry 
That  dewdrop  trembling  in  thine  eye. 
Think  not  I  fear  such  fops  can  wile 
From  Lucy  more  than  careless  srnile; 
But  yet  if  wealth  and  high  degree 
Give  gilded  counters  currency. 
Must  I  not  fear,  when  rank  and  birth 
Stamp  the  pure  ore  of  genuine  worth  ? 
Nobles  there  are.  whose  martial  fires 
Rival  the  flame  that  raised  their  sires. 
And  patriots,  skill'd  through  storms  of  fate 
To  guide  and  guard  the  reeling  state. 
Such,  such  there  are — If  sur.h  should  come, 
Arthur  must  tremble  and  be  dumb. 
Self-exiled  seek  some  distant  shore, 
And  mourn  till  life  and  grief  are  o'er. 

VI. 

What  sight,  what  signal  of  alarm, 
That  Lucy  clings  to  Arthur's  arm? 
Or  is  it,  that  the  rugged  way 
Makes  Beauty  lean  on  lover's  stay  ? 
Oh.  no !  for  on  the  vale  and  brake, 
Nor  sight  nor  sounds  of  danger  wake, 
And  this  trim  sward  of  velvet  green, 
Were  carpet  for  the  Fairy  Queen. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN.                333 

That  pressure  slight  was  hut  to  tell, 

While  Lucy  blush'd  beneath  his  eye. 

'I  ha'  l,i  rcy  lovps  her  Arthur  well, 

Courteous  and  cautious,  shrewd  and  sly. 

And  fain  would  bullish  from  his  mind 

Suspicious  fear  and  doubt  unkind. 

II. 

Enough  of  him.  —  Now,  ere  we  lose, 

VII. 

Plunged  in  the  vale,  the  distant  views, 

But  woulds-t  them  bid  the  demons  fly 

Turnthee,  my  love!  look  back  once  more 

1  ike  mist  before  the  dawning  sky, 

To  the  blue  lake's  retiring  shore. 

There  is  but.  one  resistless  Sjje.l  — 

On  its  smooth  breast  tiie  shadows  seem. 

Say.  will  thoii  guess,  or  must  1  tell? 

Like  objects  in  a  morning  dream, 

'Twere  liard  to  name,  in  minstrel  phrase, 

What  time  the  slumberer  is  aware 

A  landanlet  and  four  blood-bays. 

He  sleeps,  and  all  the  vision's  air: 

But  bards  agroe  this  wizard  band 

t)ven  so,  on  yonder  liquid  lawn, 

Can  hul  be  bound  in  Northern  land. 

In  hues  of  bright  reflection  drawn, 

'Tis  there  —  nay,  draw  not  back  thy  hand!  — 

Dis'iuct  the  shaggy  mountains  lie, 

'Tis  there  tliis  slender  finder  round 

Distinct  the  rocks,  distinct  the  sky  ; 

Must  golden  amulet  be  bound. 

Tne  summer-clouds  so  plain  we  note. 

Which,  bless'd  wiih  many  a  holy  prayer, 

That  we  might  count  each  dappled  spot: 

Can  chanse  lo  rapture  lovers'  care. 

We  gaze  and  we  admire,  yet  know 

And  doubt  and  jealousy  shall  die, 

The  scene  is  all  delusive  show. 

And  feur  give  place  to  ecstacy. 

Such  dreams  of  bliss  would  Arthur  draw, 

When  first  his  Lucy's  form  he  saw; 

VIIL 

Yet,  sigh'd  arid  sicken'd  as  he  drew, 

Now,  trust  me,  Lucy,  all  too  Ions 

Despairing  they  could  ere  prove  true  ! 

Has  been  thy  lover's  tale  and  song. 

O.  whv  so  silent,  love,  I  pray? 

III. 

Have  I  not  spoke  the  hvelon?  day  ? 

But,  Lucy,  turn  thee  now,  to  view 

And  will  not  Lucy  deign  to  say 
One  word  her  friend  to  bless? 
I  ask  but  one  —  a  simple  sound, 
Within  three  liltle  letters  bound, 
O,  let  the  word  be  YES  ! 

Up  the  fair  glen,  our  destined  way. 
The  fairy  path  that  we  pursue. 
Distinguished  hut  by  greener  hue, 
Winds  round  the  purple  brae, 
While  Alpine  flowers  of  varied  dye 

For  carpet  serve  or  tapestry. 

See  how  the  little  runnels  leap, 

,^yN^^v^^^v,^  

In  threads  of  silver,  down  the  steep, 

To  swell  the  brooklet's  moan  ! 

Seems  that  the  Highland  Naiad  grieves, 

2Tt>  33rfDal  of  SEvievmafn. 

Fantastic  while  her  crown  she  weaves, 
Of  rowan,  birch,  and  alder  leaves, 

So  lovelv,  and  so  lone. 



There's  no  illusion  there  ;  these  flowers, 

CANTO  THIKD. 

That  wailing  brook,  these  lovely  bowers, 



Are,  Lucy,  all  our  own  ; 

And,  since  thine  Arthur  cali'd  thee  wife, 

INTRODUCTION. 

Such  seems  the  prospect  of  his  life, 

A  lovely  path,  on-winding  still. 

I. 

By  gurgling  brook  and  sloping  hill. 

Long  loved,  Ion?  woo'd,  and  lately  won, 

'Tis  true,  that  mortals  cannot  tell 

My  life's  best  hope,  and  now  mine  own! 
Doth  not  this  rude  and  Alpine  glen 

What  waits  them  in  the  distant  dell  ; 
But  be  it  hap,  or  be  it  harm. 

Recall  our  favourite  haunts  agen? 

We  tread  the  pathway  arm  in  arm. 

A  wild  resemblance  we  can  trace. 

Though  reft  of  every  softer  grace. 

IV. 

As  the  rough  warrior's  brow  may  bear 
A  likeness  to  a  sister  fair. 
Pull  well  advised  our  Highland  host, 
That  this  wild  puss  on  foot  be  cross'd. 
While  round  Ben  Crunch's  mighty  base 
Wheel  the  slow  steeds  and  lingering  chaise. 
The  keen  old  carle:  with  Scottish  pride, 
He  praised  his  glen  and  mountains  wide  ; 

And  now,  my  Lucy,  wot'st  thou  why 
I  could  thy  bidding  twice  deny, 
When  twice  you  pray'd  I  would  again 
Resume  the  legendary  strain 
Of  the  bold  knight  of  Tnermain? 
At  length  yon  peevish  vow  you  swore, 
That  you  would  sue  to  me  ho  more, 
Until  the  minstrel  tit,  drew  near, 

An  eye  he  bears  for  nature's  face, 
Ay,  and  for  woman's  lovely  grace. 
Kven  in  such  mean  degree  we  find 
The  subtle  Scot's  observing  mind  , 
For.  nor  the  chariot,  nor  the  train 
Could  gape  of  vulgar  wonder  gain. 
But.  when  old  Allan  would  expound 
Of  Beal-nt-paish  '  the  Celtic  sound. 
His  bonnet  doli'd,  and  bow,  applied 
His  legend  to  my  bonny  bride  : 

And  made  me  prize  a  listening  ear. 
But,  loveliest,  when  thou  first  didst  pray 
Continuance  of  the  knightly  lay, 
Was  it  not  on  the  happy  day 
That  made  I  by  hand  mine  own? 
When,  dizzied  with  mine  ecstasy, 
Nought  past,  or  present,  or  to  be, 
Could  I  or  think  on,  hear,  or  see, 
Save.  Lucy,  thee  alone  ! 
A  giddy  draught  my  rapture  was, 

1  Beal-na-paish,  Ihe  Vate  of  the  Bridal. 

As  ever  chemist's  magic  gas. 

334 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


V. 

Again  the  summons  I  denied 
In  yon  fair  capital  of  Clyde  : 
My  Harp — Or  let  me  rattier  choose 
The  good  old  classic  form— my  Muse, 
(For  Harp's  an  over  scutched  phrase. 
Worn  out  by  bards  of  modern  days.) 
My  Muse,  then— seldom  will  she  wake, 
Save  by  dim  wood  and  silent  lake  ; 
She  is  the  wild  and  rustic  Maid, 
Whose  foot  unsandall'd  loves  to  tread 
Where  the  soft  greensward  is  inlaid 

With  varied  moss  and  thyme ; 
And.  lest  the  simple  lily-braid. 
That  coronets  her  temples,  fade, 
She  hides  her  still  in  greenwood  shade, 

To  meditate  her  rhyme. 

VI. 

And  now  she  comes!    The  murmur  dear 
Of  the  wild  brook  hath  caught  her  ear, 

The  glade  hath  won  her  eye ; 
She  longs  to  join  with  each  blithe  rill 
That  dances  down  the  Highland  hill, 

Her  blither  melody. 
And  now,  my  Lucy's  way  to  cheer, 
She  bids  Ben-Cruach's  echoes  hear 
How  closed  the  tale,  my  love  whilere 

Loved  for  its  chivalry. 
List  how  she  tells,  in  notes  of  flame, 
"  Child  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came  1" 


<Tl;c  33rOml  of  Crfermnfit. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


I. 
Newcastle  now  must  keep  the  Hold, 

Speir- Adam's  steeds  must  bide  iu  stall, 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bowmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall ; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Taras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland. 
Of  wasted  fields  and  plnnder'd  flocks 

The  Borderers  bootless  may  complain  ; 
They  lack  the  sword  of  brave  De  Vaux, 

There  comes  no  aid  from  Triermam. 
That  lord,  on  high  adventure  bound, 

Hath  wander'd  forth  alone, 
And  day  and  night  keeps  watchful  round 

In  the  valley  of  Saint  John. 

II. 

When  first  began  his  vigil  hold, 
The  moon  twelve  summer  nights  was  old, 

And  shone  both  fair  and  full ; 
High  in  the  vault  of  cloudless  blue. 
O'er  streamlet,  dale,  and  rock,  she  threw 

Her  light  composed  and  cool. 
Stretch'd  on  the  brown  hill's  lieathy  breast, 

Sir  Roland  eyed  the  vale ; 
Chief  where,  distmguish'd  from  the  rest, 
Those  clustering  rocks  uprear'd  tlieir  crest, 
The  dwelling  of  the  fair  distress'd, 

As  told  grey  Lyulph's  tale. 


Thus  as  he  lay.  the  lamp  of  night 
Was  quivering  on  his  armonr  bright, 

In  beams  that  rose  and  fell. 
And  danced  upon  his  buckler's  boss, 
That  lay  beside  him  on  the  muss, 

As  on  a  crystal  well. 

HI. 

Ever  he  watch'd,  and  oft  he  deem'd, 
While  on  the  mound  the  niooniight  streara'd, 

It  alttr'd  to  his  eyes ; 
Fain  would  lie  hope  the  rocks  'gan  change 
To  buttress'd  wuils  their  shapeless  range, 
Fain  think,  by  transmutation  strange. 

He  saw  grey  turrets  rise. 
But  scarce  his  heart  with  hope  Ihrob'd  high, 
Before  the  wild  illusions  fly. 

Which  fancy  had  conceived, 
Abetted  by  an  anxious  eye 

That  long'd  to  be  deceived. 
It  was  a  fond  deception  all, 
Such  as.  in  solitary  hall, 

Beguiles  the  musing  eye, 
When,  gazing  on  the  sinking  fire, 
Bulwark,  and  battlement,  and  spire, 

In  the  red  gulf  we  spy. 
For,  seen  by  moon  of  middle  night, 
Or  by  the  blaze  of  noontide  bright, 
Or  by  the  dawn  of  morning  light, 

Or  evening's  western  flame, 
In  every  tide,  at  every  hour, 
In  mist,  ill  sunshine,  and  in  shower, 

The  rocks  remain'd  the  same. 

rv. 

Oft  has  he  traced  the  charmed  mound. 
Oft  climb'd  iu  crest,  or  paced  it  round, 

Yet  nothing  might  explore, 
Save  that  the  crags  sn  rudely  piled. 
At  distance  seen,  resemblance  wild 

To  a  rough  fortress  bore. 
Yet  still  his  watch  the  Warrior  keeps, 
Feeds  hard  and  spare,  and  seldom  sleeps, 

And  drinks  but  of  the  well ; 
Ever  by  day  he  walks  the  lull. 
And  when  the  evening  gale  is  chill, 

He  seeks  a  rocky  cell. 
Like  hermit  poor  to  bid  Ins  bead, 
And  tell  his  Ave  and  his  Creed, 
Invoking  every  saint  at  need. 

For  aid  to  burst  his  spell. 

V. 

And  now  the  moon  her  orb  has  hid, 
And  dwindled  to  a  silver  thread, 

Dim  seen  in  middle  heaven. 
While  o'er  its  curve  careering  fast, 
Before  the  fury  of  the  blast 

The  midnight  clouds  are  driven. 
The  brooklet  raved,  for  on  the  hills 
The  upland  showers  had  swoln  the  rills, 

And  down  the  torrents  came  ; 
Mutter'd  the  distant  thunder  dread. 
And  frequent  o'er  the  vale  was  spread 

A  sheet  of  lightning  tlame. 
De  Vanx,  within  his  mountain  cave, 
i  (No  human  step  the  storm  durst  brave,) 
'  To  moody  meditation  gave 

Kach  faculty  of  soul. 
Till,  lull'd  by  distant  torrent  sound. 
And  Uir  sad'wmils  that  whistled  round, 
Upon  his  1  noughts,  in  musing  drown'd, 

A  broken  slumber  stole. 


THE    BRIDAL    OP    TRIER  MAIN. 


335 


Twas  then  was  heard  a  heavy  sound, 

(Sound,  strange  and  fearful  there  to  hear, 
Mongst  desert  hills,  where,  leagues  around, 
Dwelt  but  the  gorcock  and  the  deer:) 
s,  starting  from  his  couch  of  fern, 
gain  he  heard  in  clangor  stern. 

That  deep  and  solemn  swell,— 
Twelve  times,  in  measured  tone,  it  spoke, 
,ike  some  proud  minster's  pealing  clock, 

Or  city's  larum-hell. 

What  thought  was  Roland's  first  when  fell, 
i  that  deep  wilderness,  the  knell 

Upon  his  startled  ear? 
To  slander  warrior  were  I  loth, 
Yet  must  I  hold  my  minstrel  troth, — 
It  was  a  thought  of  fear. 

VII. 

But  lively  was  the  mingled  thrill 
That  chased  that  momentary  chill, 

For  Love's  keen  wish  was  there, 
And  eager  Hope,  and  Valour  high, 
And  the  proud  glow  of  Chivalry, 

That  burn'd  to  do  and  dare. 
Forth  from  the  cave  the  Warrior  rush'd, 
Lone  ere  the  mountain-voice  was  hush'd, 

That  auswer'd  to  ihe  knell; 
For  long  and  far  the  unwonted  sound, 
Eddying  in  echoes  round  and  round, 

Was  toss'd  from  fell  to  fell; 
And  Glaramara  answer  flung, 
And  Grisdale-pike  responsive  rung, 
And  Legbert  heights  their  echoes  swung, 

As  far  as  Derwent's  dell. 

VIII. 

Forth  npon  trackless  darkness  gazed 
The  Knight,  hedealen'd  and  amazed, 

Till  all  was  hush'd  and  still, 
Save  the  swoln  torrent's  sullen  roar, 
And  the  night-blast  that  wildly  bore 

Its  course  along  the  hill. 
Then  on  the  northern  sky  there  came 
A  light,  as  of  reflected  flame. 

And  over  Legbert-head, 
As  if  by  magic  art  controll'd, 
A  mighty  meteor  slowly  roll'd 

Its  orb  of  fiery  red; 

Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  demon  dir 
Came  mounted  on  that  car  of  fire, 

To  do  his  errant  dread. 
Far  on  the  sloping  valley's  course, 
On  thicket,  rock,  and  torrent  hoarse, 
Shingle  and  Scrae.i  and  Fell  and  Force,* 

A  dusky  light  arose  : 
Display'd,  yet  alter'd  was  Ihe  scene ; 
Dark  rot*,  and  brook  of  silver  sheen, 
Even  the  gay  thicket's  summer  green, 

In  bloody  tincture  glows. 

IX. 

De  Vaux  had  mark'd  the  sunbeams  set, 
At  eve.  upon  the  coronet 

Of  that  enchanted  mound. 
And  seen  but  crags  at  random  flung. 
That,  o'er  Ihe  brawling  torrent  hung, 

In  desolation  fiown'd. 
What  sees  he  by  that  meteor's  lour? — 
A  banner'd  Castle,  keep,  and  tower, 


atle  gate. 


Return  the  lurid  gleam, 
*'ith  battled  walls  and  buttress  fast, 
nd  barbicans  and  Inllium  4  vast, 
:i<l  airy  flanking  towers,  that  cast 
Their  shadows  on  the  stream. 
Pis  no  deceit !— distinctly  clear 
renel|5  anil  parapet,  appear. 
Vhile  oVr  the  pile  that  meteor  drear 

Makes  momentary  pause ; 
hen  forth  i's  solemn  path  it  drew, 
nd  fainter  yet  and  fainter  grew 
'hose  gloomy  towers  upon  the  view, 
As  its  wild  light  withdraws. 

X. 

'orth  from  the  cave  did  Roland  rush, 
_>'er  crag  and  stream,  through  brier  and  bush; 

Yet  far  he  had  not  sped, 
5re  sunk  was  that  portentous  light 
Jehind  the  hills,  and  utter  night 

Was  on  the  valley  spread, 
le  paused  perforce,  and  blew  his  horn, 
And,  on  the  mountain-echoes  borne, 
Was  heard  an  answering  sound, 
A  wild  and  lonely  trumpet-note, — 
~n  middle  air  it  seem'd  to  float 

High  o'er  the  battled  mound ; 
And  sounds  were  heard,  as  when  a  guard, 
Of  some  proud  castle,  holding  ward, 

Pace  forth  their  nightly  round. 
The  valiant  Knight  of  Trierinuiii 
Rung  forth  his  challenge-blast  again, 

But  answer  came  there  none ; 
And  'mid  the  mingled  wind  and  rain, 
3arkling  he  sought  this  vale  m  vain. 

Until  the  dawning  shone  ; 
And  when  it  dawn'd.  that  wondrous  sight, 
Distinctly  seen  by  meteor  light, 

It  all  had  pass'd  away  ! 
And  that  enchanted  mount  once  more 
A  pile  of  granite  fragments  bore, 
As  at  the  close  of  day. 

XI. 

SteePd  for  the  deed,  De  Vaux's  heart, 
Scorn'd  from  his  vent'rous  quest  to  part, 

He  walks  the  vale  once  more; 
But  only  sees,  by  night  or  day. 
That  shatter'd  pile  of  rocks  so  grey, 

Hears  but  the  torrent's  roar. 
Till  when,  through  hills  of  azure  borne, 
The  moon  renew'd  her  silver  horn, 
Just  at  the  time  her  waning  ray 
Had  faded  in  the  dawning  day, 

A  summer  mist  arose ; 
Adown  the  vale  the  vapours  float, 
And  cloudy  undulations  moat 
That  tufted  mound  of  mystic  note, 

As  round  its  base  they  close. 
And  Higher  now  the  fleecy  tide 
Ascends  its  stern  and  sh.-iggy  side, 
Until  the  airy  billows  hide 

The  rock's  majestic  isle  ; 
ft  seem'd  a  veil  of  filrny  lawn, 
By  some  fantastic  fairy  drawn 
Around  enchanted  pile. 

XII 
The  breeze  came  softly  down  the  brook, 

And,  sighing  as  it  blew, 
The  veil  of  silver  mist  it  shook. 
And  to  De  Vaux's  eager  look 

Renew'd  that  wondrous  view. 


336 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


For,  though  the  loiterin?  vapour  braved 
The  gentle  breeze,  yet  oft  it  waved 

Its  mantle's  dewy  fold ; 
And  still,  when  shook  that  filmy  screen, 
Were  towers  and  bastions  dimly  seen, 
Arid  Gothic  battlements  between 

Their  gloomy  length  unroll'd. 
Speed,  speed,  De  Vaux.  ere  on  thine  eye 
Once  more  the  fleeting  vision  die  ! 

—The  gallant  knight  "gan  speed 
As  prompt  and  light  as,  when  the  hound 
Is  opening,  and  the  horn  is  wound, 

Career  the  hunter's  steed. 
Down  the  steep  dell  his  course  amain 

Hath  rivall'd  archer's  shaft ; 
But  ere  the  mound  he  could  attain, 
The  rocks  their  shapeless  form  regain, 
And,  mocking  loud  iiis  labour  vain, 

The  mountain  spirits  laugh'd. 
Tar  up  the  echoing  dell  was  borne 
Their  wild  unearthly  shout  of  scorn. 

XIII. 

Wroth  wax'd  the  Warrior.—"  Am  I  then 
Fool'd  by  the  enemies  of  men, 
Like  a  poor  hind,  whose  homeward  way 
Is  haunted  by  malicious  fay? 
Is  Triermain  become  your  taunt, 
De  Van*  your  scorn?    False  fiends,  avaunt !" 
A  weighty  curtal-axe  he  bare ; 
The  baleful  blade  so  bright  and  square, 
And  the  tough  shaft  of  heben  wood, 
Were  oft  in  Scottish  gore  imbrued. 
Backward  his  stately  form  he  drew, 
And  at  the  rocks  the  weapon  threw. 
Just  where  one  crag's  projected  crest 
Huna  proudly  balanced  o'er  the  rest. 
HurPd  with  main  force,  the  weapon's  shock 
Rent  a  huge  fragment  of  the  rock. 
If  by  mere  strength,  'twere  hard  to  tell, 
Or  if  the  blow  dissolved  some  spell, 
But  down  the  headlong  ruin  came. 
With  cloud  of  dust  and  flash  of  flame. 
Down  bank,  o'er  bush,  its  course  was  borne, 
Criish'd  lay  the  copse,  the  earth  was  torn, 
Till  staid  at  length,  the  ruin  dread 
Cumber'd  the  torrent's  rocky  bed, 
And  bade  the  waters'  liigh-swolu  tide 
t«ek  other  passage  for  its  pride. 

XIV. 

When  ceased  that  thunder,  Triermain 
Survey'd  the  mound's  rude  front  again  ; 
An,  lo!  the  ruin  had  laid  bare, 
Hewn  in  the  stone,  a  winding  stair, 
Whose  moss'd  and  fractured  steps  might  lend 
The  means  the  summit  to  ascend  ; 
And  by  whose  aid  the  brave  De  Vaux    , 
Began  to  scale  these  magic  rocks, 

And  soon  a  platform  won. 
Where,  the  wild  witchery  to  close, 
Within  three  lances'  length  arose 

The  Castle  of  Saint  John  ! 
No  misty  phantom  of  the  air, 
No  nieteor-bliizon'd  show  was  there ; 
In  morning  splendour,  full  and  fair, 

The  massive  fortress  shone. 

XV. 

Embattled  high  and  proudly  tower'd. 
Shaded  by  pond'rous  flankers,  lower'd 

The  portal's  gloomy  way. 
Though  for  six  hundred  years  and  more, 


Its  strength  had  brook'd  the  tempest's  roar, 
The  scuteheoii'd  emblems  which  it  bore 

Had  suflfer'd  no  decay : 
But  from  the  eastern  battlement 
A  turret  had  made  sheer  descent, 
And,  down  in  recent  ruin  rent, 

In  the  mid  torrent  lay. 
Else,  o'er  the  Castle's  brow  sublime, 
Insults  of  violence  or  of  time 

Cnfelt  had  pass'd  away. 
In  shapeless  characters  of  yore. 
The  gate  this  stern  inscription  bore  :— 

XVI. 

INS  C  BIPTIO  N. 

Patience  waits  the  destined  day, 
Strength  can  clear  the  cumher'd  way. 
Warrior,  who  hast  waited  long, 
Firm  of  soul,  of  sinew  strong, 
It  is  given  thee  to  gaze 
On  the  pile  of  ancient  days. 
Never  mortal  builder's  hand 
This  enduring  fabric  plann'd  ; 
Sign  and  siail,  word  of  power. 
From  the  earth  raised  keep  and  tower. 
View  it  o'er,  and  pace  it  round. 
Rampart,  turret,  battled  mound. 
Dare  no  more !    To  cross  the  gate 
Were  to  tamper  with  thy  fate  ; 
Strength  and  fortitude  were  vain, 
View  it  o'er — and  turn  again." — 

XVII. 

"  That  would  I,"  said  the  Warrior  bold, 
"If  that  my  frame  were  bent  and  old, 
And  my  thin  blood  dropp'd  slow  and  cold 

As  icicle  in  thaw ; 

But  while  my  heart  can  feel  it.  dance. 
Blithe  as  the  sparkling  wine  of  France, 
And  this  good  arm  wields  sword  or  lance, 
I  mock  these  words  of  awe !" 
He  said :  the  wicket  felt  the  sway 
Of  his  strong  hand,  and  straight  gave  way, 
And.  with  rude  crash  aud  jarring  bray, 

The  rusty  bolts  withdraw  ; 
But  o'er  the  threshold  as  he  strode, 
And  forward  took  the  vaulted  road. 
An  unseen  arm.  with  force  amain, 
The  ponderous  gale  flung  close  again, 

And  rusted  bolt  and  bar 
Spontaneous  took  their  place  once  more, 
While  the  deep  arch  with  sullen  roar 

Return'd  their  surly  jar. 
"Now  closed  is  the  gin  :mcl  the  prey  within 

By  the  Rood  of  Lanercost ! 
But  he  that  would  win  the  war-wolfs  skin, 

May  rue  him  of  his  boast." 
Thus  muttering,  on  the  Warrior  went, 
By  dubious  light  down  steep  descent. 

XV1H. 

Unharr'd.  unlock'd,  unwatch'd,  a  port 
Led  to  the  Castle's  outer  court : 
There  tbe  main  fortress,  broad  and  tall, 
Spread  its  long  range  of  bower  and  hall, 

And  towers  of  varied  size. 
Wrought  with  each  ornament  extreme, 
That  Gothic  art.  in  wildest  dream 

Of  fancy,  could  devise ; 
But  full  between  the  Warrior's  way 
And  the  mam  portal  arch,  there  lay 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIER  MAIN. 


337 


An  inner  moat; 
Nnr  bridge  nor  boat 
Affords  De  Vaiix  tlie  means  to  cross 
The  clear,  profound,  and  silent  fosse. 
His  arms  aside  in  haste  he  flings. 
Cuirass  of  steel  and  hauberk  rings. 
And  down  falls  helm,  and  down  the  shield, 
Rough  with  the  dints  of  many  a  field. 
Fair  was  his  manly  form,  and  fair 
Mis  keen  dark  eye",  and  close  cuil'd  hair, 
When,  all  unarm'd,  save  thiil  the  brand 
Of  well-proved  metal  graced  his  hand. 
With  nought  to  fence  his  dauntless  breast 
But  the  close  gipon's  '  under-vest, 
Whose  sullied  buff  the  sable  stains 
Of  hauberk  and  of  mail  retains,— 
Koland  De  Vaux  upon  the  brim 
Of  the  broad  moat  stood  prompt  to  swi 

XIX. 

Accoutred  thus  he  dared  the  tide. 
And  soon  he  reach'd  the  farther  side, 

And  enter'd  soon  the  Hold, 
And  paced  a  hall,  whose  walls  so  wide 
Were  biazon'd  all  with  feats  of  pride, 

By  warriors  done  of  old. 
In  middle  lists  they  connler'd  here. 

While  trumpets  seem'd  to  blow; 
And  I  here,  in  den  or  desert  drear. 

They  quell'd  gigantic  foe. 
Braved  the  fierce  griffon  in  bis  ire, 
Or  faced  the  dragon's  breath  of  fire. 
Strange  in  their  arms,  and  strange  in  face, 
Heroes  they  seem'd  of  ancient  race, 
Whose  deeds  of  arms,  and  race,  and  name, 
Fontcttea  long  by  later  fame. 

Were  here  depicted,  to  appal 
Those  of  an  age  degenerate, 
Whose  bold  intrusion  braved  their  fate 

In  this  enchanted  hall. 
For  some  short  space  the  venturous  knight 
With  these  high  marvels  fed  his  sight, 
Then  sought  the  chamber's  upper  end, 
Where  three  hroad  easy  steps  ascend 

To  an  arcli'd  portal  door. 
In  whose  hroad  folding  leaves  of  state 
Was  framed  a  wicket  window-grate, 

And.  ere  he  ventured  more, 
The  gallant  Knight  took  earnest  view 
The  grated  wicket-window  through. 

XX. 

0,  for  his  arms !    Of  martial  weed 
Had  never  mortal  Knight  such  need  !— 
He  spied  a  stately  gallery  ;  all 
Of  snow-white  marble  was  the  wall, 

The  vaulting,  and  the  floor  ; 
And,  contrast  strange  !  on  either  hand 
There  stood  array'd  in  sable  hand 

Four  Maids  whom  Afric  bore  ; 
And  each  a  Lybian  tiger  led, 
Held  by  as  bright  and  frail  a  thread 

As  Lucy's  golden  hair, — 
For  the  leash  that  bound   these    monsters 
d  read 

Was  but  of  gossamer. 
Each  Maiden's  short  .barbaric  vest 
Left  all  unclosed  the  knee  and  breast, 

And  limbs  of  shapely  jet ; 
White  was  their  vest  and  turban's  fold, 
On  arms  and  ankles  rings  of  gold 

In  savage  pomp  were  set ; 


A  quiver  on  their  shoulders  lay, 
And  in  their  hand  an  assagay. 
Such  and  so  silent  stood  they  there, 

That  Roland  wellnigh  hoped 
He  saw  a  band  of  statues  rare, 
Station'd  the  gazer's  soul  to  scare ; 

But  when  the  wicket  oped. 
Each  grisly  beast  'gan  upward  draw, 
Roll'd  his  grim  eye.  and  spread  his  claw, 
Scented  the  air,  and  lick'd  his  jaw ; 
While  these  weird  Maids,  in  Moorish  tongue, 
A  wild  and  dismal  warning  sung. 

XXI. 
"  Rash  Adventurer,  hear  thee  hack  ! 

Dread  the  spell  of  Dahomay! 
Fear  the  race  of  Zaharak,* 

Daughters  of  the  burning  day ! 

"  When  the  whirlwind's  gusts  are  wheeling, 

Ours  it  is  the  dance  to  braid ; 
Zarah's  sands  in  pillars  reeling. 

Join  the  measure  that  we  tread. 
When  the  Moon  has  donn'd  her  cloak, 

And  the  stars  are  red  to  see, 
Shrill  when  pipes  the  sad  Siroc, 

Music  meet  for  such  as  we. 

Where  the  shatter'd  columns  lie, 

Showing  Carthage  once  had  been, 
If  the  wandering  Santon's  eye 

Our  mysterious  rites  hath  seen, — 
Oft  he  cons  the  prayer  of  death. 

To  the  nations  preaches  doom. 
Azrael's  brand  hath  left  the  sheath! 

Moslems,  think  upon  the  tomb!' 

"Ours  the  scorpion,  ours  the  snake, 

Ours  the  hydra  of  the  fen. 
Ours  the  tiger  of  the  brake. 

All  that  plague  the  sons  of  men. 
Ours  the  tempest's  midnight  wrack. 

Pestilence  that  wastes  hy  day — 
Dread  the  race  of  Zaharak  ! 

Fear  the  spell  of  Dahomay !" 

XXII. 
Uncouth  and  strange  the  accents  shrill 

Rung  those  vaulted  roofs  among, 
Long  it,  was  ere,  faint  and  still, 

Died  the  far  resounding  song. 
While  yet  the  distant  echoes  roll, 
The  Warrior  communed  with  his  soul. 

"  When  first  I  took  this  venturous  quest, 

I  swore  upon  the  rood, 
Neither  to  stop,  nor  turn,  nor  rest, 

For  evil  or  for  good. 
My  forward  path  too  well  I  ween, 
Lies  yonder  fearful  ranks  between! 
For  man  unarm'd,  'tis  bootless  hope 
With  tigers  and  with  fiends  to  cope — 
Yet,  if  I  turn,  what  waits  me  there, 
Save  famine  dire  and  fell  despair? — 
Other  conclusion  let  me  try, 
Since,  choose  howe'er  I  list,  I  die. 
Forward,  lies  faith  and  knightly  fame ; 
Behind,  are  perjury  and  shame, 
[n  life  or  death  I  hold  my  word !" 
With  that  he  drew  his  trusty  sword. 
Caught  down  a  banner  from  the  wall, 
And  enter'd  thus  the  fearful  hall. 


338 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXI II. 

On  high  each  wayward  Maiden  threw 

Her  swarthy  arm.  with  wild  halloo ! 

On  either  side  a  tiger  sprung— 

Against  the  leftward  foe  he  flung 

The  ready  banner,  to  engage 

With  tanking  folds  the  brutal  rage. 

The  right-hand  monster  in  mid  air 

He  struck  so  fiercely  and  so  fair. 

Through  gullet  and  through  spinal  bone. 

The  trenchant  blade  had  sheerly  er>ne. 

His  grisly  brethren  ramp'd  and  yell'd, 

But  the  slight  leash  their  rage  withheld. 

Whilst,  rtwixt  their  ranks,  the  dangerous  roat 

Firmly,  though  swift,  the  champion  strode. 

Safe  to  the  gallery's  bound  he  drew, 

Safe  pass'd  an  open  portal  through ; 

And  when  against  pursuit  he  flung 

The  gate,  judge  if  the  echoes  rung! 

Onward  his  daring  course  he  bnre. 

While,  mix'd  with  dying  growl  and  roar, 

Wild  jubilee  and  loud  hurra 

Pursued  him  on  his  venturous  way. 

XXIV. 

"  Hurra,  hurra !    Our  watch  is  done ! 
We  hail  once  more  the  tropic  sun. 
Pallid  beams  of  northern  day. 
Farewell,  farewell !    Hurra,  hurra ! 

"  Five  hundred  years  o'er  this  cold  glen 
Hath  the  pale  sun  come  round  agen ; 
Foot  of  man,  till  now,  hath  ne'er 
Dared  to  cross  the  Hall  of  Fear. 

"Warrior!  thou,  whose  dauntless  heart 
Gives  us  from  our  ward  to  part, 
Be  as  strong  in  future  trial, 
Where  resistance  is  denial. 

"  Now  for  Afric's  glowing  sky, 
Zwenga  wide,  and  Atlas  high, 

Zaharak  and  Dahomay! 

Mount  the  winds !    Hurra,  hurra !" 

XXV. 
The  wizard  song  at  distance  died. 

As  if  in  ether  borne  astray. 
While  through  waste  halls  and  chambers  wide 

The  Knight  pursued  his  steady  way. 
Till  to  a  lofty  dome  he  came. 
That  flash'd  with  such  a  brilliant  flame, 
As  if  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
Were  there  in  rich  confusion  hurl'd. 
For  here  the  gold,  in  saudy  heaps. 
With  duller  earth,  incorporate,  sleeps  ; 
Was  there  in  ingots  piled,  and  there 
Coin'd  badge  of  empery  it  bare ; 
Yonder,  huge  bars  of  silver  lay. 
Dimm'd  by  the  diamond's  neighbouring  ray, 
Like  the  pale  moon  in  morning  day ; 
And  in  the  midst  four  Maidens  stand. 
The  daughters  of  some  distant  land. 
Their  hue  was  of  the  dark-red  dye, 
That  fringes  oft  a  thunder  sky ; 
Their  hands  palmetto  baskets  bare, 
And  cotton  fillets  bound  their  hair; 
Slim  w»  their  form,  their  mien  was  shy, 
To  earth  they  bent  the  bumbled  eye, 
Folded  their  arms,  and  suppliant  kneel'd, 
And  thus  their  proffer'd  gifts  reveal'd. 


XXVI. 
CHORUS. 

"  See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled, 
Portion  meet  for  Arthur's  child. 
Bathe  in  Wealth's  unbounded  stream, 
Wealth  that  Avarice  ne'er  could  dream !" 

FIHST  MAIDE.t. 

"  See  these  clots  of  virgin  gold  ! 
Sever'd  from  the  sparry  mould, 
Nature's  mystic  alchemy 
In  the  mine  thus  hade  them  lie  ; 
And  their  orient  smile  can  win 
Kings  to  stoop,  and  saints  to  sin."— 

SECOND  MAIDF.5. 

"  See  these  pearls,  that  long  have  slept : 
These  were  tears  by  Naiads  wept 
For  the  loss  of  Man nel. 
Tritons  in  the  silver  shell 
Treasured  them,  till  hard  and  white 
As  the  teeth  of  Amphitrite." — 

THIBD  MAIDEN. 

"  Does  a  livelier  hue  delight  ? 
Here  are  rubies  blazing  bright. 
Here  the  emerald's  fairy  green. 
And  the  topaz  glows  between ; 
Here  their  varied  hues  unite. 
In  the  changeful  chrysolite." — 

FOURTH  MAIDEN. 

"  Leave  these  gems  of  poorer  shine, 
Leave  them  all.  and  look  on  mine  I 
While  their  glories  I  expand, 
Shade  thine  eyebrows  with  thy  hand. 
Mid  day  sun  and  diamond's  blaze 
Blind  the  rash  beholder's  gaze." 

CHORUS. 

"  Warrior,  seize  the  splendid  store : 
W'ould  'twere  all  our  mountains  bore  ! 
We  should  ne'er  in  future  story. 
Read,  Peru,  thy  perished  glory  !" 

XXVII. 

Calmly  and  unconcern'd,  the  Knight 
Waved  aside  the  treasures  bright : — 
"Gentle  Maidens,  rise,  I  pray  ! 
Bar  not  thus  my  destined  way. 
Let  these  boasted  brilliant  toys 
Braid  the  hair  of  girls  and  boys ! 
Bid  your  streams  of  gold  expand 
O'er  proud  London's  thirsty  land. 
De  Vaux  of  wealth  saw  never  need, 
Save  to  purvey  him  arms  and  steed, 
And  all  the  ore  he  deign'd  to  hoard 
Inlays  his  helm,  and  hilts  his  sword." 
Thus  gently  parting  from  their  hold, 
fie  left,  unmoved,  the  dome  of  gold. 

XXVIII. 

And  now  the  morning  sun  was  high, 
De  Vaux  was  weary,  faint,  and  dry ; 
When,  lo !  a  plashing  sound  he  hears, 
A  gladsome  signal  that  he  nears 

Some  frolic  water-run ; 
And  soon  he  reach'd  a  court-yard  square, 
Where,  dancing  in  the  sultry  air, 
Toss'd  high  aloft,  a  fountain  fair 

Was  sparkling  in  the  sun. 
3n  right  and  left,  a  fair  arcade, 
'n  long  perspective  view  displav'd 
Alleys  and  bowers,  for  sun  or  shade : 


THE    BRIDAL   OF   TRIER  MAIN. 


339 


But,  full  in  front,  a  door, 
Low-brow'd  nnd  dark,  seem'd  as  it  led 
To  the  lone  dwelling  of  I  he  dead. 
Whose  memory  was  no  more. 

XXIX. 

Here  stopp'd  De  Vaux  an  instant's  space, 
To  bathe  his  parched  lips  and  face. 

And  mark  d  with  well-pleased  eye, 
Refracted  on  the  fountain  stream. 
In  rainbow  hues  the  dazzling  beam 

Of  that  gay  summer  sky. 
His  senses  felt  a  mild  control, 
Like  that  which  lulls  the  weary  soul, 

From  contemplation  high 
Relaxing,  when  the  ear  receives 
The  music  that  the  greenwood  leaves 

Make  to  the  breezes'  sigh. 

XXX. 

And  oft  in  such  a  dreamy  mood, 

The  half-shut  eye  can  frame 
Fair  apparitions  in  the  wood. 
As  if  the  nymphs  of  field  and  flood 

In  gay  procession  came. 
Are  these  of  surh  fantastic  mould. 

Seen  distant  down  the  fair  arcade, 
These  Maids  enlink'd  in  sister-fold, 

Who,  laie  at  bashful  distance  staid, 

Now  tripping  from  the  greenwood  shade, 
Nearer  the  musing  champion  draw, 
And,  in  a  pause  of  seeming  awe, 

Again  stand  doubtful  now  ? — 
Ah,  that  sly  pause  of  witching  powers! 
That  seems  to  say,  "  To  please  be  ours, 

Be  yours  to  tell  us  how." 
Their  hue  was  of  the  golden  glow 
That  suns  of  Candahar  bestow, 
O'er  which  in  slight  suffusion  flows 
A  frequent  tinge  of  paly  rose ; 
Their  limhs  were  fashion 'd  fair  and  free, 
In  nature's  justest  symmetry ; 
And,  wreath'd  witn  flowers,  with  odours 

graced. 

Their  raven  ringlets  reach'd  the  waist : 
In  eastern  pomp,  its  gilding  pale 
The  hennah  lent  each  shapely  nail, 
And  the  dark  sumah  gave  the  eye 
More  liquid  and  more  lustrous  dye. 
The  spotless  veil  of  misty  lawn. 
In  studied  disarrangement,  drawn 

The  form  and  bosom  o'er. 
To  win  the  eve,  or  tempt  the  touch, 
For  modesty  show'd  all  too  much — 

Too  much — yet  promised  more. 

XXXI. 

"  Gentle  Knisht,  a  while  delay." 
Thus  they  sung.  ••  thy  toilsome  way, 
While  we  pay  the  duty  due 
To  our  Master  and  to  you. 
Over  Avarice,  over  Fear, 
I,ove  triumphant  led  thee  here; 
Warrior,  list  to  us,  for  we 
Are  slaves  to  Love,  are  friends  to  thee. 
Though  no  treasured  gems  have  we, 
To  proffer  on  the  bended  knee, 
Though  we  boast  nor  arm  nor  heart, 
For  the  assagay  or  dart, 
Swains  allow  each  simple  girl 
Ruby  lip  and  teeth  of  pearl ; 
j  Or.  if  dangers  more  you  prize, 
Flatterers  find  them  in  our  eyes. 


"  Stay,  then,  gentle  Warrior,  stay, 
Rest  till  evening  steal  on  day; 
Stay,  0.  stay  ! — in  yonder  bowers 
We  will  braid  thy  locks  with  flowers, 
Spread  the  feast  and  fill  the  wine, 
Charm  thy  ear  with  sounds  divine, 
Weave  our  dances  till  delight 
Yield  to  langour,  day  to  night. 
"  Then  shall  she  you  most  approve, 
Sing  the  lays  that  best  you  love, 
Soft  thy  mossy  couch  shall  spread, 
Watch  thy  pillow,  prop  thy  head, 
Till  the  weary  night  be  o'er— 
Gentle  Warrior,  wouldst  thou  more? 
Wouldst  thou  more,  fair  Warrior, — she 
Is  slave  to  Love  and  slave  to  thee." 

XXXII. 

O,  do  not  hold  it  for  a  crime 
In  the  bold  hero  of  my  rhyme, 

For  Stoic  look, 

And  meet  rebuke. 
He  lack'd  the  heart  or  time ; 
As  round  the  band  of  sirens  trip, 
He  kiss'd  one  damsel's  laughing  lip, 
And  press'd  another's  proft'er'd  hand. 
Spoke  to  them  all  in  accents  bland. 
But  broke  their  magic  circle  through; 
"Kind  .Maids,"  he  said,  "adieu,  adieu  1 
My  fate,  my  fortune,  forward  lies." 
He  said,  and  vanish 'd  from  their  eyes; 
But.  as  he  dared  that  darksome  way, 
Still  heard  behind  their  lovely  lay: — 
"  Fair  Flower  of  Courtesy,  depart ! 
Go.  where  the  feelings  of  the  heart 
With  the  warm  pulse  in  concord  move ; 
Go,  where  Virtue  sanctions  Love !" 

XXXIII. 
Downward  De  Vaux  through  darksome  ways 

And  ruiu'd  vaults  has  gone, 
Till  issue  from  their  wilder'd  maze, 

Or  safe  retreat,  seem'd  none, — 
And  e'en  the  dismal  path  he  strays 

Grew  worse  as  he  went  on. 
For  cheerful  sun,  for  living  air, 
Foul  vapours  rise  and  mine-fires  glare, 
Whose  (earful  light  the  dangers  show'd 
That  dosg'd  him  on  that  dreadful  road. 
Deep  pits,  and  lakes  of  waters  dun, 
They  show'd,  but  show'd  not  how  to  shun. 
These  scenes  of  desolate  despair, 
These  smothering  clouds  of  poison'd  air, 
How  gladly  had  De  Vaux  exchanged, 
Though  'twere  to  face  yon  tigers  ranged ! 

Nay,  soolhful  bards  have  said 
So  perilous  his  state  seem'd  now, 
He  wish'd  him  under  arbour  bough 

With  Asia's  willing  maid. 
Whenjoyful  sound  !  at  distance  near 
A  trumpet  flourish'd  loud  and  clear, 
And  as  it  ceased,  a  lofty  lay 
Seem'd  thus  to  chide  his  lagging  way. 

XXXIV. 

"  Son  of  Honour,  theme  of  story, 
Think  on  the  reward  before  ye  ! 
Danger,  darkness,  toil  despise; 
Tis  Ambition  bids  thee  rise. 

"  He  that  would  her  heights  ascend, 
Many  a  weary  step  must  wend  ; 
Hand  and  foot  and  knee  he  tries; 
Thus  Ambition's  minions  rise. 


340 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  Lag  not  now.  though  roueh  the  way, 
Fortune's  mood  brooks  no  delay  ; 
Grasp  the  boon  that's  spread  before  ye. 
Monarch's  power,  and  Conqueror's  glory  !" 

It  ceased.    Advancing  on  the  sound, 
A  steep  ascent  the  Wanderer  found 

And  then  a  turret  stair: 
Nor  climh'd  he  far  its  sleepy  round 

1  ill  fresher  blew  the  air, 
And  next  a  welcome  glimpse  was  given. 
That  cheer'd  him  with  the  light  of  heaven. 

At  length  his  toil  had  won 
A  lofty  hall  with  trophies  dress'd, 
Where,  as  to  greet  imperial  guest, 
Four  Maidens  stood,  whose  crimson  vest 

Was  bound  with  golden  zone. 

XXXV. 

Of  Europe  seem'd  the  damsels  all; 
The  first  a  nymph  of  lively  Gaul, 
Whose  easy  step  and  laughing  eye 
Her  borrow'd  air  of  awe  belie ; 

The  next  a  maid  of  Spain, 
Dark-eyed,  dark-hair'd.  sedate,  yet  bold ; 
White  ivory  skin  and  tress  of  gold, 
Her  shy  and  bashful  comrade  told 

For  daughter  of  Almaine. 
These  maidens  bore  a  royal  robe, 
With  crown,  with  sceptre,  and  with  globe, 

Emblems  of  empery ; 
The  fourth  a  space  behind  them  stood, 
And  leant  upon  a  harp,  in  mood 

Of  minstrel  ecstasy. 
Of  merry  England  she!  in  dress 
Like  ancient  British  Druidess. 
Her  hair  an  azure  fillet  bound. 
Her  graceful  vesture  swept  the  ground, 

And.  in  her  hand  display 'd. 
A  crown  did  that  fourth  Maiden  hold, 
But  unudorn'd  with  gems  and  gold, 

Of  glossy  laurel  made. 

XXXVI. 

At  once  to  brave  De  Vaux  knelt  down 

These  foremost  Maidens  three, 
And  proffer'd  sceptre,  robe,  and  crown, 

Liegedom  and  seignorie. 
O'er  many  a  region  wide  and  fair, 
Destined,  they  said,  for  Arthur's  heir; 

But  homage  would  he  none : — 
"  Rather,"  he  said.  "De  Vaux  would  ride, 
A  Warden  of  the  Border-side, 
In  plate  and  mail,  than,  robed  in  pride, 

A  monarch's  empire  own ; 
Rather,  far  rather,  would  he  I* 
A  free-born  knight  of  England  free, 

Than  sit  on  Despot's  throne." 
So  pass'd  he  on,  when  that  fourth  Maid, 

As  starting  from  a  trance, 
TIpon  the  harp  her  finger  laid ; 
Her  magic  touch  the  chords  obey'd, 

Their  soul  awaked  at  once ! 

8ONO  OF  THE  FOURTH  M.VIDEX. 
"  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep. 
Stately  Towers,  and  Banner'd  Keep, 
Bid  vour  vaulted  echoes  moan, 
As  the  dreaded  step  they  own. 

"  Fiends,  that  wait  on  Merlin's  spell, 
Hear  the  foot-fall !  mark  it  well ! 
Spread  your  dusky  winirs  abroad, 
Boune  ye  for  your  homeward  road  ! 


"  It  is  His,  the  first  who  e'er 
Dared  the  dismal  Hall  of  Fear; 
His,  who  hath  the  snares  defied 
Spread  by  Pleasure,  Wealth,  and  Pride 

Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 
Bastion  linee,  and  Turret  steep! 
Tremble,  Keep!  and  totusr.  Tower! 
This  is  Gynelhs  waking  hour." 

XXXVII. 

Thus  while  she  sung,  the  venturous  Knight 
Has  reaeh'd  a  bower,  where  milder  light 

Through  crimson  curtains  fell; 
Such  soften'd  shade  the  hill  receives. 
Her  purple  veil  when  twilight  leaves 

Upon  its  western  swell. 
That  bower,  the  gazer  to  bewitch, 
Hath  wondrous  store  of  rare  and  rich 

As  e'er  was  seen  with  eye  ; 
For  there  by  magic  skill,  I  wis, 
Form  of  each  thing  that  living  is 

Was  limn'd  in  proper  dye. 
AH  seem'd  to  sleep — the  timid  hare 
On  form,  the  stag  upon  his  lair, 
The  eagle  in  her  eyrie  fair 

Between  the  earth  and  sky. 
But  what  of  pictured  rich  and  rare 
Could  win  De  Vaux's  eye-glance,  where, 
Deep  slumbering  in  the  fatal  chair, 

He  saw  King  Arthur's  child! 
Doubt,  and  auger,  and  dismay. 
From  her  brow  had  pass'd  away, 
Forgot  was  that  fell  tourney-day, 

For,  as  she  slept,  she  smiled  : 
It  seem'd.  that  the  repentant  Seer 
Her  sleep  of  many  a  hundred  year 

With  gentle  dreams  beguiled. 

XXXVIII. 

That  form  of  maiden  loveliness. 

Twill  childhood  and  'twixt  youth. 
That  ivory  chair,  that  silvan  dress. 
The  arms  and  ankles  bare,  express 

Of  Lyulph's  tale  the  truth. 
Still  upon  her  garment's  hem 
Vanoc  s  blood  made  purple  gem, 
And  the  warder  of  command 
Curnber'd  still  her  sleeping  hand  ; 
Still  her  dark  locks  dishevell'd  flow 
From  net  of  pearl  o'er  breast  of  snow  ; 
And  so  fair  the  slumberer  seems. 
That  De  Vaux  impeach'd  his  dreams, 
Vapid  all  and  void  of  miffht. 
Hiding  half  her  charms  from  sight. 
Motionless  a  while  he  stands, 
Folds  his  arms  and  clasps  his  hands, 
Trembling  in  his  fitful  joy. 
Doubtful  how  he  should  destroy 

Long-endunna  spell ; 
Doubtful,  too,  when  slowly  rise 
Dark- fringed  lids  of  GyneMrs  eyes, 

W:hat  these  eyes  shall  tell. — 
"St.  George  !  St.  M;iry!  can  it  be. 
That  they  will  kindly  look  on  me ! 

XXXIX. 

Gently,  lo  !  the  Warrior  kneels, 
Soft  that  lovely  hand  he  steals, 
Soft  to  kiss,  and  soft  to  clasp — 
But  the  warder  leaves  his  grasp ; 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIER  MAIN. 


341 


Lightning  flashes,  rolls  the  thunder! 
Gyneth  startles  from  her  sleep. 
Totters  Tower,  and  trembles  Keep, 

Burst  the  Castle-walls  asunder! 
Fierce  and  frequent  were  the  shocks, — 

Melt  the  masic  halls  away  ; 

Bui  beneath  their  mystic  rocks, 

In  the  arms  of  bold  De  Vaux, 

Safe  the  princess  lay; 
Safe  and  free  from  rn:iaic  power, 
Blushing  like  the  rose's  flower 

Opening  to  the  day; 

And  round  the  Champion's  brows  were  bound 
The  crown  that  Druidess  had  wound, 

Of  the  green  laurel-hay. 
And  this  was  what  remain'd  of  all 
The  wealth  of  each  enchanted  hall, 

The  Garland  and  the  Dame : 
But  where  should  Warrior  seek  the  meed, 
Due  to  high  worth  for  daring  deed, 

Except  from  Love  and  Fame ! 


CONCLUSION. 


My  Lucy,  when  the  maid  is  won, 

The  Minstrel's  task,  thou  know'st,  is  done  : 

And  to  require  of  hard 
That  to  his  drees  the  tale  should  run, 

Were  ordinanr-e  too  hard. 
Our  lovers,  hnefly  be  it  said, 
Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  wed. 

When  tale  or  play  is  o'er; 
Lived  Ion?  and  blest,  low d  fond  and  true, 
And  saw  a  numerous  race  renew 

The  honours  that  they  bore. 
Know,  too,  that  when  a  pilgrim  strays, 
In  morning  mist  or  evening  maze, 


Along  the  mountain  lone. 
That  fairy  fortress  often  mocks 

gaze  upon  the  castled  rocks 

Of  the  Valley  of  St.  John ; 
But  never  man  since  brave  De  Vaux 

The  charmed  portal  won. 
Tis  now  a  vain  illusive  show, 
That  melts  whene'er  the  sunbeams  glow 

Or  the  fresh  breeze  hath  blown. 

II. 

But  see,  my  love,  where  far  below 
Our  lingering  wheels  are  moving  slow, 

The  whiles,  up-gazing  still, 
Our  menials  eye  our  sleepy  way, 
Marvelling,  perchance,  what  whim  can  stay 
Our  steps,  when  eve  is  sinking  grey, 

On  this  gigantic  hill. 
So  think  the  vulgar — Life  and  time 
Ring  all  their  joys  in  one  dull  chime 

Of  luxury  and  ease ; 
And,  O!  beside  these  simple  knaves, 
How  many  betier  born  are  slaves 

To  such  coar.-e  joys  as  tnese, — 
Dead  to  the  nobl«r  sense  that  glows 
When  nature's  grander  scenes  unclose ! 
But,  Lucy,  we  will  love  them  yet, 
The  mountain  s  misty  coronet. 

The  greenwood,  and  the  wold ; 
And  love  the  more,  that  of  their  maze 
Adventure  high  of  other  days 

By  ancient  bards  is  told. 
Bringing,  perchance,  like  my  poor  tale, 
Some  moral  truth  in  fiction's  veil : 
Nor  love  them  less,  that  o'er  the  hill 
The  evening  breeze,  as  now,  comes  chill;— 

My  love  shall  wrap  her  warm, 
And,  fearless  of  the  slippery  way, 
While  safe  she  trips  the  heathery  brae, 

Shall  hang  on  Arthur's  arm. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

Like  Collins,  thread  the  maze  of  Fairy  land, 
P.  323 

Collins,  according  to  Johnson,  "by  indulging 
some  peculiar  habits  of  thought,  was  emi- 
nently delighted  with  those  flights  of  imagina- 
tion which  pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  to 
which  the  mind  is  reconciled  only  by  a  passive 
acquiescence  in  popular  traditions. "  He  loved 
fairies,  genii,  giants,  and  monsters;  he  de- 
lighted to  rove  through  the  meanders  of  en- 
chantment, to  gaze  on  the  magnificence  of 
golden  palaces,  to  repose  by  the  waterfalls  of 
Elysian  gardens." 


NOTE  B. 

The  Baron  of  Triermain.—P.  323. 

Triermain  was  a  fief  of  the  Barony  of  Gils- 
land,  in  Cumberland ;  it  was  possessed  by  a 


Saxon  family  at  the  time  of  the  Conquest, 
but,  "after  the  death  of  Gilmore,  Lord  of 
Tryermaine  and  Torcrossock,  Hubert  Vaux 
gave  Tryermaine  and  Torcrossock  to  his 
second  son.  Kanulph  Vaux;  which  Ranulph 
afterwards  became  heir  to  his  elder  brother 
Robert,  the  founder  of  Lanercust,  who  died 
without  issue.  Ranulph,  being  Lord  of  all 
Gilsland,  gave  Gilmore's  lands  to  his  younger 
son,  named  Koland,  and  let  the  Barony  de- 
scend to  his  eldest  son  Robert,  son  of  Ra- 
nulph. Roland  had  issue  Alexander,  and  he 
Ranulph.  after  whom  succeeded  Robert,  and 
they  were  named  Rolands  successively,  that 
were  lords  thereof,  until  the  reign  of  Edward 
the  Fourth.  That  house  gave  for  arms, 
Vert,  a  hend  dexter,  chequy,  or  and  gules." — 
Burn's  Antiquities  of  Westmoreland  and  Cum- 
berland, vol.  ii.  p.  482. 

This  branch  of  Vaux,  with  its  collateral 
alliances,  is  now  represented  by  the  family  of 
i  Braddyl  of  Conishead  Priory,  in  the  county 
palatine  of  Lancaster;  for  it  appears  that 
about  the  time  above  mentioned,  the  house 


342 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


of  Triermain  was  united  to  its  kindred  family 
Yaux  of  Caterlen.  anil,  by  marriage  with  the 
heiress  of  Delamore  and  Leyboiirne,  became 
the  representative  (if  those  auciunt  and  noble 
families.  The  male  line  failing  in  John  de 
Vaux.  about  the  year  1665,  his  daughter  and 
heiress.  Mabel,  married  Christopher  Rich- 
mond. Esq.,  of  Highhead  Castle,  in  the  county 
of  Cumberland,  descended  from  an  ancient 
family  of  that  name,  Lords  of  Corby  Castle, 
in  the  same  county,  soon  after  the  Conquest, 
and  which  they  alienated  about  the  15;h  of 
Edward  the  Second,  to  Andrea  de  Harcla, 
Earl  of  Carlisle.  Of  this  family  was  Sir 
Thomas  de  Kaisenumt,  (miles  auratus.)  in  the 
reign  of  Kins  Edward  the  First,  who  appears 
to  have  greatly  distinguished  himself  at  the 
siege  of  Kaerlaveroc,  with  William,  Baron  of 
Leybonrne.  In  an  ancient  heraldic  poem, 
now  extant,  and  preserved  in  the  British 
Museum,  describing  that  siege,'  his  arms  are 
stated  to  be,  Or,  2  Bars  Gemelles  Gules,  and  a 
Chief  Or,  the  same  borne  by  his  descendants 
at  the  present  day.  The  Rirhmonds  removed 
to  their  Castle  of  Highhead  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  Eighth,  whqn  the  thep  representa- 
tive of  the  family  married  Margaret,  daughter 
of  Sir  Hugh  Lowther.  by  the  Lady  Dorothy  de 
Clifford,  only  child  by  a  second  marriage  of 
Henry  Lord  Clifford,  great  grandson  of  John 
Lord  Clifford,  by  Elizabeth  Percy,  daughter  of 
Henry  (surnamed  Hotspur)  by  Elizabeth  Mor- 
timer, which  said  Elizabeth  was  daughter  of 
Edward  Mortimer,  third  Earl  of  Muiche.  br 
Philippa,  sole  daughler  and  heiress  of  Lionel, 
Duke  of  Clarence. 

The  third  in  descent  from  the  above-men- 
tioned John  Richmond,  became  the  represen- 
tative of  (be  families  of  Vaux,  of  Triermain, 
Caterlen,  and  Torcrossock.  by  Ins  marriage 
with  Mabel  de  Vaux.  the  heiress  of  them. 
His  grandson,  Henry  Richmond,  died  without 
issue,  leaving  five  sisters  co  heiresses,  four  of 
whom  married;  but  Margaret,  who  married 
William  Gale,  Esq.,  of  Whitehaven,  was  the 
only  one  who  had  male  issue  surviving.  She 
had  a  son.  and  a  daughter  married  to  Henry 
Curwen  of  Workinglou.  Esq.,  who  represented 
the  county  of  Cumberland  for  many  years  in 
Parliament,  and  by  her  had  a  daughter,  mar- 
ried to  John  Christian,  Esq.  (now  Curwen.) 
John,  son  and  heir  of  William  Gale,  married 
Sarah,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Christopher 
Wilson  of  B.irdseu  Hall,  in  the  county  of  Lan- 
caster, by  Margaret,  aunt  and  co-heiress  of 
Thomas  Braddyl,  Esq.,  of  Braddyl,  and  Coms- 
hi-ad  Priory,  m  the  same  county,  and  had 
issue  four  sons  and  two  daughters.  1st,  Wil- 
liam Wilson,  died  an  infant ;  2d.  Wilson,  who 
upon  the  death  of  his  cousin,  Thomas  Brad- 
dyl. without  issue,  succefded  to  his  estates, 
and  took  the  name  of  Braddyl.  in  pursuance 
of  his  will,  by  the  King's  sign-manual;  3d, 
William,  died  young;  and,  4th,  Henry  Rich- 
mond, a  lieutenajit-general  of  the  army,  mar- 
ried Sarah,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  R.  Baldwin; 
Margaret  married  Richard  Greaves  Townley, 
Esq..  of  Fulborne.  in  the  county  of  Cambridge, 
and  of  Bellfield,  in  the  county  of  Lancaster; 
Sarah  married  to  George  Bigland  of  Bigland 
Hall,  in  tlie  same  county.  Wilson  Braddyl, 
eldest  son  of  John  Gale,  and  grandson  of  Mar- 


ntly  edited  by  Sir  Xichola* 


garet  Richmond,  married  Jane,  daughter  and 
heiress  of  Matthias  Gale.  Esq.,  of  Catgill  Hall, 
in  the  county  of  Cumberland,  by  Jane,  daugh- 
ter and  heiress  of  the  Rev.  S.  Bennet,  D.D. ; 
and,  as  the  eldest  surviving  male  branch  of 
the  families  above-mentioned,  he  quarters,  in 
addition  to  his  own.  their  paternal  coats  in  the 
following  order,  as  appears  by  the  records  in 
College  of  Arms.  1st,  Argent,  a  fess  azure, 
between  3  saltiers  of  the  same,  charged  with 
an  anchor  between  2  lions'  heads  erased,  or, — 
Gale.  2d,  Or,  2  bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a 
chief  or, — Richmond  3d,  Or.  a  fess  chequey, 
or  and  gules  between  9  gerbes  gules. —  Vaux 
of  Caterlen.  4th.  Gules,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and 
gules  between  6  gerbes  or. — Vaux  of  Tor- 
crossock. 5th,  Argent,  (not  vert,  as  stated  by 
Burn,)  a  bend  chequey.  or  and  gules,  lor  Vaux 
of  Triermain.  6'h,  Gules,  a  cross  patonce. 
or, — Delamore.  7th,  Gules.  6  lions  rampant 
argent,  3,  2,  and  1, — Leybourne. — This  more 
detailed  genealogy  of  the  family  of  Triermain 
was  obligingly  sent  to  the  author  by  Major 
Braddyl  of  Comshead  Priory. 


NOTE  C. 

He  pass'd  red  Penritk's  Table  Round.— -P.  324. 
A  circular  intrenchment,  about  half  a  mile 
from  Penrith,  is  thus  popularly  termed.  The 
circle  within  the  ditch  is  about  one  hundred 
and  sixty  paces  in  circumference,  with  open- 
ings, or  approaches,  directly  opposite  to  each 
other.  As  the  ditch  is  on  the  inner  side,  it 
could  not  be  intended  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
fence, and  it  has  reasonably  been  conjectured, 
that  the  enclosure  was  designed  for  Hie  so- 
lemn exercise  of  feats  of  chivalry,  and  the 
embankment,  around  for  the  convenience  of 
the  spectators. 


NOTE  D. 

Mayburgh's  mound.— P.  324. 
Higher  up  the  river  Eamont  than  Arthur's 
Round  Table,  is  a  prodigious  enclosure  of 
great  antiquity,  formed  by  a  collection  of 
stones  upon  the  top  of  a  gently  sloping  hill, 
called  Mayburgh.  In  the  plain  which  it  en- 
closes there  stands  erect  an  unhewn  stone  of 
twelve  feet  in  height.  Two  similar  masses 
are  said  to  have  been  destroyed  during  the 
memory  of  man.  The  whole  appears  to  be  a 
monument  of  Druidical  times. 


NOTE  E. 

The  Monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  cmild  he  spy. 
Darkening  against  Iht  morning  sky. — P.  328. 

"  We  now  gained  a  view  of  the  Vale  of 

St.  John's,  a  very  narrow  dell,  hemmed  in  by 
mountains,  through  which  a  small  brook 
makes  many  nieandenngs,  washing  little  en- 
closures of  grass-ground,  which  stretch  up 
the  rising  of  the  hills.  In  the  widest  part  of 
the  dale  you  ate  struck  with  the  appearance 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  BRIDAL  OF  TKIERMA1N.         343 


of  an  ancient  ruined  castle,  which  seems  to 
.,tand  upon  the  summit  of  a  little  mount,  the 
mountains  around  forming  an  amphitheatre. 
Tliis  massive  bulwark  shows  a  front  of  va- 
rious towers,  and  makes  an  awfiil,  rude,  and 
Gothic  appearance,  with  its  lofty  turrets  and 
rasged  battlements ;  we  traced  the  galleries, 
the  bending  arches,  the  buttresses.  The 
greatest  antiquity  stands  characterised  in  its 
irchitecture ;  the  inhabitants  near  it  assert  it 
s  an  antediluvian  structure. 

"The  traveller's  curiosity  is  roused,  and  he 
prepares  to  make  a  nearer  approach,  when 
that  curiosity  is  put  upon  the  rack,  hy  his  be- 
ing assured,  that,  if  he  advances,  certain  genii 
who  govern  the  place,  by  virtue  of  their  su- 
pernatural art  and  necromancy,  will  strip  it 
of  all  its  beauties,  and  by  enchantment,  trans- 
form the  magic  walls.  The  vale  seems  adapted 
for  the  habitation  of  sucli  beings;  its  gloomy 
recesses  and  retirements  look  like  haunts  of 
evil  spirits.  There  was  no  delusion  in  the 
report ;  we  were  soon  convinced  of  its  truth  : 
for  this  piece  of  antiquity,  so  venerable  and 
noble  in  its  aspect,  as  we  drew  near,  changed 
its  figure,  and  proved  no  other  than  a  shaken 
massive  pile  of  rocks,  which  stand  in  the 
midst  of  this  little  vale,  disunited  from  the 
adjoining  mountains,  and  have  so  much  the 
real  form  and  resemblance  of  a  casile,  that 
they  bear  the  name  of  the  Castle  Rocks  of 
St.  John."  —  Hutclimson's  Excursion  to  the 
Lakes,  p.  121. 


NOTE  F. 

The  flower  of  Chivalry. 
There  Galaad  sate  with  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face ; 
There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace. 

And  love-lorn  Trislrem  there.— P.  339. 

The  characters  named  in  the  stanza  are  all 
of  them  more  or  less  distinguished  in  the 
romances  which  treat  of  King  Arthur  and  his 
Round  Table,  and  their  names  are  striiiu- 
together  according  to  the  established  cus- 
tom of  minstrels  upon  such  occasions;  for 
example,  in  the  ballad  of  the  Marriage  of  Sir 
Gawaine  :— 

"  Sir  Lancelot,  Sir  Stephen  bolde, 
They  rode  with  them  that  daye, 

And,  foremost  of  the  companye. 
There  rode  the  stewarde  Kaye. 


'•  Sue  did  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 
And  eke  Sir  Garratte  keen, 

Sir  Tristrem  too,  that  gentle  knight, 
To  the  forest  fresh  and  greene." 


NOTE  G. 

Lancelot,  that  ever  more 

Look'd  stolen-wise  on  the  Queen. — P.  329. 
Upon  this  delicate  subject  hear  Richard 
Robinson,  citizen  of  London,  in  his  Assertion 
of  King  Arthur :  — '•  But  as  it  is  a  thing  suffi- 
ciently apparent  that  siie  (Guenever,  wife  of 
King  Arthur.)  was  beautiful,  so  it  is  a  thing 
doubted  whether  she  was  chaste,  yea  or  no. 
Truly,  so  far  as  I  can  with  honestie.  I  would 
spare  the  impayred  honour  and  fame  of  noble 
women.  But  yet  the  truth  of  the  historie 
pluckes  me  by  the  eare,  and  willeth  not  onely, 
but  commandeth  me  to  declare  what  the  an- 
cients have  deemed  of  her.  To  wrestle  or 
contend  with  so  great  authoritie  were  indeede 
unto  me)  a  controversie,  and  that  greate." — 
Assertion  of  King  Arthure.  Imprinted  by  Mm 
Wolfe,  London,  1382. 


NOTE  H. 

TJiere  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbour's  wives, 
And  one  who  loved  his  own. — P.  330. 

"In  our  forefather's  tyme,  when  Papistrie, 
as  a  standyng  poole.  covered  and  overflowed 
all  England,  fewe  books  were  read  in  our 
tongue,  sayying  certaine  bookes  of  chevalrie, 
as  they  said,  for  pastime  and  pleasure  ;  which, 
as  some  say,  were  made  in  the  monasteries, 
by  idle  monks  or  wanton  chanons.  As  one, 
for  example.  La  Morte  d' Arthure;  the  whole 
pleasure  of  which  book  standeth  in  two  spe- 
cial! poynts,  in  open  manslaughter  and  bold 
bawdrye ;  in  which  booke  they  be  counted  the 
noblest  knightes  that  do  kill  most  men  with- 
out anyquarrell.and  commit  fowlest  adoulle- 
ries  hy  sutlest  shiftes ;  as  Sir  Launcelot,  with 
the  wife  of  King  Arthur,  his  master;  Sir 
Tristram,  with  the  wife  of  King  Marke,  his 
uncle  ;  Sir  Lamerocke.  with  the  wife  of  King 
Lote,  that  was  his  own  aunt.  This  is  good 
stuffe  for  wise  men  to  laugh  at ;  or  honest 
men  to  take  pleasure  at :  yet  1  know  when 
God's  Bible  was  banished  the  Court,  and  La 
Morte  d'Arthure  received  into  the  Prince's 
chamber." — Ascham's  Schoolmaster. 


344  SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ICnrfr  nf  tju  3slrs: 

A  POEM,  IX  SIX  CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833.  j  mingle  themselves  with  oar  pleasures.    The 


The  composition  of  "The  Lord  of  the  'accomplished  and  excellent  person  who  had 
at,"  as  we  now  have  it  in  the  A utlior's  MS.,  recommended i  to  me  the  subject  for  1  he  Lay 
seems  to  have  been  begun  at  Ablxrtsford.  m  of  the  Last  Mmstre  .'  and  to  whom  I  pro- 
the  autumn  of  1814,  and  it  ended  at  Edm-  P°s<rd,  *"  ">s™be  what  I  already  suspected 
bursh  the  16th  of  December.  Some  part  of  "W^  be  tlle.  r;  "se  of  mv.  Poetical  labours, 
Canto  I.  had  probably  been  committed  to  »»? J""*?^' ™«°!««  f,r<™  ^..w,or'd'  ! 


Isles, 
see 


hicli   she   seemed  only  to  have  visited   for 


i>f  casual  visitors  also :   the  original  cottage  pajllfui  feelings  of 'one  who  has  a  task  which 
which  he  then  occupied  not  affording  him  any  ^iust  be  nlljs]ied,  rather  than  with  the  ardour  I 
means  of  retirement.     Neither  conversation  of  (me  wh(>  endeavours  to  perform  that  task  ' 
nor  music  seemed  to  disturb  him.  ;  well     Although  the  Poem  cannot  be  said  to  i 

ihave  made  a  favourable  impression  on  the  ! 

public,  the  sale  of  fifteen   thousand   copies 

iMTRrmrrrrrw  TO  rnrrmv  is-w         e»al)lei1  tlle  author  to  retreat  from  the  field  i 
ION  TO  EDI  I  IO>  1833.        ,  Wlt|j  the  |u,nOurs  of  war. 

I  could  hardly  have  chosen  a  subject  more  !  In  the  meantime,  what  was  necessanlv  to  ' 
popular  in  Scotland,  than  any  thin?  connected  be  considered  as  a  failure,  was  much  recon- 
wilh  the  Bruce 's  history,  unless  I  had  at-  ciled  to  my  feelings  by  the  success  attending 
tempted  that  of  Wallace.  But  I  am  decidedly  my  attempt  in  another  species  of  composition, 
of  opinion,  that  a  popular,  or  what  is  called  a  "  Waverley"  had.  under  strict  incognito,  taken  'I 
taking  title,  though  well  qualified  to  ensure  its  flight  from  the  press  just  before  I  set  out 
the  publishers  against  loss,  and  clear  their  upon  the  voyage  already  mentioned;  it  had 
shelves  of  the  original  impression,  is  rather  now  made  its  way  to  popularity,  and  the  snc- 
apt  to  be  hazardous  than  otherwise  to  the  re-  c*-ss  of  that  work  and  the  volumes  which 
putation  of  the  author.  He  who  attempts  a  followed,  was  sufficient  to  have  satisfied  a 
subject  nf  distinguished  popularity,  has  not  greater  appetite  for  applause  than  1  have  at 
the  privilege  of  awakening  the  enthusiasm  of  |anv  time  possessed. 3 

his  audience;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  already!  '  may  as  well  add  in  this  place. that,  being 
awakened,  and  glows,  it  may  be,  more  ar-iiiuch  urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now  un- 
dently  than  that  of  the  author  himself.  In  j  happily  no  more,  William  Erskine.  (a  Scottish 
this  case,  the  warmth  of  the  author  is  inferior  judge,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Kinedder,)  I  asreed 
to  that  of  the  party  whom  he  addresses,  who ;  to  write  the  little  romantic  tale  called  the 
has,  therefore,  little  chance  of  being,  in  Bayes's  j  ''Bridal  of  Triermam;"  but  it  was  on  the 
phrase,  " elevated  and  surprised"  by  what  he; condition,  that  he  should  make  no  serious 
has  thought  of  with  more  enthusiasm  than  the  (effort  to  disown  the  composition,  if  report 
writer.  The  sense  of  this  risk,  joined  to  the  I  should  lay  it  at  his  door.  As  he  was  more 


consciousness  of  striving  against  wind  and 
tide,  made  the  task  of  composing  the  pro- 
posed Poem  somewhat  heavy  and  hopeless ; 
but,  like  the  prize-fighter  in  "As You  Like  it," 
I  was  to  wrestle  for  my  reputation,  and  not 
neglect  any  advantage.  In  a  most  agreeable 
pleasure-voyage,  which  I  have  tried  to  com- 


than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as  I 
took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something 
which  might  resemble  (as  far  as  was  in  my 
power)  my  friend's  feeling  and  manner,  the 
train  easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions 
were  sold  A  third  being  called  for.  Lord 
Kinedder  became  unwilling  to  aid  any  longer 


memorate  in  the  Introduction  to  the  new  a  deception  which  was  going  farther  than  >ie 
edition  of  the  •' Hirate,'' I  visited,  in  social  and' expected  °*  desired,  and  the  real  author's 
friendly  company,  the  coasts  and  islands  of  name  was  given.  Upon  another  occasion,  I 
Scotland,  and  made  myself  acquainted  with  sei:t  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like 
the  localities  of  which  I  meant  to  treat.  But  schoolboy's  kites,  served  to  show  how  the 
this  voyage,  which  was  in  every  other  effect  wind  of  popular  taste  was  setting.  1  'he  man- 
so  delightful,  was  in  its  conclusion  saddened  ner  was  supposed  to  be  that  of  a  rude  minsirel 
by  one  of  those  strokes  of  fate  which  so  often  or  Scald,  in  opposition  to  the  "  Bridal  of  Tner- 


1  Published  by  Archibald  Constable  and  Co  ,  11.  2«.  !  Tiiitinf  ihe  Giant'n  Causeway,  ani  immediately  returned 

S  Harriet,  Duchesiof  Bnccleuch,  died  24th  Augunt  1814.  '  home, 
lir  Walter  Scott  received  the  mournful  intelligence  white  '      3  The  Br«t  edit'OB  of  Waverley  appeared  in  July  1814 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES.                   345 

main."  which  was  desiened  to  belong  rather  :  resemblance  to  "Harold  the  Dauntless,"  that 

to  the  Italian  school.    This  new  fusilive  piece  ;  there  was  no  discovering  the  original  from  the 

was  called  "Harold  the  Dauntless;"1  and  1 

imitation  :  and  1  believe  that  many  who  took 

am  still  astonished  at  my  having  committed 

the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the  subject,  were 

the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name 

rather  of  opinion   that   my  ingenious  friend 

which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so  famous.     It 

was  the   true,  and   not  the   fictitious  Simon 

encountered  rather  an  odd  fate.    My  ingenious 

Pure.    Since  this  period,  which  was  in  the 

friend.  Mr.  James  Hogs,  had  published',  about 

year  1817,  the  Author  has  not  been   an  in- 

the  same  time,  a  work   called   the  "  Poetic 

truder  on  the  public  by  any  poetical  work  of 

Mirror,"  containing  imitations  of  the  principal 

importance. 

living  poets.     There  was  in  it  a  very  good 

W.  S. 

imitation  of  my  own  style,  which  bore  such  a 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 

<EjjB  -tnrft  nf  tlj£  Sslts. 

ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  Scene  of  this  Poem  lies,  at  first,  in  the  Castle  of  Artnrnish.  on  the  coast  of  Argylf  shirr  ; 

and.  afterwards,  in  the  Islands  of  Ski/e  and  Arran,  and  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire.     Finally,  it  is 
laid  near  Stirling.     The  story  opens  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1307.  whtn  Bruce,  who  had  been 

driven  out  of  Scotland  by  the  English,  and  the  Barons  who  adhered   to  that  foreign  Merest, 

returned  from  the  Island  of  Rachin  on  the  coast  of  Ireland,  again  to  assert  his  claims  to  the  Scottish 

crown     Many  of  the  personages  and  incidents  introduced  are  of  historical  celebrity.      The 

authorities  used  are  chiefly  those  of  the  venerable  Lord  Iluiles,  as  we/I  entitkd  to  be  called  the 

restorer  of  Scottish  history,  ns  Bruce  the  restorer  of  Kcoltish  monarchy;   and  of  Archdeacon 

Harbour,  a  correct  edition  of  whose  Metrical  History  of  Robert  Bruce,12  will  soon,  1  trust,  appear, 

under  the  care  of  my  learned  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson. 

Abbotsford,  Wth  December,  1814. 

2Tj)c  Hoi-fc  of  tfje  Esles. 

Deem'st  thou  these  sadden'd  scenes  have 
pleasure  still. 

Lovest  thou  through  Autumn's  fading  realms 

to  strav. 

CANTO   FIRST. 

To  see  the  heath-flower  wither'd  on  the  hill, 

To  listen  to  the  wood's  expiring  lay. 

Autumn  departs  —  but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Resis  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville. 

To  note  the  red  leaf  shivering  on  the  sprav, 
To  mark  the  last  bright  tints'  the  mountain 

Beneath  a  shroud   of  russet  dropp'd  with 
gold 

stain, 
On  the  waste  fields  to  trace  the  gleaner's 

Tweed  arid  his  tributaries  mingle  still  ! 
Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  sounds  the  rill. 
Yet  lingering  notes  of  silvan  music  swell. 

way. 
And  moralize  on  mortal  joy  and  pain  ?  — 
0  !  if  such  scenes  thou  lovest,  scorn  not  the 

The  deep-toned  cushat,  and  the   redbreast 

minstrel  strain. 

shrill  ; 

And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendour  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Eltrick's 

No  !  do  not  scorn,  although  its  hoarser  note 
Scarce  with  the  cushat's  homely  song  can 

western  fell. 

vie. 

Though  faint  its  beauties  as  the  tints  remote 

Autumn  departs  —  from  Gala's  fields  no  more 

That  gleam  through  mist  in  autumn's  even- 

Come  rural  sounds  our  kindred   banks  to 

ing  sky, 

cheer; 

And  few  as  leaves  that  tremble,  searand  dry, 

Blent  with  the  stream,  and  gale  that  wafts 

When  wild  November  hat  h  his  bugle  wound  ; 

it  o'er. 

Nor  mock  my  toil—  a  lonely  gleaner  I, 

No  more  tlie  distant  reaper's  mirth  we  hear, 

Through  fields  time-wasted,  on  sad  inquest 

The  la-t  blithe  shout  hath  died  upon  our  ear, 

bound. 

And  harvest-home  hath  hush'd  the  clanging 

Where  happier  bards  of  yore   have   richer 

wain, 

harvest  found. 

On  the  waste  hill  no  forms  of  life  appear. 

Save  where,  sad   laggard  of  the  autumna 

So  shall  thou  list,  and  haply  not  unmoved, 

tram. 

To  a  wild  tale  of  Albvn's  warrior  day  ; 

Some  aze-struck  wanderer  gleans  few  ears  of 

In  distant  lauds,  by  the  rough  West  reproved, 

scatter'd  gram. 

Still  live  some  relics  of  the  ancient  lay 

12mo.  volume,  January,  1C17 

of  "  The  Brace  and  Wallace."    2  vol..  4to. 

346 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


For.  when  on  Coolin's  hills  the  lights  decay,  , 


Tis  known  amid  the  pathless  wastes  of 

Reay, 

In  Harries  known,  and  in  lona's  piles. 
Where  rest  from  mortal  coil  the  Mighty  of  the 

Isles. 


I. 

"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn  !"  the  Minstrels  sung. 

Thy  rusfged  halls.  Artornish!  rung,1 

And  the  dark  seas,  thy  towers  that  lave, 

Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave, 

As  'mid  the  tuneful  choir  to  keep 

The  diapason  of  the  Deep. 

LulPd  were  the  winds  on  Inninmore, 

And  green  Loch-Allme's  woodland  shore. 

As  if  wild  woods  and  waves  had  pleasure 

In  listing  to  the  lovely  measure. 

And  ne'er  to  symphony  more  sweet 

Gave  mountain  echoes  answer  meet, 

Since,  met  from  mainland  and  from  isle, 

Ross,  Arran.  Hay,  and  Arsryle, 

Each  minstrel's  tributary  lay 

Paid  homage  to  the  festal  day. 

Dull  and  dishonour'd  were  the  bard, 

Worthless  of  guerdon  and  regard, 

Deaf  to  the  hope  of  minstrel  fame. 

Or  lady's  smiles,  his  noblest  aim, 

Who  on  that  morn's  resistless  call 

Were  sileut  in  Artornish  hall. 

II. 

"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn  !''  'twas  thus  they  sung 
And  yet  more  proud  the  descant  rung, 
"  Wake.  Maid  of  Lorn  !  high  right  is  ours. 
To  charm  dull  sleep  from  Beauty's  bowers ; 
Earth,  Ocean.  Air.  have  nought  so  shy 
But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 
In  Lettermore  the  timid  deer 
Will  pause,  the  harp's  wild  chime  to  hear; 
Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 
Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark ; a 
To  list  his  notes,  the  eagle  proud 
Will  poise  him  on  Ben-Caillach's  cloud; 
Then  let  not  Maiden's  ear  disdain 
The  summons  of  the  minstrel  train. 
But,  while  our  harps  wild  music  make, 
Edith  of  Lorn,  awake,  awake ! 

III. 

"O  wake,  while  Dawn,  with  dewy  shine. 
Wakes  Nature's  charms  to  vie  with  thine  ! 
She  bids  the  mottled  thrush  rejoice 
To  mate  thy  melody  of  voice ; 
The  dew  that  oil  the  violet  lies 
Mocks  the  dark  lustre  of  thine  eyes  ; 
But,  Edith,  wake,  and  all  we  see 
Of  sweet  and  fair  shall  yield  to  thee !" — 
"  She  comes  not  yet,"  grey  Ferrand  cried ; 
"  Brethren,  let  softer  spell  be  tried, 
Those  notes  prolong'd,  that  soothing  theme, 
Which  best  may  mix  with  Beauty's  dream, 
And  whisper,  with  their  silvery  tone, 
The  hope  she  loves,  yet  fears  to  own. " 
He  spoke,  and  on  the  harp-strings  died 
The  strains  of  flattery  and  of  pride ; 
More  soft,  more  low.  more  tender  fell 
The  lay  of  love  he  hade  them  tell. 

1  See  Appendix,  Hole  A. 


,  flv, 


when  I    ve  s 


. 
hall  clam,  a  plighted  »o 

«™« 


We'hid  thee  break  Hie  bonds  of  rest. 
And  wake  thee  at  the  call  of  Love ! 

Wake.  Edith,  wake!  in  yonder  bay 

Lies  many  a  galley  gaily  rnann'd, 
We  hear  the  merry  pibrochs  play, 

We  see  the  streamers'  silken  band. 
What  Chieftain's  praise  these  pibrochs  swell, 

What  crest  is  on  these  banners  wove, 
The  harp,  the  minstrel,  dare  not  tell — 

The  riddle  must  be  read  by  Love." 

V. 

Retired  her  maiden  train  among, 
Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  song, 
But  tamed  the  minstrel's  pride  had  been 
That  had  her  cold  demeanour  seen  ; 
For  not  upon  her  cheek  awoke 
The  glow  of  pride  when  Flattery  spoke. 
Nor  could  their  tenderest  numbers  bring 
One  sigh  responsive  to  the  string. 
As  vainly  had  her  maidens  vied 
In  skill  to  deck  the  princely  bride. 
Her  locks,  in  dark-brown  length  array'd, 
Cathleen  of  I'lne.  'twas  thine  to  braid ; 
Young  Eva  with  meet  reverence  drew 
On  the  light  foot  the  silken  shoe. 
While  on  the  ankle's  slender  round 
Those  strings  of  pearl  fair  Bertha  wound, 
That,  bleach'd  Ixmliryan's  depths  within, 
Seem'd  dusky  still  on  Edith's  skin. 
But  Einion.  of  experience  old. 
Had  weightiest  task — the  mantle's  fold 
In  many  an  artful  plait  she  tied. 
To  show  the  form  it  seem'd  to  hide. 
Till  on  the  floor  descending  roll'd 
Its  waves  of  crimson  blent  with  gold. 

VI. 

O !  lives  there  now  so  cold  a  maid. 
Who  thus  in  beauty's  pomp  array'd. 
In  beauty's  proudest  pitch  of  power. 
And  conquest  won — the  bridal  hour — 
With  every  charm  that  wins  the  heart, 
By  Nature  given,  enhanced  by  Art, 
Could  yet  the  fair  reflection  view. 
In  the  bright  mirror  pictured  true. 
And  not  one  dimple  on  her  cheek 
A  tell-tale  consciousness  bespeak  ? — 
Lives  still  such  maid  ? — Fair  damsels,  say, 
For  further  vouches  not  my  lay. 
Save  that  such  lived  in  Britain's  isle, 
When  Lorn's  bright  Edith  scorn'd  to  smile. 

VII. 

But  Morag.  to  whose  fostering  care 
Proud  Lorn  had  given  his  daughter  fair, 
Morag.  who  saw  a  mother's  aid 
By  all  a  daughter's  love  repaid, 
(Strict  was  that  bond— most  kind  of  all— 
Inviolate  in  Highland  hall)— 
Grey  Morag  sate  a  space  apart. 
In  Edith's  eyes  to  read  her  heart. 
In  vain  the  attendants'  fond  appeal 
To  Morag's  skill,  to  Morag's  zeal; 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES.                    347 

She  raark'd  her  child  receive  their  care, 

That,  bound  in  strong  affection's  chain, 

Cold  as  the  image  sculptured  fair, 

Looks  for  return  and  looks  in  vain  ? 

(Furm  of  some  sainted  patroness.) 

N'o  !  sum  thine  Edith's  wretched  lot 

Which  cluister'd  maiiis  combine  to  dress; 

lu  these  brief  words  —  He  loves  her  net  ! 

She  raark'd  —  and  knew  her  nursling's  heart 

In  the  vain  pomp  took  little  part. 

X. 

Wistful  a  while  she  gazed  —  then  press'd 
The  maiden  to  her  anxious  breast 
In  fiuish'd  loveliness—  and  led 
To  where  a  turret's  airy  head. 
Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 
O'erlook'd,  dark  Mull  !  thy  mighty  Sound,' 
Where  thwarting  tides,  with  mingled  roar. 
Part  thy  swarth  hills  from  Morveu's  shore. 

'•  Debate  it  not  —  too  long  I  strove 
To  call  his  cold  observance  love. 
All  blinded  by  the  league  that,  styled 
Edith  of  Lorn.—  while  yet  a  child. 
She  tripp'd  the  heath  by  Morag's  side,  — 
The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  destined  bride. 
Ere  yet  I  saw  him,  while  afar 
His  broadsword  blazed  in  Scotland's  war, 

Train'd  to  believe  our  fates  the  same, 

VIII. 

My  bosom  throbb'd  when  Roland's  name 

"  Daughter,"  she  said,  "  these  seas  behold, 

Came  gracing  Fame's  heroic  tale. 

Round  twice  a  hundred  islands  roll'd, 

Like  perfume  on  the  summer  gale. 

From  Hirt,  that  hears  their  northern  roar, 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore  ;  2 

What  pilgrim  sought  our  halls,  nor  told 
Of  Roland's  deeds  in  battle  bold  ; 

Or  mainland  turn,  where  many  a  tower 

Who  touch'd  the  harp  to  heroes'  praise, 

Owns  thy  bold  brother's  feudal  power, 

But  his  achievements  swell'd  the  lays? 

Each  on  i!s  own  dark  cape  reclined, 

Kven  Morag  —  not  a  tale  of  fame 

And  listening  to  its  own  wild  wind, 

Was  hers  but  closed  with  Ronald's  name. 

From  where  Mingarrv.  sternlv  placed. 

He  came  !  and  all  that  had  been  told 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  wnste.s 

Of  his  high  worth  seem'd  poor  and  cold, 

To  where  Dunstaffnage  hears  the  raging 
Of  Connal  with  his  rocks  engaging. 

Tame,  lifeless,  void  of  energy, 
Unjust  to  Ronald  and  to  me  ! 

Thmk'.-i  thou,  amid  this  ample  round, 

A  single  brow  but  thine  has  frown'd, 

XL 

To  sadden  this  auspicious  morn. 

"  Since  then,  what  thought  had  Edith's  heart 

That  bids  the  daughter  of  high  Lorn 

And  gave  not  plighted  love  its  part  !  — 

Impledsre  her  spousal  faith  to  wed 

And  what  requital?  cold  delay  — 

The  heir  of  mighty  SmiierledM 

Excuse  that  shunn'd  the  spousal  day.  — 

Ronald,  from  many  a  hero  sprung, 

It  dawns,  and  Ronald  is  not  here  !  — 

The  fair,  the  valiant,  and  the  young. 

Hums  he  Bentalla's  nimble  deer. 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  whose  lofty  name  5 

Or  loiters  lie  in  secret  dell 

A  thousand  bards  have  given  to  fame. 

To  hid  some  lighter  love  farewell, 

The  mate  of  monarch*,  and  allied 
On  equal  terms  with  England's  pride.  — 

And  swear,  that  though  he  may  not  scorn 
A  daughter  of  the  House  of  Lorn,  8 

From  chiefiain's  tower  to  bondsman's  cot, 

Yet,  when  these  formal  rites  are  o'er, 

Who  hears  the  tale,  and  triumphs  not? 
The  damsel  dons  her  best  attire, 

Again  they  meet,  to  part  no  more  J" 

The  shepherd  lights  his  beltane  fire. 

XII. 

Joy,  joy  !  each  warder's  horn  hath  sung, 
Joy.  joy!  each  matin  hell  hath  rung; 
The  holy  priest  says  grateful  mass. 
Loud  shouts  each  'hardy  galla-glass, 
No  mountain  den  holds  outcast  boor. 
Of  heart  so  dull,  of  soul  so  poor, 
But  he  hath  flung  his  task  aside. 
And  claim'd  this  morn  for  holy-tide; 
Yet,  empress  of  this  joyful  day. 
Edith  is  sad  while  all  a're  gay.''  — 

—"Hush,  daughter,  hush  !  thy  doubts  remove, 
More  nobly  think  of  Ronald's  love. 
Look,  where  beneath  the  castle  grey 
His  fleet  unmoor  from  Aros  bay  ! 
See'st  not  each  galley's  topmast  bend, 
As  on  the  yards  the  sails  ascend  ? 
Hiding  the  dark-blue  land,  thev  rise 
Like  the  white-clouds  on  April  skies; 
The  shouting  vassals  man  the  oars. 
Behind  them  sink  Mull's  mountain  shores, 

IX 

Onward  their  merry  course  they  keep, 

Proud  Edith's  soul  came  to  her  eye. 
Resentment  check'd  the  struggling  sigh. 
Her  hurrying  hand  indignant  dried 

Through  whistling  breeze  and  foaming  deep. 
And  mark  the  headmost,  seaward  cast, 
Stoop  to  the  freshening  gale  her  mast, 
As  if  she  veil'd  its  banner'd  pride, 

The  burning  tears  of  injured  pride  — 

To  greet  afar  her  prince's  bride  ! 

"  Moras,  forbear  !  or  lend  thy  praise 

Thy  Ronald  comes,  and  while  in  speed 

To  swell  yon  hireling  harpers'  lays; 

His  galley  mates  the  flying  steed, 

Make  to  yon  maids  thy  boast  of  power. 

He  chides  her  sloth  !"  —  Fair  Edith  sigh  U, 

That  they  may  waste  a  wondering  hoar, 

Blush'd,  sadly  smiled,  and  thus  replied  :  — 

Telling  of  banners  proudly  borne, 

Of  pealing  bell  and  bugle-horn, 

Alii. 

Or,  theme  runre  dear,  of  robes  of  price, 

"  Sweet  thought,  but  vain  !—  No,  Morag  !  mark, 

Crownlets  and  eauds  of  rare  device. 

Type  of  his  course,  yon  lonely  bark. 

But  thou,  experienced  as  thou  art, 

That  oft  hath  shifted  helm  and  sail, 

Think'st  thou  with  these  to  cheat  the  heart, 

To  win  its  way  against  the  gale. 

1  Sef  Appendix,  Note  C.                2  Ibid,  Note  D. 

5  Sec  Appendix,  Note  Q.             0  Ibid,  Note  H. 

8  See  Appendix.  Note  E.                4  Ibid,  Note  F. 

348 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Since  peep  of  morn,  my  variint  eyes 

H:>ve  view'd  hv  fits  thn  course  she  tries; 

Now.  though  the  darkening  send  comes  on, 

And  dawn's  fair  promises  be  gone. 

Ami  though  the  weary  crew  may  see 

Oui  sheltering  haven  on  their  lee, 

Stil   closer  to  the  rising  wind 

Thev  stnve  her  shivering  sail  to  bind, 

Stilt  nearer  to  the  shelves'  dread  verge 

At  every  tack  her  course  they  urge. 

As  if  they  fear'd  Arlornish  more 

Than  adverse  winds  and  breakers'  roar." 

XIV. 

Sooth  spoke  the  maid. — Amid  the  tide 

The  skiff  she  mark'd  lay  tossing  sore, 
And  shifted  oft  her  stooping  side. 
In  weary  tack  from  shore  to  shore. 
Yet  on  her  destined  course  no  more 

She  gain'd.  of  forward  way, 
Than  what  a  mins'rel  may  compare 
To  the  poor  meed  which  peasants  share, 

Who  toil  the  livelong  day  ; 
And  such  the  risk  her  pilot  braves, 

That  oft,  before  she  wore, 
Her  holtsprit  kiss'd  the  broken  waves, 
Where  in  white  foam  the  ocean  raves 

t'pon  the  shelving  shore. 
Yet,  to  their  destined  purpose  true, 
Undaunted  toil  her  hardy  crew. 

Nor  look'd  where  shel'ter  lay, 
Nor  for  Artornish  Castle  drew, 

Nor  steer'd  for  Aros  bay. 

XV. 

Thus  while  they  strove  with  wind  and  seas, 
Borne  onward  hv  the  willing  breeze, 

Lord  Ronald's  fleet  swept  by, 
Streamer'd  with  silk,  and  trick'd  with  gold, 
Mann'd  with  the  noble  and  the  bold 

Of  Island  chivalry. 
Around  their  prows  the  ocean  roars, 
And  chafes  beneath  their  thousand  oars, 

Yet  bears  them  on  their  way  : 
So  chafes  the  war-horse  in  his  might, 
That  field  ward  hears  some  valiant  knight, 
Champs,  till  both  bit  and  boss  are  white, 

But,  foaming,  must  obey. 
On  each  gay  deck  they  might  behold 
Lances  of  steel  and  crests  of  gold, 
And  hauberks  with  their  burnish'd  fold, 

That  shimmer'd  fair  and  free : 
And  each  proud  galley,  as  she  pass'd, 
To  the  wild  cadence  of  the  blast 

Gave  wilder  minstrelsy. 
Full  many  a  shrill  triumphant  note 
Saline  and  Scalastle  bade  float 

Their  misty  shores  around ; 
And  Slorven's  echoes  answer'd  well, 
And  Duart  heard  the  distant  swell 

Come  down  the  darksome  Sound. 

XVI. 

So  bore  they  on  with  mirth  and  pride, 
And  if  that  labouring  hark  they  spied, 

'Twas  with  such  idle  eye 
As  nobles  cast  on  lowly  boor. 
When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 

They  pass  him  careless  bv. 
Let  them  sweep  on  with  heedless  eyes ! 
But,  had  they  known  what  mighty  prize 


In  that  frail  vessel  lay, 
The  famish'd  wolf,  that  prowls  the  wold. 
Had  scatheless  pass'd  the  unguarded  fold, 
Ere,  drifting  by  thpst-  galleys  hold, 

Unchallenged  were  her  way! 
And  thon.  Lord  Ronald,  sweep  thou  on 
With  mirth,  and  pride,  and  minstrel  tone  ! 
But  had'st  thou  known  who  sail'd  so  nigh, 
Far  other  glance  were  in  thine  eye ! 
Far  other  flush  were  on  thy  brow. 
That,  shaded  bv  the  bonnet,  now 
Assumes  hut  ill  the  blithesome  cheer 
Of  bridegroom  when  the  bride  is  near ! 

XVII. 

Yes,  sweep  they  on  !— We  will  not  leave, 
For  them  that  triumph,  those  who  grieve. 

With  that  armada  gay 
Be  laughter  loud  and  jocund  shout. 
And  bards  to  cheer  the  wassail  route, 

With  tale,  romance,  and  lay : 
And  of  wild  mirth  each  clamorous  art, 
Which,  if  it  cannot  cheer  the  heart, 
May  slupify  and  stun  its  smart, 

For  one  loud  busy  day. 
Yes.  sweep  they  on !— But  with  that  skiff 

Abides  the  minstrel  tale. 
Where  there  was  dread  of  surge  and  cliff, 
Labour  that  strain'd  each  sinew  stiff, 

And  one  sad  Maiden's  wail. 

xvm. 

All  day  with  fruitless  strife  they  toil'd, 
With  eve  the  ebbing  currents  boil'd 

More  fierce  from  strait  and  lake ; 
And  midway  through  the  channel  met 
Conflicting  tides  that,  foam  and  fret, 
And  high  their  mingled  billows  jet, 
As  spears,  that,  in  the  battle  set. 

Spring  upward  as  they  break. 
Then,  too,  the  lights  of  eve  were  past, 
And  louder  sung  the  western  blast 

On  rocks  of  Inninmore  ; 
Rent  was  the  sail,  and  strain'd  the  mast, 
And  many  a  leak  was  gaping  fast. 
And  the  pale  steersman  stood  aghast, 

And  gave  the  conflict  o'er. 

XIX. 

Twas  then  that  One,  whose  lofty  look 
Nor  labour  dnll'd  nor  terror  shook, 

Thus  to  the  Leader  spoke  : — 
"  Brother,  how  hopest  thou  to  abide 
The  fury  of  this  wilder'd  tide, 
Or  how  avoid  the  rock's  rude  side, 

Until  the  day  has  broke  ? 
Pidst  thou  not  mark  the  vessel  reel 
With  quivrrina  planks,  ami  groaning  keel, 

At  the  last  billow's  shock  ? 
Yet  how  of  better  counsel  tell. 
Though  here  thou  see'st  poor  Isabel 

Half  dead  with  want  and  fear; 
For  look  on  sea,  or  look  on  hind. 
On  yon  dark  sky— on  every  hand 

Despair  and  death  are  near. 
Tor  her  alone  1  grieve. — on  me 
Danger  sits  light,  by  land  and  sea. 

I  follow  where  thou  wilt; 
Either  to  hide  the  tenipest's  lour, 
Or  wend  to  yon  unfriendly  tower, 
Or  rush  amid  their  naval  power. 
With  war-cry  wake  their  wassail-hour, 

And  die  with  hand  on  hilt." — 


THE    LORD    OF    THE    ISLES.                   349 

And  deepen'd  shadow  made, 

XX. 

Far  lengthen'd  on  the  main  below. 

That  elder  Leader's  calm  reply 
In  steady  voice  was  siveii, 

Where,  dancing  in  reflected  glow, 
A  hundred  torches  play'd. 

"  In  man's  most  dark  extremity 
Oft  succour  dawns  from  Heaven. 
Edward,  trim  thou  the  shatter'd  sail, 

Spangling  the  wave  with  lights  as  vain 
As  pleasures  in  this  vale  of  pain, 
Tnat  dazzle  as  they  fade. 

The  helm  be  mine,  and  down  the  gale 

Let  our  free  course  be  driven  ; 

XXIV. 

So  shall  we  'scape  the  western  bay, 

Beneath  the  Castle's  sheltering  lee. 

The  hostile  fleet,  the  unequal  fray, 

They  staid  their  course  in  quiet  sea. 

So  safely  hold  our  vessel's  way 

Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  passage  there 

Beneath  the  Castle  wall  ; 

Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair. 

For  if  a  hope  of  safety  rest. 

So  straight,  so  high,  so  steep. 

'Tis  on  the  sacred  name  of  guest. 
Who  seeks  for  shelter,  stnrm-distress'd, 

With  peasant's  staff  one  valiant  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  have  inann'd. 

Within  a  chieftain's  hall 

'Gainst  hundreds  arm'd  with  spear  and  brand, 

If  not  —  it  best,  beseems  our  worth. 

And  plunged  them  in  the  deep  * 

Our  name,  our  risrht,  or  lofty  birth, 

His  bugle  then  the  helmsman  wound, 

By  noble  hands  to  fall.  " 

Loud  answer'd  every  echo  round, 

From  turret,  rock,  and  bay, 

XXI. 

The  postern's  hinges  crush  and  groan, 

The  helm,  to  his  strong  arm  consign'd, 
Gave  the  reef'd  sail  to  meet  the  wind, 
And  on  her  alter'd  way, 
Fierce  bounding,  forward  sprung  the  ship, 
Like  greyhound  starting  from  the  slip 

And  soon  the  warder's  cresset  shone 
On  those  rude  steps  of  slippery  stone, 
To  light  the  upward  way 
"  Thrice  welcome,  holy  Sire  !''  he  said  ; 
"  Full  long  the  spousal  tram  have  staid, 

To  seizH  his  flying  prey. 
Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 
The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow, 
Those  lightnings  of  the  wave;1 

And,  vex'd  at  thy  delay, 
Fear'd  lest,  amidst  these  wilderingseas. 
The  darksome  night  and  freshening  breeze 
Had  driven  thy  bark  astray."  — 

Wild  sparkles  crest  the  broken  tides; 

XXV. 

And.  flashing  round,  the  vessel's  sides 
With  elvish  lustre  lave, 
While,  far  behind,  their  livid  light 
To  the  dark  billows  of  the  night 
A  gloomy  splendour  gave. 
It  seems  as  if  old  Ocean  shakes 
From  his  dark  brow  the  lucid  flakes 

"  Warder,"  the  younger  stranger  said, 
"Thine  erring  guess  some  mirth  had  made 
In  mirthful  hour;  but  mgh's  like  these, 
When  the  rough  winds  wake  western  seas, 
Brook  not  of  glee.     We  crave  some  aid 
And  needful  shelter  for  this  maid 
Until  the  break  of  day; 

In  envious  pageantry, 
To  maich  the  meteor-light  that  streaks 
Grim  Hecla's  midnight  sky. 

For,  to  ourselves,  the  deck's  rude  plank 
Is  easy  as  the  mossy  bank 
That's  breath'd  upon  by  May. 

XXII. 

And  for  our  storm-toss'u  skiff  we  seek 

Short  shelter  in  this  leeward  creek, 

Nor  lack'd  they  steadier  light  to  keep 

Prompt  when  the  dawn  the  east  shall  streak 

Their  course  upon  Hie  darken'd  deep  ;  — 

Again  to  bear  away."  — 

Artonnsh,  en  her  frowning  steep 

Answer'd  the  Warder,—  "In  what  name 

'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung. 

Assert  ye  hospitable  claim  ? 

Glanced  with  a  thousand  lights  of  glee, 

Whence  come,  or  whither  hound  ? 

And  landward  far,  and  far  to  sea, 

Hath  Erin  seen  your  parting  sails? 

Her  festal  radiance  flung 

Or  come  ye  on  Norwegian  gales  ? 

By  that  blithe  beacon-light  they  steer'd, 

And  seek  ye  England's  fertile  vales, 

Whose  lustre  mingled  well 

Or  Scotland's  mountain  ground  ?"  — 

With  the  pale  beam  that  now  appear'd, 

As  the  cold  moon  her  head  uprear'd 

XXVI. 

Above  the  eastern  fell. 

"  Warriors  —  for  other  title  none 

For  some  brief  space  we  list  to  own, 

XXIII. 

Bound  by  a  vow  —  warriors  are  we  ; 

Thus  guided,  on  their  course  they  bore. 

In  strife  by  land,  and  storm  by  sea, 

Until  they  near'd  the  mainland  shore, 

We  have  been  known  to  fame: 

When  frequent  on  the  hollow  blast 

And  these  brief  words  have  import  dear, 

Wild  shouts  of  merriment  were  cast, 

When  sounded  in  a  noble  ear. 

And  wind  and  wave  and  sea-birds'  cry 

To  harbour  safe,  and  friendly  cheer, 

With  wassail  sounds  in  concert  vie, 

That  gives  us  rightful  claim. 

Like  funeral  shrieks  with  revelry, 

Grant  us  the  trivial  boon  we  seek. 

Or  like  the  battle-shout 

And  we  in  other  realms  will  speak 

I  By  peasants  heard  from  cliffs  on  high, 

Fair  of  your  courtesy  ; 

When  Triumph,  Kage.  and  Agony, 

Deny  —  and  he  your  niggard  Hold 

Madden  the  fight  and  route. 

Scorn'd  by  the  nolile  and  the  bold. 

Now  nearer  yet.  through  mist  and  storm 

Shunn'd  by  the  pilgrim  on  the  wold. 

Dirnly  arose  the  Castle's  form. 

And  wanderer  on  the  lea!"  — 

1  See  Appendix,  Hole  I. 

S  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

350                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

His  brother,  as  the  clansman  bent 

XXVII. 

His  sullen  brow  in  discontent. 

"Bold  stranger,  no  —  'gainst  claim  like  thine, 

Made  brief  and  stern  excuse  ;  — 

No  bolt  revolves  by  hand  of  mine. 

"Vassal,  were  thine  the  cloak  of  pall 

Though  urged  in  tone  that  more  express'd 
A  monarch  than  a  suppliant  guest. 
Be  what  ye  will,  Artornish  Hall 

That  decks  thy  Lord  in  bridal  hall, 
"Twere  honour'd  by  her  use." 

On  this  glad  eve  is  free  to  all. 

XXXI. 

Though  ye  had  drawn  a  hostile  sword 
Gainst  our  ally,  great  England's  Lord, 
Or  mail  upon  your  shoulders  borne, 
To  battle  with  the  Lord  of  Lorn. 
Or.  outlaw'd.  dwelt  by  greenwood  tree 
With  the  fierce  Knight  of  Ellerslie.i 
Or  aided  even  the  murderous  strife, 
When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 
Of  that  fell  homicide  The  Bruce." 
This  night  had  been  a  term  of  truce.  — 

Proud  was  his  tone,  but  calm  ;  his  eye 
Had  that  compelling  dignity. 
His  mien  that  bearing  naught  and  high, 
Which  common  spirits  fear! 
Needed  nor  word  nor  signal  more, 
Nod,  wink,  and  laughter,  all  were  o'er; 
Upon  each  other  back  they  bore, 
And  gazed  like  startled  deer. 
But  now  appear'd  the  Seneschal, 
Commission'd  by  his  Lord  to  call 

Ho,  vassals  !  give  these  guests  your  care, 
And  show  the  narrow  postern  stair.  " 

The  strangers  to  the  Baron's  hall, 
W'here  feasted  fair  ::nd  free 

XXVIIL 
To  land  these  two  bold  brethren  leapt, 
(The  wear)1  crew  their  vessel  kept,) 
And,  lighted  by  the  torches'  flare. 

That  Island  Prince  in  nuptial  tide, 
With  Edith  there  his  lovely  bride, 
And  her  bold  brother  by  her  side, 
And  many  a  chief,  the  flower  and  pride 
Of  Western  land  and  sea. 

That  seaward  flung  their  smoky  glare, 

The  younger  knight  that  maiden  bare 
Half  lifeless  up  the  rork  ; 

Here  pause  we,  gentles,  for  a  space  ; 
And,  if  our  tale  hath  won  vour  grace, 

On  his  strong  shoulder  lean'd  her  head, 
And  down  her  long  dark  tresses  shed, 

Grant  us  brief  patience,  arid  again 
We  will  renew  the  minstrel  strain. 

As  the  wild  vine  in  tendrils  spread, 

Droops  from  the  mountain  oak. 

Him  follow'd  close  that  elder  Lord, 

*W~~w~wx~v~w~wxy- 

And  in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword. 

Such  as  few  arms  could  wield  ; 

Bat  when  he  bouri'd  him  to  such  task. 
Well  could  it  cleave  the  strongest  casque, 

Cjje  HortJ  of  tje  J-sIes. 

And  rend  the  surest  shield. 



XXIX. 

CANTO  SECOND. 

The  raised  portcullis'  arch  they  pass, 



The  wicket  with  its  bars  of  brass, 

I. 

The  entrance  long  and  low, 
Flank'd  at  each  turn  by  loop-holes  strait, 
Where  bowmen  might  in  ambush  wait. 

Fill  the  bright  goblet,  spread  the  festive  board! 
Summon  the  gay.  the  noble,  and  the  fair  ! 

(If  force  or  fraud  should  burst  the  gate,) 
To  gall  an  entering  foe. 
But  every  jealous  post  of  ward 
Was  now  defenceless  and  unbarr'd, 

Through  the  loud  hall  in  joyous  concert  pour'd. 
Let  mirth  and  music  sound  the  dirge  of  Care! 
But  ask  thou  not  if  Happiness  be  there. 
If  the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe, 

And  all  the  passage  free 

Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear  ; 

To  one  low-brow'd  and  vaulted  room. 
Where  squire  and  yeoman,  page  and  groom, 

Lift  not  the  festal  mask  !—  enough  to  know, 
No  scene  of  mortal  life  but  teems  with  mortal 

Plied  their  loud  revelry. 

woe. 
.    II. 

XXX. 

With  beakers'  clang,  with  harpers'  lay, 

And  "  Rest  ye  here,"  the  Warder  bade, 
"Till  to  our  Lord  your  suit  is  said.  — 

With  all  that  olden  time  deem'd  gay, 
The  Island  Chieftain  feasted  high  ; 

And,  comrades,  gaze  not  on  the  maid, 

But  there  was  in  his  troubled  eye 

Anil  on  these  men  who  ask  our  aid, 
As  if  ye  ne'er  had  seen 

A  gloomy  fire,  and  on  his  brow 
Now  sudden  flush'd,  and  faded  now, 

A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark. 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark, 
And  bearing  martial  mien." 

Emotions  such  as  draw  their  birth 
From  deeper  source  than  festal  mirth. 
By  fits  he  paused,  and  harper's  strain 

But  not  for  Eachin's  reproof 

And  jester  s  tale  went  round  in  vain, 

Would  page  or  vassal  stand  aloof, 

Or  fell  but  on  his  idle  ear 

But  crowded  on  to  stare, 

Like  distant  sounds  which  dreamers  hear. 

As  men  of  courfesv  untaught. 

Then  would  he  rouse  him,  and  employ 

Till  fiery  Edward  roughly  caught. 
From  one  the  foremost  there, 

Each  art  to  aid  the  clamorous  joy, 
And  call  for  pledge  and  lay. 

His  chequer'd  plaid,  and  in  its  shroud, 
To  hide  her  from  the  vulgar  crowd, 

And,  for  brief  space,  of  all  the  crowd, 
As  he  was  loudest  of  the  loud, 

Involved  his  sister  fair. 

Seem  gayest  of  the  gay. 

I  Sir  William  Wallace. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES.                    351 

in. 

With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand. 

Yet  nought  amiss  the  bridal  throng 

The  Seneschal  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests  ;  and  well  he  knew 

Mark'd  in  brief  mirth,  or  musing  long: 

How  to  assign  their  rank  its  due  ;  3 

The  vacant  brow,  tlie  unlistening  ear. 

For  though  the  costly  furs 

They  gave  to  thoughts  of  raptures  near, 
And  his  n'erce  starts  of  sudden  glee 
Seem'd  bursts  of  bridegroom's  ecstasy. 
Nor  thus  alone  misjudged  the  crowd, 
Since  loftv  Lorn,  suspicions,  proud, 

That  erst  had  deck'd  their  caps  were  torn, 
And  their  gay  robes  were  over-worn, 
And  soi  I'd  their  gilded  spurs, 
yet  such  a  hish  commanding  grace 
Was  in  their  mien  and  in  their  face, 

And  jealous  of  his  honour'd  line, 
And  that  keen  knight,  I)e  Argentine, 

As  suited  best  the  princely  dais,* 
And  royal  canopy  ; 

(From  England  sent  on  errand  high, 
The  western  league  more  firm  to  tie,)  1 
Boih  deem'd  in  Ronald's  mood  to  find 

And  there  he  marshall'd  them  their  place, 
First  of  that  company. 

A  lover's  transport-troubled  mind. 

VII. 

But  one  sad  heart,  one  tearful  eye. 

Pierced  deeper  through  the  mystery, 
And  watcli'd,  with  agony  and  fear. 

Then  lords  and  Indies  spake  aside, 
And  angry  looks  the  error  chide. 

Her  wayward  bridegroom's  varied  cheer. 

That  gave  to  guests  unnamed,  unknown, 

A  place  so  near  their  prince's  throne  ; 

IV. 

But  Owen  Erraught  said, 

She  watch'd  —  yet  fear'd  to  meet  his  glance. 
And  he  shunn'd  hers:  —  till  when  by  chance 
They  met,  the  point  of  foeman's  lance 
Had  given  a  milder  pang! 
Beneath  the  intolerable  smart 
He  writhed—  then  sternly  maun'd  his  heart 
To  play  his  hard  but  destined  part, 
And  from  the  table  sprang 
"Fill  me  the  mighty  cup!"  he  said, 
"  Erst  own'd  by  royal  Somerled  :  a 

"  For  forty  years  a  seneschal, 
To  marshal  guests  in  bower  and  hall 
Has  been  my  honour'd  trade. 
Worship  and  birth  to  me  are  known, 
By  look,  by  bearing,  and  by  tone, 
Not  by  furr'd  robe  or  broider'd  zone; 
And  'gainst  an  oaken  bough 
I'll  gage  my  silver  wand  of  state, 
That  these  three  strangers  oft  have  sate 
In  higher  place  than  now."  — 

Fill  it,  till  on  the  studded  brim 

In  burning  gold  the  bubbles  swim, 

VIII. 

And  every  gem  of  varied  shine 
Glow  doubly  bright  in  rosy  wine  ! 
To  you,  brave  lord,  and  brother  mine, 
Of  Lorn,  this  pledge  I  drink— 
The  union  of  Our  House  with  thine, 
By  this  fair  bridal-  link  !"— 

"  I,  too,"  the  aged  Ferrand  said, 
"Am  qualified  by  minstrel  trade 
Of  rank  and  place  to  tell  ;— 
Mark'd  ye  the  younger  stranger's  eye. 
My  males,  how  quick,  how  keen,  how  high, 
How  fierce  its  flashes  fell, 

y 

Glancing  among  the  noble  rout 

As  if  to  seek  the  noblest  out, 

"  Let  it  pass  round  !"  quoth  He  of  Lorn, 

Because  the  owner  might  not  brook 

"  And  in  good  time  —  that  winded  horn 

On  any  save  his  peers  to  look  ? 

Must  of  the  Abbot  tell  ; 

And  vet  it  moves  me  more, 

The  laggard  monk  is  come  at  last." 

That  steady,  cairn,  majestic  brow, 

Lord  Ronald  heard  the  bugle-blast, 

With  which  the  elder  chief  even  now 

And  on  the  floor  at  random  cast, 

Scann'd  the  gay  presence  o'er, 

The  unt.asted  goblet  fell. 

Like  being  of  superior  kind, 

But  when  the  warder  m  liis  ear 

In  whose  high-toned  impartial  mind 

Tells  other  news,  his  blither  cheer 

Degrees  of  mortal  rank  and  state 

Returns  like  sun  of  May, 

Seem  objects  of  indifferent  weight. 

When  through  a  thunder-cloud  it  beams  I—- 

The lady  too  —  though  closely  tied 

Lord  of  two  hundred  isles,  he  seems 

The  mantle  veil  both  fane  and  eye, 

As  glad  of  brief  delay, 

Her  motions'  grace  it  could  not  hide, 

As  some  poor  criminal  might  feel, 

Nor  could  her  form's  fair  symmetry." 

When,  from  the  gibbet  or  the  wheel, 

Respited  for  a  day. 

IX. 

VI. 

Suspicious  doubt  and  lordly  scorn 

Lour'd  on  the  haughty  front  of  Lorn. 

"Brother  of  Lorn,"  with  hurried  voice 

From  underneath  his  brows  of  pride, 

He  said.  "  And  you,  fair  lords,  rejoice  ! 

The  stranger  guests  he  sternly  eyed. 

Here,  to  augment  our  glee. 

And  whisper'd  closely  what  the  ear 

Come  wandering  knights  from  travel  far. 

Of  Argentine  alone  might  hear; 

Well  proved,  they  say,  in  strife  of  war, 

Then  question'd,  high  and  brief, 

And  tempest  on  the  sea.  — 

If,  in  their  voyage,  aught  they  knew 

Ho!  give  them  at.  your  hoard  such  place 

Of  the  rebellions  ScoUish  crew, 

As  best  their  presences  may  grace. 

Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew. 

And  bid  them  welcome  free  !" 

With  Carrick's  outlaw'd  Chief's 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

4D«t»  —  Ihe  errat  hall  table  —  elevated  a  atep  or  two 

9  See  Appendix.  Note  M. 

above  the  rest  of  Ihe  room. 

3  See  Appendix.  Note  N. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

352                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

And  if,  their  winter's  exile  o'er, 

Fled  the  deer  from  wild  Teyndrum, 

They  harbour'd  still  by  Ulster's  shore, 

When  the  homicide,  o'ercome. 

Or  launch'd  their  gallevs  on  the  mam, 

Hardlv  'scaped,  with  scathe  and  scorn. 

To  vex  their  native  laud  again  i 

Left  the  pledge  with  conquering  Lorn  ! 

X 

XIII. 

That  younger  stranger,  fierce  and  high, 

flONO    CONCLTJD2D. 

At  once  confronts  the  Chieftain's  eye' 

"Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand,' 

With  look  of  equal  scorn;  — 
"  Of  rebels  have  we  nought  to  show  ; 
But  if  of  Royal  Bruce  thou'dst  know, 

Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand. 
Vain  Kirkpatrick's  bloody  dirk. 
Making  sure  of  murder's  work  ;* 

I  warn  thee  he  has  sworn, 

Barendown  fled  fast  away, 

Ere  thrice  three  days  shall  come  and  go, 
Hig  banner  Scottish  winds  shall  blow, 

Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Have.* 
When  this  brooch,  triumphant  borne, 

Despite  each  mean  or  mighty  foe. 
From  England's  every  hill  and  lx>w, 

Beam'd  upon  the  breast  of  Lorn. 

To  Allaster  of  Lorn." 

"Farthest  fled  its  former  Lord, 

Kindled  the  mountain  Chieftain's  ire, 

Left  his  men  to  brand  and  cord. 

But  Ronald  quench'd  the  rising  fire; 

Bloody  brand  of  Highland  steel. 

"  Brother,  it  better  suits  the  time 

English  gibbet,  axe.  and  wheel. 

To  chase  the  night  with  Ferrand's  rhyme. 

Let  him  fly  from  coast  to  coast. 

Than  wake,  'midst  mirth  and  wine,  the  jars 

Dogg'd  by  Comyn's  vengeful  ghost, 

That  flow  from  these  unhappy  wars."  — 

While  his  spoils,  in  triumph  worn. 

"  Content/'  said  Lorn  ;  and  spoke  apart 

Long  shall  grace  victorious  Lorn  1" 

With  Ferrand,  master  of  his  art. 

Then  whisper'd  Argentine,  — 

XIV. 

"The  lay  I  named  will  carry  smart 
To  these  bold  strangers'  haiighty  heart. 

As  glares  the  tiger  on  his  foes, 
Hemm'd  in  by  hunters,  spears,  and  bows. 

If  right  this  guess  of  mine." 
He  ceased,  and  it  was  silence  all. 
Until  the  minstrel  waked  the  hall. 

And,  ere  he  bounds  upon  the  ring. 
Selects  the  object  of  his  spring,  — 
Now  on  the  hard,  now  on  his  Lord, 

So  Edward  glared  and  grasp'd  Ins  sword—- 

XI. 

But  stern  his  brother  spoke,  —  ••  Be  still. 

What  !  art  thou  yet  so  wild  of  will, 

THE    BROOCH    OF    LORN.1 

After  high  deeds  and  sufferings  long. 

"Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold. 
That  clasps  the  Chieftain's  mantle-fold, 
Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device, 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price,2 
On  the  varied  tartans  beaming, 
As.  through  night's  pale  rainbow  gleaming, 
Fainter  now,  now  seen  afar, 
Fitful  shines  the  northern  star? 

To  chafe  thee  for  a  menial's  song?  — 
W'eil  hast  thou  framed,  Old  Man.  thy  strains, 
To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains  !  • 
Yet  something  might  thy  song  have  told 
Of  Lorn's  three  vassals,  true  and  bold, 
Who  rent  their  Lord  from  Bruce's  hold, 
As  underneath  his  knee  he  lay, 
And  died  to  save  him  in  the  fray. 
I've  heard  the  Bruce's  cloak  and  clasp 

'•Gem!  ne'er  wrought  on  Highland  mountain, 
Did  the  fairy  of  the  fountain, 
Or  the  mermaid  of  the  wave. 
Frame  thee  in  some  coral  cave  ? 
Did.  in  Iceland's  darksome  mine, 
Dwarfs  swart  hands  thy  metal  twine  ? 
Or.  mortal-moulded,  comest  thou  here. 
From  England's  love,  or  France's  fear  1 

Was  clench'd  within  their  dying  pr.isp, 
What  time  a  hundred  foemen  more 
Rush'd  in,  and  back  the  victor  hore, 
Long  after  Lorn  had  left  the  strife. 
Full  glad  to  'scape  with  limb  and  life  — 
Enough  of  this-And.  Minstrel,  hold, 
As  minstrel-hire,  this  chain  of  gold, 
For  future  lays  a  fair  excuse. 
To  speak  more  nobly  of  the  Bruce."  — 

XII. 

XV. 

SONG     CONTINUED. 

"Now,  by  Colnmba's  shrine,  I  swear. 
And  every  saint,  that's  buried  there. 

"No!—  thy  splendours  nothing  teJ 

Tis  he  himself!"  Lorn  sternly  cries, 

Foreign  art  or  faery  spell. 

"And  for  my  kinsman's  death  he  dies." 

Moulded  thou  for  monarch's  use, 

As  loudly  Ronald  calls,—"  Forbear! 

By  the  overweening  Bruce, 

Not  in  mv  sight  while  brand  1  wear. 

When  the  roval  robe  lie  tied 

O'ermatch'd  by  odds,  shall  warrior  fall. 

O'er  a  heart  "of  wrath  and  pride; 

Or  blood  of  stranger  stain  my  hall  ! 

Thence  in  triumph  wert  thou  torn, 

This  ancient  fortress  of  my  race 

By  the  victor  hand  of  Lorn  ! 

Shall  be  misfortune's  resting-place. 
Shelter  and  shield  of  the  distress'd. 

'•  When  the  gem  was  won  and  lost, 

No  slaughter-house  for  shiuwreck'd  gnest.  — 

Widely  was  the  war-cry  toss'd! 

"Talk  not  to  me,"  fierce  Lorn  replied. 

Rung  aloud  Bendourish  fell. 

"  Of  odds  or  match  !—  when  Coniyn  died, 

Answer'd  Douohart's  sounding  dell. 

Three  daggers  ciash'd  within  his  side! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  P.               2  Ibid.  Note  Q. 

6  See  Appeal.  Sole  T.               8  Ibid,  Note  D. 

S  bee  Appendix,  -Note  R.               4  ISid,  Note  S. 

THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


353 


Talk  not  to  me  of  sheltering  hnll. 
The  Church  of  God  saw  Comyu  fall ! 
On  God's  own  altar  stream'd  ins  blood. 
While  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsman  stood 
The  ruthless  murderer — e'en  as  now — 
With  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow  ! — 
Up,  ail  who  love  rue  !  blow  on  blow ! 
And  lay  the  outlaw'd  felons  low  1" 

XVI. 

Then  up  sprang  many  a  mainland  Lord, 
Oltedient  to  their  Chieftain's  word. 
Barcaldme's  arm  is  high  in  air. 
And  Kiiilocli-  Alline's  blade  is  bare. 
Black  Mnrthnk's  dirk  has  left  its  sheath. 
And  clcnc-h'd  is  Dermid's  hand  of  death. 
Their  mutter'd  threats  of  vengeance  swell 
Into  a  wild  and  warlike  yell ; 
Onward  they  press  with  weapons  high, 
The  affrighted  females  shriek  and  fly, 
And.  Scotland,  then  thy  brightest  ray 
Had  darken'd  ere  its  noon  of  day, — 
But  every  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 
That  from  the  Isles  of  Ocean  came. 
At  Ronald's  side  that  hour  withstood 
Fierce  Lorn's  relentless  thirst  for  blood. 

XVII. 

Brave  Torquil  from  Dunveaan  high, 
Lord  of  the  misty  hills  of  Skye, 
Mac-Niel.  wild  Bara's  ancient  thane, 
Duart,  of  hold  Clan-Gillian's  strain, 
Fergus,  of  Canna's  castled  bay, 
Mac-Duffith,  Lord  of  Colonsay, 
Soon  as  they  saw  the  broadswords  glance, 
With  ready  weapons  rose  at  once. 
More  prompt,  that,  many  an  ancient  feud, 
Full  oft  suppressed,  full  oft  renew'd. 
Glow'd  'twixt  the  chieftains  of  Argyle, 
And  many  a  lord  of  ocean's  isle. 
W'ild  was  the  scene — each  sword  was  bare, 
Back  stream'd  each  chieftain's  shaggy  hair, 
In  gloomy  opposition  set. 
Eyes,  hands,  and  hrandish'd  weapons  met; 
Blue  gleaming  o'er  the  social  board, 
Flash'd  to  the  torches  many  a  sword : 
And  soon  those  bridal  lights  may  shine 
On  purple  blood  for  rosy  wine. 

XVIII. 

While  thus  for  blows  and  death  prepared, 
Each  heart  was  up.  each  weapon  bared, 
Each  foot  advanced, — a  surly  pause 
Still  reverenced  hospitable  laws. 
All  menaced  violence,  but  alike 
Reluctant  each  the  first  to  strike, 
(For  aye  accursed  in  minstrel  line 
Is  he  who  brawls  'mid  song  and  wine.) 
And,  match'd  in  numbers  and  in  might. 
Doubtful  and  desperate  seem'd  the  fight. 
Thus  threat  and  murmur  died  away, 
Till  on  the  crowded  hall  there  lay 
Such  silence,  as  the  deadly  still. 
Ere  bursts  the  thunder  on  the  hill. 
With  blade  advanced,  each  Chieftain  bold 
Show'd  like  the  Sworder's  form  of  old, 
As  wanting  still  the  torch  of  life, 
To  wake  the  marble  into  strife. 

XIX. 

That  awful  pause  the  stranger  maid, 
And  Edith,  seized  to  pray  for  aid. 
As  to  De  Argentine  she  clung. 
Away  her  veil  the  stranger  flung, 

JO*"" 


And,  lovely  'mid  her  wild  despair, 
Fast  stream'd  her  eyes,  wide  flow'd  her  hair. 
"O  thou.  of  knighthood  once  the  flower, 
Sure  refuge  in  distressful  hour, 
Thou,  who  in  Judah  well  hast  fought 
For  our  dear  faith,  and  oft  hast  sought 
Renown  in  knightly  exercise. 
When  this  poor  hand  has  dealt  the  prize, 
Say.  can  thy  soul  of  honour  brook. 
On  the  unequal  strife  to  look, 
When,  bulcher'd  thus  in  peaceful  hall. 
Those  once  thy  friends,  my  brethren,  fall!" 
To  Argentine  she  turn'd  her  word. 
But  her  eye  sought  the  Island  Lord. 
A  flush  like  evening's  setting  flame 
Glow'd  on  his  cheek  ;  his  hardy  frame, 
As  with  a  brief  convulsion,  shook  : 
With  hurried  voice  and  eager  look, — 
"  Fear  not,"  he  said.  "  my  Isabel ! 
What  said  I— Edith !— all  is  well- 
Nay,  fear  not— I  will  well  provide 
The  safety  of  my  lovely  bride — 
.My  bride  7" — but  there  the  accents  clung 
In  tremor  to  his  faltering  tongue. 

XX. 

Now  rose  De  Argentine,  to  claim 

The  prisoners  in  his  sovereign's  name, 

To  England's  crown,  who.  vassals  sworn, 

'Gainst  their  liege  lord  had  weapon  borne — 

(Such  speech.  I  ween,  was  but  to  hide 

His  care  their  safety  to  provide  ; 

For  knight  more  true  in  thought  and  deed 

Than  Argentine  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed) — 

And  Ronald,  who  his  meaning  guess'd, 

Seem'd  half  to  sanction  the  request. 

This  purpose  fiery  Torquil  broke  : — 

"  Somewhat  we've  heard  of  England's  yoke," 

He  said.  "and.  in  our  islands,  Fame 

Halh  whisper'd  of  a  lawful  claim. 

That  calls  the  Bruce  fair  Scotland's  Lord, 

Though  dispossess'd  by  foreign  sword. 

This  craves  reflection — but  though  right 

And  just  the  charge  of  England's  Knight, 

Let  England's  crown  her  rebels  seize 

Where  she  has  power;— in  towers  like  these, 

'Midst  Scottish  Chieftains  summon'd  here 

To  bridal  mirth  and  bridal  cheer, 

Be  sure,  with  no  consent  of  mine, 

Shall  either  Lorn  or  Argentine 

With  chains  or  violence,  in  our  sight, 

Oppress  a  brave  and  banisb'd  Knight." 

XXI. 

Then  waked  the  wild  debate  again, 
With  brawling  threat  and  clamour  vain. 
Vassals  and  menials,  thronging  in, 
Lent  their  brute  rage  to  swell  the  din; 
When,  far  and  wide,  a  bugle-clang 
From  the  dark  ocean  upward  rang. 
"The  Abbot  comes  !"  they  cry  at  once, 
"The  holy  man.  whose  favoiir'd  glance 

Hath  sainted  visions  known; 
Angels  have  met  him  on  the  way, 
Beside  the  blessed  martyrs'  bay, 

And  by  Columha's  stone. 
His  monks  have  heard  their  hymnings  high 
Sound  from  the  summit  of  Dun-Y, 

To  cheer  his  penance  lone. 
When  at  each  cro*s,  on  girth  and  wold, 
(Their  number  thrice  a  hundred-fold.) 
His  prayer  he  made,  his  beads  he  told, 
With  Aves  many  a  one — 


X 


354                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

He  comes  our  fends  to  reconcile, 

A  sainted  man  from  sainted  isle  ; 

XXVI. 

We  will  his  holy  doom  abide, 

Then  Argentine,  in  England's  name, 

The  Abbot  shall  our  strife  decide." 

So  highly  urged  his  sovereign's  claim. 

He  waked  a  spark,  that,  long  suppress'd, 

XAll. 

Had  smoulder'd  in  Lord  Ronald's  breast; 

Scarcely  this  fair  accord  was  o'er, 

And  now,  as  from  the  flint  the  tire, 

When  through  the  wide  revolving  door 

Flash'd  forth  at  once  his  generous  ire. 

The  black-stoled  brethren  wind  ; 

"  Enough  of  noble  blood,"  he  said. 

Twelve  sandall'd  monks,  who  relics  bore, 

"By  English  Edward  had  been  shed, 

With  many  a  torch-bearer  before, 

Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 

And  many  a  cross  behind. 
Then  sunk  each  fierce  uplifted  hand, 

In  mock'ry  crown'd  with  wreaths  of  green," 
And  done  to  death  by  felon  hand. 

And  dagger  bright  and  flashing  brand 
Dropp'd  swiftly  at  the  sight  ; 

For  guarding  well  his  father's  land. 
Where's  Nigel  Bruce  ?  and  De  la  Have, 

They  vanish'd  from  the  Churchman's  eye, 

And  valiant  Seton  —  where  are  they  ? 

As  shooting  stars,  that  glance  and  die, 

Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free? 

Dart  from  the  vault  of  night. 

And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  ?  3 

XXJII 

Have  they  not  been  on  gibhet"  bound, 

The  Abbot  on  the  threshold  stood, 

Their  quarters  flung  to  hawk  and  hound, 

And  in  his  hand  the  holy  rood  ; 
Back  on  his  shoulders  flow'd  his  hood, 

To  yield  more  victims  to  their  fate  ? 
What  !  can  the  English  Leopard's  mood 

The  torch's  glaring  ray 

Never  be  gorged  with  northern  blood? 

Show'd,  in  its  red  and  flashing  light, 

Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed. 

His  witner'd  cheek  and  amice  white. 
His  blue  eye  glistening  cold  and  bright, 

To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sicken'd  bed  ?  * 
And  must  his  word,  till  dying  day, 

His  tresses  scant  and  grey. 
"  Fair  Lords,"  he  said.  "  Our  Lady's  love, 
And  peace  be  with  you  from  above, 

Be  nought  but  quarter,  hang,  anil  slay  !  —  * 
Thou  frown'st,  De  Argentine.  —  My  gage 
Is  prompt  to  prove  the  strife  I  wage."  — 

And  Benedicite  !  — 

—  But  what  means  this  ?  no  peace  is  here  !  — 

XXVII. 

Do  dirks  unsheathed  suit  bridal  cheer? 

Or  are  these  naked  brands 

"  Nor  deem,"  said  stout  Dunvegan's  knight, 

A  seemly  show  for  Churchman's  sight, 

"That  thou  shall  brave  alone  the  fight! 

When  he  comes  summon'd  to  unite 

By  saints  of  isle  and  mainland  both, 

Betrothed  hearts  and  hands  ?" 

By  Woden  wild,  (my  grandsire's  oath.) 

Let  Rome  and  England  do  their  worst, 

XXIV. 

Howe'er  attainted  or  accursed. 

Then,  cloaking  hate  with  fiery  zeal, 

If  Bruce  shall  e'er  find  friends  again, 

Proud  Lorn  first  answer'd  the  appeal  ;  — 

Once  more  to  brave  a  battle-plain, 

"  Thou  comest,  O  holy  Man, 

If  Douglas  couch  again  his  lance. 

True  sons  of  blessed  church  to  greet, 

Or  Randolph  dare  another  chance, 

But  little  deeming  here  to  meet 

Old  Torquil  will  not  be  to  lack 

A  wretch,  beneath  the  ban 

With  twice  a  thousand  at  his  back.  — 

Of  Pope  and  Church,  for  murder  done 

Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  hearing  hold, 

Even  on  the  sacred  altar-stone  !  — 

Good  Abbot  !  for  thou  know'st  of  old, 

Well  mayst  thou  wonder  we  should  know 

Torquil's  rude  thought  and  stubborn  will 

Such  miscreant  here,  nor  lay  him  low, 

Smack  of  the  wild  Norwegian  still  ; 

Or  dream  of  greeting,  peace,  or  truce, 

Nor  will  I  barter  Freedom's  cause 

With  excommunicated  Bruce  I 

For  England's  wealth,  or  Rome's  applause." 

Yet  well  I  grant,  to  end  debate. 

Thy  sainted  voice  decide  his  fate." 

XXVIII. 

XXV. 

The  Abbot  seem'd  with  eye  severe 

Then  Ronald  pled  the  stranger's  cause, 

The  hardv  Chieftain's  speech  to  hear; 

And  knighthood's  oath  and  honour's  laws  ; 

Then  on  king  Robert  turn'd  the  Monk, 

And  Isabel,  on  bended  knee, 

But  twice  his  courage  came  and  sunk, 

Brought  prayers  and  tears  to  back  the  plea  ; 
And  Edith  lent  her  generous  aid, 
And  wept,  and  Lorn  for  mercy  pray'd. 

Confronted  with  the  hero's  look  ; 
Twice  fell  his  eye,  his  accents  shook  ; 
At  length,  resolved  in  tone  and  brow. 

"  Hence."  he  exclaim'd,  "  degenerate  maid  ! 
Was't  not  enough  to  Ronald's  bower 

Sternly  he  question'd  him  —  "  And  thon, 
Unhappv  !  what  hast  thou  to  plead, 

I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour,' 
Or  bond-maid  at  her  master's  gate, 

Why  I  denounce  not  on  thy  deed 
That  awful  doom  which  canons  tell 

His  careless  cold  approach  to  wait  ?  — 

Shuts  paradise,  and  opens  hell; 

But  the  bold  Lord  of  Cumberland, 

Anathema  of  power  so  dread. 

The  gallant  Clifford,  seeks  thy  hand; 

It  blends  the  living  with  the  dead, 

His  it  shall  be  —  Nay.  no  reply  ! 

Bids  each  good  angel  soar  away, 

Hence  !  till  those  rebel  eyes  be  dry." 
With  grief  the  Abbot  heard  and  saw, 
Yet  nought  relax'd  his  brow  of  awe. 

And  every  ill  one  claim  his  prey  ; 
Expels  thee  from  the  church's  care, 
And  deafens  Heaven  against  thy  prayer; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  V.            2  Ibid,  Nole  W. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  Y.           6  Ibid,  Note  Z. 

3  See  Appendix,  Xoie  X. 

THE   LORD   0 

F   THE   ISLES.                   355 

Arms  every  hand  against  thy  life. 

De  Bruce,  thv  sacrilegious  blow 

Bans  all  who  aid  thee  in  the  strife. 

Huth  at  God's  altiir  slain  thy  foe: 

Nay,  each  whose  succour,  colil  and  scant, 

O'ermaster'd  vel  by  high  hehesl, 

With  nie.-mes:  alms  relieves  thy  wanl; 

1  bless  thee.  and  thou  shall,  he  bless'd  !" 

Haunts  thee  while  living.—  and.  when  dead, 

He  spoke,  and  o'er  the  astomsh'd  throng 

Dwells  on  thv  vet  devoted  head, 

Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 

Rends  Honour's  scutcheon  from  thy  hearse, 

Stills  o'er  thy  bier  tlie  holy  verse, 

XXXII. 

!  And  spurns  thy  corpse  from  hallow'd  ground, 
Flung  like  vile  carrion  to  the  hound  ; 

Again  that  light  has  fired  his  eve, 
Again  his  form  swells  bold  and  high, 

Such  is  the  dire  and  desperale  doom 

The  broken  voice  of  axe  is  zone. 

For  sacrilege,  decreed  by  Rome  ; 

'Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone:  — 

And  such  tlie  well-deserved  meed 

"Thrice  vanquish'd  on  the  battle-plain. 

Of  thine  unliallow'd,  ruthless  deed."  — 

Thy  followers  slaughter'd,  lied,  or  ta'en, 

A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild. 

XXIX. 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,4 

"  Abbot  !"  The  Bruce  replied,  "  thy  charge 

Disown'd,  deserted,  and  distress'd. 

It  boots  not  to  dispute  at  large. 

I  bless  thee.  and  thou  shall  be  bless'd! 

This  much,  howe'er.  I  bid  thee  know. 

Bless'd  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 

No  selfish  vensreance  dealt  Ihe  blow, 

Under  the  mantle  as  the  shield. 

For  Comvn  died  his  counlrv's  foe. 

Avenger  of  thy  counlrv's  shame, 

Nor  blame  I  friends  whose'  ill-timed  speed 

Restorer  of  her  injured  fame, 

Fulfill'd  my  soon-repented  deed. 

Bless'd  in  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword. 

Nor  censure  those  from  whose  stern  tongue 

De  Bruce,  fair  Scotland's  rightful  Lord, 

The  dire  anathema  has  rung. 

Bless'd  in  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 

I  only  blame  mine  own  wild  ire. 

What  lengthen'd  honours  wait  thy  name  1 

By  Scotland's  wrongs  incensed  to  fire. 

In  distant  ages,  sire  to  son 

Heaven  knows  inv  purpose  to  atone, 

Shall  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won, 

Far  as  1  may,  the  evil  done, 

And  teach  his  infants,  in  the  use 

And  hears  a  penitent's  appeal 

Of  earliest  speech,  to  falter  Bruce. 

From  papal  curse  and  prelate's  zeal. 

Go,  then,  triumphant  !  sweep  along 

My  first  and  dearest  task  achieved. 

Thy  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song! 

Fair  Scotland  from  her  thrall  relieved, 

The  Power,  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast. 

Shall  many  a  priest  in  cope  and  stole 

Hath  bless'd  thee.  and  thou  shall  be  bless'd!  — 

Say  requiem  for  Red  Comyn's  soul. 
While  I  Hie  blessed  cross  advance, 

Enough—  my  short-lived  strength  decays, 
And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze.— 

And  expiate  Ihis  unhappy  chance 

Heaven  haih  our  destined  purpose  broke, 

in  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance.1 

Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke; 

But,  while  contenl  the  Church  should  know 

Brethren,  our  errand  here  is  o'er, 

Mv  conscience  owns  the  debt  I  owe, 

Our  task  discharged  —  Unmoor,  unmoor!"— 

Unto  De  Argentine  and  Lorn 

His  priests  received  the  exhausted  Monk, 

The  name  of  traitor  1  return, 

As  breathless  in  their  arms  he  sunk. 

Bid  them  defiance  stern  and  high. 

Punctual  his  orders  to  obey. 

And  give  them  in  their  throats  the  lie! 

The  train  refused  all  longer  stay, 

These  brief  words  spoke.  I  speak  no  more. 

Embark  'd,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away. 

Do  what  thou  wilt  ;  ray  shrift  is  o'er." 

XXX. 

•  ~~~~V~~~~  v~~- 

Like  man  by  prodigy  amazed, 
Upon  the  King  the  Abbot  gazed  ; 

2Tj)e  3Lorti  of  tije  Jtsles. 

Then  o'er  his  pallid  features  glance 

Convulsions  of  ecstatic  trance. 

^_^_ 

His  breathing  came  more  thick  and  fast, 

CANTO  THIRD. 

And  from  his  pale  blue  eyes  were  casl 

Stranse  rays  of  wild  and  wandering  light; 

Uprise  his  locks  of  silver  white, 

I. 

Klush'd  is  his  brow,  through  every  vein 
In  azure  tide  the  currents  strain, 

Hast  thou  not  mark'd,  when  o'er  thy  startled 

And  undistinguish'd  accents  broke 
The  awful  silence  ere  he  spoke. 

head 
Sudden  and  deep  the  thunder-peal  has  roll'd, 
How,  when  its  echoes  fell,  a  silence  dead 

Sunk  on  the  wood,  the  meadow,  and  the  wold  ? 

XXXI. 

The  rye-Brass  shakes  not  on  the  sod-built  fold. 

"  De  Bruce  !  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

The  rustling  aspen's  leaves  are  mute  and  still, 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head,2 

The  wall-flower  waves  not  on  Ihe  luin'd  hold. 

And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 

Till,  murmuring  distant  first,  then  near  and 

To  him  who  hums  to  shed  thv  gore;  — 

shrill, 

But.  like  the  Midianite  of  old. 

The  savage  whirlwind  wakes,  and  sweeps  the 

Who  stood  on  Zoplum,  heaven-controll'd, 

groaning  hill. 

I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  no'  be  renress'd  3 

11. 

It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins, 

Artornish  !  such  a  silence  sunk 

It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains!  — 

Upon  thy  halls,  when  thai  grey  Monk 

1  »e«  Appendix,  Note  3  A.                   2  I  hid.  Note  2  B. 

3  See  Appendix,  Sow  2  C.                     4  Ibid,  Note  2  D. 

356                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Hi*  prophet  -speech  had  spoke  ; 

"  My  horse,  my  mantle,  and  my  train  ! 

A  I'd  his  obedient  brethren's  sail 

Let  none  who  honours  Lorn  remain  !''  — 

Was  stretch'd  to  meet  the  southern  gale 

Courteous,  but  s'ern.  a  hold  request 

Before  a  whisper  woke. 

To  Bruce  De  Argentine  express'd. 

Then  murmuring  sounds  of  doubt  and  fear, 

"Lord  Earl."  he  said.—  "I  cannot  chuse 

Close  pour'd  in  many  an  anxious  ear, 

But  yield  such  title  to  the  Bruce. 

The  solemn  stillness  broke  ; 

Though  name  and  earldom  both  are  gone, 

And  still  they  gazed  with  eager  guess, 

Since  he  braced  rebel's  armour  on  — 

Where,  in  an  oriel's  deep  recess, 

But.  Earl  or  Serf—  rude  phrase  was  thine 

The  Island  I'nnce  seem'd  bent  to  press 

Of  late,  and  laiinch'd  at  Argentine; 

What  Lorn,  by  his  impatient  cheer. 

Surh  as  compels  me  to  demand 

And  gesture  fierce,  scarce  deign'd  to  hear. 

Redress  of  honour  at  thv  hand. 

We  need  not  to  each  other  tell. 

III. 

That  both  can  wield  their  weapons  well  ; 

Starting  at  length,  with  frowning  look. 
His  hand  he  clench'd.  his  head  he  shook, 

Then  do  me  but  the  soldier  grace. 
This  glove  upon  thy  helm  to  place 

And  sternly  flung  apart  ;  — 

Where  we  may  meet  in  fight.  ; 

"  And  deem'st  thou  me  so  mean  of  mood, 

And  I  will  say,  as  still  I've  said, 

As  to  forget  the  mortal  feud. 

Though  hv  ambition  far  misled, 

And  clasp  the  hand  with  blood  imbrued 

Thou  art  a  noble  knight."  — 

From  my  dear  Kinsman's  heart  7 

Is  this  thy  rede  7  —  a  due  return 

VI. 

For  ancient  league  and  friendship  sworn  ! 
But  well  our  mountain  proverb  shows 

"  And  F,"  the  princelv  Bruce  replied, 
"Might,  term  it,  stain'on  knighthood's  pride, 

The  faith  of  Islesmen  ebbs  and  flows. 

That  the  bright  sword  of  Argentine 

Be  it  even  so  —  believe,  ere  long. 

Should  in  a  tyrant's  quarrel  shine; 

He  that  now  bears  shall  wreak  the  wrong.  — 

But,  for  your  brave  request. 

Call  Edii  h—  call  the  Maid  of  Lorn  ! 

Be  sure  the  honour'd  pledge  you  gave 

My  sister,  slaves  !  —  for  further  scorn, 

In  every  battle-field  shall  wave 

Be  sure  nor  she  nor  1  will  stay.  — 

I'pon  my  helmet-crest; 

Away,  De  Argentine,  away  !  — 

Believe,  that  if  inv  hasty  tongue 

We  nor  ally  nor  brother  know, 

Hath  done  thine  honour  causeless  wrong, 

In  Bruce's  friend,  or  England's  foe." 

It  shall  he  well  redress'd. 

Not  dearer  to  my  soul  was  elove, 

IV. 

Bestow'd  in  vouth  by  lady's  love, 

But  who  the  Chieftain's  rage  can  tell. 

Than  this  which  thou  hast,  given  ! 

When,  sought  from  lowest  dungeon  cell 

Thus,  then,  mv  noble  foe  I  greet  ; 

To  highest  tower  the  castle  round, 

Health  and  high  fortune  till  we  meet. 

No  Lady  Edith  was  there  found  ! 

And  then—  what  pleases  Heaven." 

He  shouted.  ••  Falsehood  !  —  treachery  !  — 

Revenge  and  blood  !  —  a  lordly  meed 

VII. 

To  him  that  will  avenge  the  deed  ! 
A  Banm's  lands!1'—  His  frantic  mood 
Was  scarcely  by  the  news  withstood, 
That  Morag  'shared  his  sister's  flight, 
And  that,  in  hurry  of  the  night, 
'Scaped  noteless,  and  without  remark. 
Two  strangers  sought  the  Abbot's  bark.— 
'•  Man  every  galley  !—  fly—  pursue  ! 
The  priest  his  treachery  shall  rue  ! 
Av,  and  the  time  shall  quickly  come, 
\Vhen  we  shall  hear  the  thanks  that  Rome 
Will  pay  his  feigned  prophecy  !" 
Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  indignant  cry; 
And  Cormac  Doil  in  haste  obey'd. 
Hoisted  his  sail,  his  anchor  weigli'd, 
(For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil  )  i 
But  others,  lingering,  spoke  apart,  — 
"  The  Maid  has  given  her  maiden  heart 

Thus  parted  they—  for  now,  with  sound 
Like  waves  roll'd  back  from  rocky  ground, 
The  friends  of  Lorn  retire  ; 
Each  mainland  chieftain,  with  his  train, 
Draws  to  his  mountain  towers  again. 
Pondering  how  mortal  schemes  prove  vain, 
And  mortal  hopes  expire 
But  through  the  castle  double  guard, 
By  Ronald's  charge,  kept  wakeful  ward, 
Wicket  and  gate  were  trebly  barr'd, 
By  beam  and  bolt  and  chain  ; 
Then  of  the  guests,  in  courteous  sort, 
He  pray'd  excuse  for  mirth  broke  short, 
And  bade  them  in  Artornish  fort 
In  confidence  remain. 
Nor  torch  and  menial  tendance  led 
Chieftain  and  knight  to  bower  and  bed, 
And  beads  were  told,  and  Aves  said, 

To  Konald  of  the  Isles, 

Into  such  sleep,  as  wont  to  shed 

And,  fearful  lest  her  brother's  word 

Oblivion  on  the  wearv  head, 

Bestow  her  on  that  English  Lord, 

After  a  toilsome  day. 

She  seeks  lona's  piles. 

And  wisely  deems  it  best  to  dwell 

VIII. 

A  votaress  in  the  holy  cell, 
Until  these  feuds  so  fierce  and  fell 

But  soon  uproused.  the  Monarch  cried 

The  Abbot  reconciles." 

To  Edward  slumbering  by  his  side, 

"  Awake,  or  sleep  lor  aye  ! 

V. 

Even  now  there  jarr'd  a  secret  door  — 

As.  impotent  of  ire.  the  hall 

A  taper-light  eleams  on  the  floor  — 

Echo'd  to  Lorn's  impatient  call. 

Up,  Edwsrd.  up.  I  say  ! 
Snmp  onp  plitlps  in  like  midniffht  £fhost  — 

i  s«e  Appendix.  Note  2  E.                        '  Nay,  strike  not  !  'tis  our  noble  Host." 

THE    LORD    OF    THE    ISLES. 


357 


Advancing:  then  his  taper's  flame, 
Ronald  slept  forth,  and  with  him  came 
Dunvegan'a  chief—  each  bent  the  knee 
To  Bruce  in  sign  of  fealty. 

And  proffer'd  him  his  sword. 
And  hail'il  him,  in  a  monarch's  style, 
As  kin?  of  mainland  and  of  isle, 

And  Scotland's  rightful  lord. 
"  And  O."  said  Ronald.  "  Own'd  of  Heaven ! 
Say,  is  my  erring  youth  forgiven, 
By  falsehood's  arts  from  duty  driven, 

Who  rehel  falchion  drew, 
Vet  ever  to  thy  deed?  of  fame, 
Even  while  I  strove  against,  thy  claim, 

Paid  homage  just  and  true!" — 
"  Alas  !  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time," 
Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Since,  gudtier  far  than  you. 
Even  I" — he  paused  ;  for  Falkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose.' 
The  Chieftain  to  Ins  hreast  he  press'd, 
And  in  a  sigh  conceal'd  the  rest. 

IX. 

They  proffer'd  aid.  by  arms  and  might, 

To  repossess  him  in  his  right; 

But  well  their  counsels  must  be  weigh'd 

Kre  banners  raised  and  musters  made, 

For  English  hire  and  Lorn's  intrigues 

Bound  many  chiefs  in  southern  leagues. 

In  answer,  Bruce  his  purpose  liold 

To  his  new  vassals  frannly  told. 

"The  winter  worn  in  exile  o'er, 

I  long'd  for  Carrick's  kindred  shore. 

I  thought  upon  my  native  Ayr, 

And  loug'd  to  see  the  burly  fare 

That  Clifford  makes,  whose  lordly  call 

Now  echoes  through  my  father's  hall. 

But  first  my  course  to  Arran  led, 

Where  valiant  Lennox  gathers  head. 

And  on  the  sea.  by  tempest  toss'd, 

Our  barks  dispersed,  our  purpose  cross'd, 

Mine  own,  a  hostile  sail  to  shun. 

Far  from  her  destined  course  had  run, 

When  that  wise  will,  which  masters  ours, 

Compell'd  us  to  your  friendly  towers." 

X. 

Then  Torquil  spoke:— "  The  time  craves  speed 

We  must  not  linger  in  our  deed. 

But  instant  pray  our  Sovereign  Liege, 

To  shun  the  perils  of  a  siege. 

The  vengeful  Lorn,  with  all  his  powers, 

Lies  but  too  near  Artormsh  towers, 

And  England's  light-arm'd  vessels  ride, 

Not  distant  far,  the  waves  of  Clyde, 

Prompt  at  these  tidings  to  unmoor. 

And  sweep  each  strait,  and  guard  each  shore 

Then,  till  this  fresh  alarm  puss  by, 

Secret  and  safe  my  Liege  must  lie 

In  the  far  bounds  of  friendly  Skye, 

Torquil  thy  pdot  and  thy  guide  '' — 

"  Not  so,  brave  Chieftain,''  Ronald  cried ; 

"Myself  will  on  my  Sovereign  wait, 

And  raise  in  arms  the  men  of  Sleate, 

Whilst  ttiou,  renown'd  where  chiefs  debate, 

Shalt  sway  their  souls  by  council  sage, 

And  awe  them  by  thy  locks  of  age." 

— "  And  if  my  words  m  weight  shall  fail. 

This  ponderous  sword  shall  turn  the  scale." 

1  Sw  ApponJix,  Note  3  F. 


xr. 

— "The  scheme,"  said  Bruce,  "contents  me 

well; 

Meantime,  'twere  best  that  Isabel, 
For  safety,  with  my  bark  and  crew, 
Asain  to  friendly  Erin  drew. 
There  Edward,  too,  shall  with  her  wend, 
In  need  to  cheer  her  and  defend. 
And  muster  up  each  scatler'd  friend." 
Here  seem'd  it  as  Lord  Ronald's  ear 
Would  other  counsel  gladlier  hear; 
But,  all  achieved  as  soon  as  plann'd, 
Both  harks,  in  secret  arm'd  and  rnann'd, 

From  out.  the  haven  bore  ; 
On  different  voyage  forth  they  ply, 
This  for  the  coast  of  winged  Skye, 

And  that  for  Erin's  shore. 

XII. 

With  Bruce  and  Ronald  bides  the  tale. 
To  favouring  winds  they  gave  the  sail. 
Till  Mull's  dark  headlands  scarce  they  knew, 
And  Ardnamurchan's  hills  were  blue. 
But  then  the  squalls  blew  close  and  hard, 
And.  fain  to  strike  the  galley's  yard, 

And  take  them  to  the  oar, 
With  these  rude  seas,  in  weary  plight, 
They  strove  the  livelong  day  and  night, 
Nor  till  the  dawning  had  a  sight 

Of  Skye's  romantic  shore. 
Where  Coolin  stoops  him  to  the  west, 
They  saw  upon  his  shiver'd  crest 

The  sun's  arising  gleam ; 
But  such  the  labour  and  delay. 
Ere  they  were  moor'd  in  Scavigh  bay, 
(For  calmer  heaven  Compell'd  to  stay,) 

He  shot,  a  western  beam. 
Then  Ronald  said,  "If  true  mine  eye, 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 
North  of  Strathnardil!  and  Dunskye;-' 

No  human  foot  comes  here, 
And,  since  these  adverse  breezes  blow, 
If  my  pood  Liege  love  hunter's  bow, 
What  hinders  that  on  land  we  go, 

And  strike  a  mountain-deer! 
Allan,  my  page,  shall  with  us  wend  ; 
A  bow  full  deflly  can  he  bend. 
And,  if  we  meet  a  herd,  may  send 

A  shaft  shall  mend  our  cheer." 
Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand. 
Their  row-boat  launch'd  and  leapt  to  land. 

And  left  their  skiff  and  train, 
Where  a  wild  stream,  with  headlong  shock,  • 
Came  brawling:  down  its  bed  of  rock, 

To  mingle  with  the  main. 

xm. 

A  while  their  route  they  silent  made. 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer, 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Konald  said, 

"St.  Mary!  what  a  scene  is  here ! 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain- strand, 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  hind. 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safely  more  than  pleasure  led; 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I've  wander'd  o'er, 
Clombe  many  a  crag,  cross'd  many  a  moor, 

But.  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  this, 
Yet,  so  sublime  in  barrenness. 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps  press, 

Where'er  I  happ'd  to  roam." 

2  See  Appendix,  Hole 2  O. 


358 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


xrv. 

No  marvel  thus  the  Monarch  spake ; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  lake. 

With  its  dark  ledge  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  stranzn  and  shatter'd  way 

Through  the  rode  bosom  of  the  hill, 
And  that  each  naked  precipice, 
Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss, 

Tells  of  the  on' rage  s'till. 
The  wildest  glen,  hut  this,  can  show 
Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  slow ; 
On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  prow. 
And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe, 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben  ; 
But  here. — above,  around,  below., 

On  mountain  or  in  glen, 
Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower, 
Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power. 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 
For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown. 
Black  waves,  bare  crass,  and  banks  of  stone, 

As  if  were  here  denied 
The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew, 
That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest  mountain-side. 

XV. 

And  wilder,  forward  as  they  wound. 
Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound. 
Huge  terraces  of  granite  black 
Afforded  rude  and  cumber'd  track: 

For  from  the  mountain  hoar, 
Hurl'd  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear. 
When  yell'd  the  wolf  and  fle.l  the  deer. 

Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er; 
And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay. 
So  that  a  stripling  arm  might,  sway 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise. 
In  Nature's  rage  at  r.miloni  thrown, 
Yet  trembling  like  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 
The  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  change 
Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range, 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare. 
And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furl'd, 
Or  on  the  gable  waters  curl'd. 
Or  in  the  eddving  breezes  whirl'd. 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 
And  ort,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower. 
When,  brief  and  fierce,  the  mountain  shower 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down, 
And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  beams, 
Whiten'd  with  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown. 

XVI. 
"This  lake,"  said   Bruce,  "whose   barriers 

drear 

Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer, 
Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer. 

Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread. 
How  term  you  its  dark  waves,  and  how 
You  northern  mountain's  pathless  brow, 

And  yonder  peak  of  drear), 
That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 
The  griesly  gulfs  and  slaty  rifts. 

Which  seam  its  shiver'd  head  T" — 
"Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name, 
Coolin  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim, 
From  old  Cuchillin,  chief  of  fame, 


1  Sec  Append. I.  Note  S  H. 


But  bards,  familiar  in  our  isles 

Rather  with  Nature's  frowns  than  smiles, 

Full  oft  their  careless  humours  please 

By  sportive  names  for  scenes  like  these. 

I  would  old  Torquil  were  to  show 

His  maidens  with  their  breasts  of  snow, 

Or  that  my  noble  liege  were  nigh 

To  hear  his  Nurse  sing  lullaby  ! 

The  Maids— tall  cliffs  with  breakers  white, 

The  Nurse — a  torrent's  roaring  might  J 

Or  that  yonr  eye  could  see  the  mood 

Of  Corryvrekm's  whirlpool  rude. 

When  dons  the  Hag  her  whiten'd  hood — 

Tis  thus  our  islemen's  fancy  frames, 

For  scenes  so  stern,  fantastic  names." 

XVIL 

Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  And  musing  mind 

Might  here  a  graver  moral  find. 

These  mighty  cliffs,  that  heave  on  high 

Their  naked  brows  to  middle  sky, 

Indifferent  to  the  sun  or  snow, 

Where  nought  can  fade,  and  nought  can  blow, 

May  they  not  mark  a  Monarch's  fate. — 

Raised  high  'mid  storms  of  strife  and  slate, 

Beyond  life's  lowlier  pleasures  placed, 

His  soul  a  rock,  his  heart  a  waste  ? 

O'er  hope  and  love  and  fear  aloft 

High  rears  his  crowned  head. — But  soft  i 

Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 

Are  hunters  and  a  slaughtered  stag. 

Who  may  they  be  ?    But  late  you  said 

No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread  ?"— 

XVIII. 

"  So  said  I — and  believed  in  sooth." 
Ronald  replied,  "I  sjxike  the  truth. 
Yet  now  I  spy,  by  yonder  stone, 
Five  men — they  mark  us.  and  come  on ; 
And  by  their  badge  on  bonnet  borne, 
I  guess  them  of  the  land  of  Lorn, 
Foes  to  my  Liege  " — "  So  let  it  be : 
I've  faced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three — 
— But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid ; 
Then  be  our  battle  thus  array'd, 
If  our  free  passage  thev  contest ; 
Cope  thou  with  two.  I'll  match  the  rest."— 
"  Not  so.  my  Liege — for.  by  my  life. 
This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife ; 
My  strength,  my  skill  in  arms,  more  small, 
And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  fall. 
But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow, 
Allan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow. 
And  were  my  Monarch's  order  given, 
Two  shafts  should  make  our  number  even." — 
"No !  not  to  save  my  life  !"  he  said  ; 
'•  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head. 
Too  rashly  spill'd— we  soon  shall  know, 
Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe." 

XIX. 

Nigh  came  the  strangers,  and  more  nigh ; — 
Still  less  they  pleased  the  Monarch's  eye. 
Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Down-look'd.  unwilling  to  be  seen ;  * 
They  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 
And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 
The  foremost  two  were  fair  array'd, 
With  brogue  and  bonnet,  trews  and  plaid, 
And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers. 
Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 
The  three,  that  lagg'd  small  space  behind, 
Seem'd  serfs  of  more  degraded  kind ; 
Goat-skins  or  deer-hides  o'er  them  cast, 
Made  n  rude  fence  against  the  blast ; 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


359 


•heir  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare, 
lulled  iheir  beards,  unshorn  their  hair; 
"or  arms,  the  caitiffs  bore  m  hand, 
i  club,  ail  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

XX. 

3nward,  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track  ; — 
Tell  who  ye  he,  or  else  stand  back," 
laid  Bruce  ;  "In  deserts  when  they  meet, 
len  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street." 

still,  at  his  stern  command,  tiiey  stood, 

And  profl'er'd  greeting  brief  and  rude, 
Jut  acted  courtesy  so  ill. 

As  seem'd  of  fear,  and  not  of  will. 

•  Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be ; 
Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  sea, 
Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer. 
Will  share  with  you  this  fallow  deer." — 

•  If  from  the  sea',  where  .lies  your  bark  ?" — 
'Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark  ! 
Wreck'd  yesternight :  but  we  are  men, 
Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 

The  shades  come  down— the  day  is  shut — 

Will  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut  '<" — 

'  Our  vessel  wails  us  in  the  bay ; 

Thanks  lor  your  proffer — have  good-day.'' — 

•  Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 
Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glow'd  ?"— 
'  It  was." — '•  Then  spare  your  needless  pain, 
There  will  she  now  he  sought  in  vain. 

We  saw  her  from  the  mountain  head, 

When,  with  St.  George's  blazon  red, 

A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight, 

And  yours  raised  sail,  and  took  to  flight." — 

XXI. 

--  Now.  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news  !" 
Thus  with  Lord  Ronald  communed  Bruce ; 
••  Nor  rests  there  light  enough  to  show 
If  this  their  tale  he  true  or  no. 
The  men  seem  bred  of  churlish  kind, 
Yet  mellow  nuts  have  hardest  rind  ; 
We  will  go  with  them— food  and  fire 
And  sheltering  roof  our  wants  require. 
Sure  guard  'gainst  treachery  will  we  keep. 
And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep  — 
Good  fellows,  thanks ;  your  guests  we'll  be, 
And  well  will  pay  the  courtesy. 
Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging  lies, — 
— Nay,  soft !  we  mix  not  companies. — 
Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone. 
And  we  will  follow  you ; — lead  oil." 

XXII. 

They  reach 'd  the  dreary  cabin,  made 
Of  sails  aeainst  a  rock  display'd. 

And  there,  on  entering,  found 
A  slender  boy.  whose  form  and  mien 
111  suited  with  such  savage  scene. 
In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  green, 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 
His  garb  was  such  as  minstrels  wear. 
Dark  was  his  hue,  and  dark  his  hair, 
His  youthful  cheek  was  marr'd  by  care, 
'     His  eyes  m  sorrow  drown'd. 
"  Whence  this  poor  boy  V—  As  Ronald  spoke 
The  voice  his  trance  of  anguish  broke ; 
As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream, 
He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

And  wildly  ga'/.ed  around  ; 
Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turn'd, 
And  his  dark  neck  with  blushes  burn'd. 


XXIII. 

Whose  is  the  boy  ?"  again  he  said. 

By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made ; 
e  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 
hat  music  nas  more  charms  than  gold  ; 

or,  tiiough  from  earliest  childhood  mute, 
he  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 
And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play, 
And  well  can  dnve  the  time  away 

For  those  who  love  such  glee ; 
For  me,  the  favouring  breeze,  when  loud 
It  pipes  upon  the  galley's  shroud, 

Makes  blither  melody.'' — 
Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  sound !" — 
"  Aye ;  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 

I  crone  in  our  late  shipwreck  drown'd, 
And  hence  the  silly  stripling's  woe. 

lore  of  the  youth  I  cannot  say, 
>ur  captjve  but  since  yesterday  ; 

A/hen  wind  and  weather  wax'd  so  grim, 

He  little  listed  think  of  him.— 

5ut  why  waste  time  in  idle  words? 

Mt  to  your  cheer — unbelt  your  swords." 

sudden  the  captive  tuni'd  his  head, 

ind  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 

t  was  a  keen  and  warning  look, 

'  nd  well  the  Chief  the  signal  took. 

XXIV. 

•Kind  host,"  he  said,  "our  needs  require 
A  separate  board  and  separate  fire; 
''or  know,  that  on  a  pilgrimage 

end  I.  my  comrade,  and  this  page. 
And.  sworn  to  vigil  and  to  fast, 

as  this  hallow'd  task  shall  last, 
We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword, 
Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board ; 
And  never  share  one  common  sleep, 
But  one  must  still  his  viuil  keep. 
Thus,  for  our  separate  use,  good  friend, 
We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end." — 

A  churlish  vow,"  the  eldest  said, 

And  hard,  methinks.  to  be  obey'd. 
[low  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  the  scorn 
That  pays  our  kindness  harsh  return. 
We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal  ?'' — 

Then  say  we,  that  our  swords  are  steel ! 
And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast, 
Where  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast."— 
Their  host's  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell, 
His  teeth  are  clench'd,  his  features  swell; 
Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire 
Before  Lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire, 
Nor  could  his  craven  couraxe  brook 
The  .Monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 
With  laugh  constrain'd, — "  Let  every  man 
Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan  ! 
Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep. 
And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep." 

XXV. 

Their  fire  at  separate  distance  bums. 
By  turns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  turns  ; 
For  evil  seem'd  that  old  man's  eye, 
Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 
Still  he  avoided  foi  ward  look. 
But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 
A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance, 
By  doubt  and  cunning  mark'd  at  once, 
Which  shot,  a  mischief-boding  ray. 
From  under  eyebrows  shagg'd  and  grey. 


360 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  younger,  loo,  who  seem'd  his  son. 

Had  that  dark  look  the  timid  shun ; 

The  half-clad  serfs  behind  them  sate. 

And  soowl'd  a  slare  'twixt  fear  and  hate — 

Till  ail.  as  darkness  onward  crept, 

Couch'd  down,  and  seem'd  to  sleep,  or  slept. 

Nor  he.  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 

.Must  trust  his  eyes  to  wail  his  wrong, 

A  loneer  watch  of  sorrow  made. 

But  stretch'd  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid. 

XXVI. 

Not  in  his  dangerous  host  confides 
The  King,  but  wary  watch  provides. 
Ronald  keeps  ward  till  midnight  past. 
Then  wakes  the  King,  young  Allan  last: 
Thus  rank'd.  to  give  the  youthful  page 
The  rest  required  by  tender  use. 
What  is  Lord  Ronald's  wakeful  thought, 
To  chase  the  languor  toil  had  brought  ? — 
(For  deem  not  that  he  deign 'd  to  throw 
Much  care  upon  such  coward  foe,) — 
He  thinks  of  lovely  Isabel. 
When  at  her  foenmn's  feet  she  fell, 
Nor  less  when,  placed  ii   princely  selle. 
She  glanced  on  him  with  favouring  eyes, 
At  Woodstocke  when  he  won  the  prize. 
Nor.  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  fair. 
In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair, 
Must  she  alone  engross  his  care. 
His  thoughts  to  his  betrothed  bride, 
To  Edith,  turn— O  how  decide. 
When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given. 
And  there  his  faith  stitids  plizht  to  Heaven! 
No  drowsy  ward  'tis  his  to  keep. 
For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 
Till  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl, 
Answer'd  the  dog-fox  with  his  howl. 
Then  waked  the  King — at  his  request, 
Lord  Ronald  stretch'd  himself  to  rest. 

XXVII. 

What  spell  was  good  King  Robert's,  say, 
To  drive  the  weary  night  away  ? 
His  was  the  patriot's  burning  thought. 
Of  Freedom's  battle  bravely  fought, 
Of  castles  storm'd,  of  cities  freed, 
Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed, 
Of  England's  roses  reft  and  torn, 
And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  worn, 
Of  rout  and  rally,  war  and  truce.— 
As  heroes  think,  so  thought  the  Bruce. 
No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high, 
Sleep  shunn'd  the  Monarch's  thoughtful  eye. 
Now  over  Coolin's  eastern  head 
The  greyish  light  begins  to  spread, 
The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew, 
And  clamour'd  shnll  the  wakening  mew; 
Then  watch'd  the  page — to  needful  rest 
The  King  resign 'd  his  anxious  breast. 

xxvm. 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task, 
The  weary  watch  their  safeties  ask. 
He  trimm'd  the  tire,  and  gave  to  shine 
With  bickering  light  the  sphnterd  pine ; 
Then  gazed  awhile,  where  silent  laid 
Their  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  plaid. 
But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind, 
For  he  was  bred  of  martial  kind. 
And.  it  to  manhood  he  arrive, 
May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 
Then  thought  he  of  his  mother's  tower, 
His  little  sisters  greenwood  bower, 


|  How  there  the  Easter-gambols  pass. 
And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengihen'd  mass. 
But  still  before  his  weary  eye 
In  rays  prolong'd  the  blazes  die — 
Again  he  roused  him — on  the  lake 
Look'd  forth,  where  now  the  twilight-flake 
Of  pale  cold  dawn  besasi  to  wake. 
On  Coolin's  cliffs  the  mist  lay  fnrl'd, 
The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  curl'd, 
Tlie  short  dark  waves,  heav'd  to  the  lam], 
With  ceaseless  plash  kiss'd  ciiff  or  sand  ,- — 
It  was  a  slumbrous  sound — he  tnrn'd 
To  tales  at.  which  his  youth  had  burn'd, 
Of  pilzrim's  path  by  demon  cross'd 
Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost. 
Of  the  wild  witch's  baneful  cot, 
And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 
Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well, 
Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell,! 
Thither  in  fancy  rapt  he  flies, 
And  on  his  sight  the  vaults  arise; 
The  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more, 
His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor. 
And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 
Gieam  like  a  firmament  of  stars  ! 
—  Hark  !  hears  he  not.  the  sea  nymph  speak 
Her  anger  in  that  thrilling  shriek ! — 
No  !  all  ton  late,  with  Allan's  dream 
.Mingled  the  captive's  warning  scream. 
As  from  the  ground  he  strives  to  start, 
A  ruffian's  dagger  linds  lus  heart ! 
Upward  he  casts  his  dizzy  eyes, .  .  . 
Murmurs  his  master's  name, .  .  .  and  dies ! 

XXIX. 

Not  so  awoke  the  King !  his  hand 
Snatch'd  from  tlie  flame  a  knotted  brand. 
The  nearest  weapon  of  his  wrath  ; 
With  this  he  cross'd  the  murderer's  path, 

And  venged  young  Allan  well ! 
The  spatter'd  brain  and  bubbling  blood 
Hjss'd  on  the  Iwlf-extincuish'd  wood, 

The  miscreant  gasp'd  and  fell ! 
Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  Lord ; 
One  caitiff  died  upon  his  sword. 
And  one  beneath  his  grasp  lies  prone, 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
But  while  Lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  paining  flank, 
The  Father  ruffian  of  the  band 
Behind  him  rears  a  coward  hand ! 

— O  for  a  moment's  aid, 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  doable  blow, 
Dash  to  the  earth  another  foe. 

Above  his  comrade  laid  ! — 
And  it  is  gam'd — the  captive  sprung 
On  the  rais'd  arm,  and  closely  clung. 

And,  ere  he  shoo>  him  loose, 
The  master'd  felon  press'd  the  ground, 
And  gasp'd  beneath  a  mortal  wound, 

While  o'er  him  stands  the  Bruce. 

XXX. 

"  Miscreant !  while  lasts  thy  flitting  spark, 
Give  me  to  know  the  purpose  dark. 
That  arm'd  thy  hand  with  murderous  knife, 
Against  oifenceless  stranger's  life  ?" — 
"  No  stranger  thou !"  with  accent  fell, 
Murmur'd  the  wretch  ;  ••  I  know  thee  well ; 
And  know  thee  for  the  fuencin  sworn 
Of  my  high  chief,  the  mighty  Lorn." — 


1  Sec  AppenJix,  »»  1  I. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


.1(31 


"  Speak  yet  agnin.  and  speak  the  truth 

For  thy  soul's  sake  ! — from  whence  this  youth  ? 

His  country,  birth,  and  name  declare, 

And  thus  nne  ev.l  deed  repair  ""— 

— ••  Vex  me  no  more  ! . . .  my  blood  runs  cold . . . 

No  more  I  know  than  I  have  told. 

We  found  him  in  a  bark  we  sought 

With  different  purpose  . . .  and  I  thought". . . . 

Fate  cut  him  short ;  in  blood  and  boil, 

As  he  had  lived,  died  Corniac  DoiL 

XXXI. 

Then  resting  on  his  bloody  blade, 
The  valiant  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 
'•  Now  shame  upon  us  both  ! — that  boy 

Lifts  his  mule  fare  to  heaven. 
And  rlasps  his  hands,  to  testify 
His  sratito.de  to  God  on  high, 

For  strange  deliverance  given. 
His  speechless  gesture  thanks  hath  paid, 
Which  onr  free  tongues  have  left  unsaid !" 
Hi;  raised  the  yoinh  with  kindly  word, 
But  mark'd  him  shudder  at  the  sword  : 
He  cleansed  it  from  its  hue  of  death. 
And  plunged  the  weapon  in  its  sheath. 
"  Alas,  poor  child!  unfitting  part 
Fate  dciom'd.  when  with  so  soft  a  heart, 

And  form  so  slight  as  thine, 
She  made  thee  first  a  pirate's  slave, 
Then,  in  his  ste;id.  a  patron  eave 

Of  wayward  lot  like  mine ; 
A  landless  prince,  whose  wandering  life 
Is  but  otie  scene  of  blood  and  strife — 
Yet  scant  of  friends  the  Bruce  shall  be. 
But  he'll  find  resting  place  for  thee. — 
Come,  noble  Ronald  !  o'er  the  dead 
Enough  thy  generous  grief  is  paid. 
And  well  has  Allan's  fate  been  wroke: 
Come,  wend  we  hence— the  day  has  brake- 
Seek  we  our  bark— I  trust  the  tale 
Was  false,  that  she  had  hoisted  sail." 

XXXII. 

Yet,  ere  they  left  that  charnel-cell. 
The  Island  Lord  bade  sad  farewell 
To  Allan  :— •'  Who  shall  tell  this  tale," 
He  said,  "  in  halls  of  Donagaile  ! 
Oh,  who  his  widow'd  mother  tell. 
That,  ere  his  bloom,  her  fairest  fell ! — 
Rest  thee.  poor  youth,  and  trust  my  caro 
For  mass  and  knell  and  funeral  prayer ; 
While  o'er  those  caitiffs,  where  they  lie, 
The  wolf  shall  snarl,  the  raven  cry !" 
And  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  lake  threw  lustre  red  ; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
.Ravine  and  precipice  and  peak — 
(So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows; 
Reveals  his  splendour,  hides  his  woes.) 
O'er  sheets  of  graniie,  dark  and  broad, 
Rent  and  unequal,  lay  the  road. 
In  sad  discourse  the  warriors  wind. 
And  the  mute  captive  moves  behind. 


HortJ  of  tije  Esles. 


CANTO   FOURTH. 


Stranger!  if  e'er  thine  ardent  step  hath  traced 
The  northern  realms  of  ancient  Caledon, 


Where  the  proud  Queen  of  Wilderness  hath 

placed, 

By  lake  rind  cataract,  her  lonely  throne; 
Sublime  but  sad  delight  thy  soul  hath  known, 
Gazing  on  pathless  glen  and  mountain  high, 
Listing  where  from  the  cliffs    the    torrents 

thrown 

Mingle  their  echoes  with  the  eagle's  cry, 
And  with   the  sounding  lake,  and  with   the 

moaning  sky. 

Yes!  'twas  sublime,  but  sad.  —  The  loneli- 
ness 

Loaded  thy  heart,  the  desert  tired  thine  eye ; 

And  strange  and  nwful  fears  began  to  press 

Thy  bosom  with  a  stern  solemnity. 

Then  hast  thou  wish'd  some  woodman's 
cottage  nigh. 

Something  that  showed  of  life,  though  low 
and  mean  ; 

Glad  sight,  its  curling  wreath  of  smoke  to  spy. 

Glad  sound,  its  cock's  blithe  carol  would  have 
been. 

Or  children  whooping  wild  beneath  the  wil- 
lows green. 

Such  are  the  scenes,  where  savage  grandeur 

wakes 

An  awful  thrill  that  softens  into  sighs; 
Such  feelings  rouse  them  by  dim  Rannoch's 

lakes, 

In  dark  Glencoe  such  gloomy  raptures  rise : 
Or  farther,  where,  beneath  the  northern  skies. 
Chides  wild  Loch-Eribol  his  caverns  hoar — 
But,  be  the  minstrel  judge,  they  yield  the 

prize 

Of  desert  dignity  to  that  dread  shore 
That  sees  grim  Coolin  rise,  and  hears  Coriskin 

roar. 

II. 

Through   such    wild   scenes   the   champion 

pass'd. 

When  hold  halloo  and  bugle-blast 
Up>n  the  breeze  came  loud  and  fast. 
"There,"  said  the  Bruce,  "rung  Edward's 

horn! 

What  can  have  caused  such  brief  return  ? 
And  see,  brave  Ronald. — see  him  dart 
O'er  stock  and  stone  like  hunted  hart, 
Precipitate,  as  is  the  use. 
In  war  or  sport,  of  Edward  Bruce. 
— He  marks  us,  and  his  eager  cry 
Will  tell  his  news  ere  he  be  nigh.'1 

III. 

Loud  Edward  shouts,  "  What  make  ye  here, 
Warring  upon  the  mountain-deer. 

When  Scotland  wants  her  King? 
A  bark  from  Lennox  cross'd  our  track, 
With  her  in  speed  I  hurried  back, 

These  joyful  news  to  bring — 
The  Stuart  stirs  in  Teviotdale, 
And  Douelas  wakes  his  native  vale ; 
Thy  storm- toss'd  fleet  hath  won  its  way 
With  little  loss  to  Brodick-Bay, 
And  Lennox,  with  a  gallant  band, 
Waits  hut  thy  coming  and  command 
To  waft  them  o'er  to  Carrick  strand. 
There  are  blithe  news  .'—but  mark  the  close  ! 
Edward,  the  deadliest  of  our  foes, 
As  with  his  host  he  northward  pass'd. 
Hath  on  the  Borders  breathed  his  last." 


362                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

IV. 

VI. 

Still  stood  the  Bruce—  his  steady  cheek 

Thus  was  their  venturous  council  said. 

Was  little  wont  his  jov  to  S[>eak, 

But,  ere  their  sails  the  galleys  spread, 

Coriskm  dark  and  Coolin  lush 

"  Now.  Scotland  !  shortly  shalt  thou  see, 

Echoed  the  dirge's  doleful  cry. 

With  God's  high  will,  thy  children  free, 

Along  that  sable  lake  pass'd  slow.  — 

And  vengeance  on  thy  fiies  ! 

Fit  scene  for  such  a  sight  of  woe.  — 

Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs, 

The  sorrowing  islesmen.  as  they  bore 

Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 

The.  mnrder'd  Allan  to  the  shore. 

Mv  jnv  o'er  Edward's  bier;  * 

At  every  pause,  with  dismal  shout, 

I  took  my'knighihood  at  his  hand, 
And  lordship  held  of  him.  and  laud, 
And  well  may  vouch  it  here. 

Their  coronach  of  grief  rung  out. 
And  ever,  when  they  moved  again. 
The  pipes  resumed  their  clamorous  strain. 

That,  blot  the  story  from  his  page, 
Of  Scotland  ruin'd  in  his  rage, 
You  read  a  monarch  brave  and  sage, 
And  to  his  people  dear."  — 
"  Let  lyondon's  burghers  mourn  her  Lord, 
And  Croydon  monks  his  praise  record," 
The  eager  Edward  said  ; 

And.  with  the  pibroch's  shrilling  wail, 
Mourn'd  the  young  heir  of  Donagaile. 
Round  and  around,  from  cliff  and  cave, 
His  answer  stern  old  Coolin  gave, 
Till  high  ii|Kin  his  misty  side 
Languish'd  the  mournful  notes,  and  died. 
For  never  sounds,  bv  mortal  made. 

"  Eternal  as  his  own,  my  hate 

Attain'd  his  high  and  haggard  head, 

Surmounts  the  bounds  of  mortal  fate, 
And  dies  not  with  the  dead  ! 

That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan, 
Or  the  deep  thunder  s  rending  groan. 

Such  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand, 

VU. 

When  vengeance  clench'd  his  palsied  hand, 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land,2 
As  his  last  accents  pray'd 
Disgrace  and  curse  upon  his  heir, 
If  he  one  Scottish  head  should  spare, 
Till  stretch'd  upon  the  bloody  lair 
Each  rebel  corpse  was  laid  ! 
Such  hate  was  his.  when  his  last  breath 
Renounced  the  peaceful  house  of  death, 
And  oade  his  bones  to  Scotland's  coast 
Be  borne  by  his  remorseless  host, 
As  if  his  dead  and  stony  eye 
Could  still  enjoy  her  misery  ! 
Such  hate  was  his  —  dark,  deadly,  long; 
Mine,—  as  enduring,  deep,  and  strong!"  — 

Merrily,  merrily  hounds  the  hark, 
She  bounds  before  the  gale, 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Ben-na-darch 
Is  joyous  in  her  sail  ! 
With  fluttering  sound  like  laughter  hoarse, 
The  cords  and  canvass  si  rain. 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force, 
In  rippling  edil.es  chased  her  course, 
As  if  they  langh'd  again. 
Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithely  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  light  sea-mew, 
Than  the  gay  galley  bore 
Her  course  upon  that  favouring  wind, 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind, 
And  Slapin's  cavern'd  shore. 

y 

'Twas  then  that  warlike  signals  wake 

Dunscaith's  dark  towers  and  Eisord's  lake, 

"  Let  women,  Edward,  war  with  words. 

And  soon,  from  Cavilgarrigh's  head, 

With  curses  monks,  but  men  with  swords: 

Thick  wreaths  of  eddying  smoke  were  spread  ; 

Nor  doubt  of  living  foes,  to  sate 

A  summons  these  of  war  and  wrath 

Deepest  revenge  and  deadliest  hate. 

To  the  brave  clans  of  Sleat  and  Strath, 

Now,  to  the  sea  !  behold  the  beach. 

And,  ready  at  the  sight, 

And  see  the  galleys'  pendants  stretch 
Their  fluttering  length  down  favouring  gale  ! 
Aboard,  aboard  !  and  hoist  the  sail. 
Hold  we  our  way  for  Arran  first. 

Each  warrior  to  his  weapons  sprung, 
And  targe  upon  his  shoulder  flung/ 
Impatient  for  the  fight. 
Mac-Kinnon's  chief,  in  warfare  grey, 

Where  meet  in  arms  our  friends  dispersed  ; 

Had  charge  to  muster  their  arrav, 

Lennox  the  loyal.  De  la  Have. 
And  Boyd  the  hold  in  battle  fray. 

And  guide  their  barks  to  Brodick-Bay. 

I  long  the  hardy  band  to  head, 

VIII. 

And  see  once  more  my  standard  spread.  — 
Does  noble  Ronald  share  our  course, 
Or  stay  to  raise  his  island  force  ?"  — 

Signal  of  Ronald's  high  command, 
A  beacon  gleam'd  o'er  sea  and  land, 
From  Canna's  tower/that,  steep  and  grey, 

*'  Come  weal,  come  woe,  by  Bruce's  side," 

Like  falcon-nest  o'erhangs  the  hay.  3 

Replied  the  Chief,  "  will  Ronald  bide. 

Seek  not  the  giddy  orasr  to  climb, 

And  since  two  galleys  yonder  ride. 

To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time  ; 

Be  mine,  so  please  my  liege,  dismiss'd 

It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 

To  wake  to  arms  the  clans  of  Uist. 

To  anght  but  goat  or  mountain-deer. 

And  all  who  hear  the  Minche's  roar, 

But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach, 

On  the  Long  Island's  lonely  shore. 

And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 

The  nearer  Isles,  with  slight  delay. 

His  tale  of  former  day; 

Ourselves  may  summon  in  our  way; 

His  cur's  wild  clamour  he  shall  chide, 

And  soon  on  Arran's  shore  shall  meet, 

And  for  thy  seat  by  ocean's  side, 

With  Tonjuil's  aid.  a  gallant  fleet, 

His  varied  plaid  display; 

If  aught  avails  their  Chieftain's  best 

Then  tell,  how  with  their  Chieftain  came, 

Among  the  islesmen  of  the  west." 

In  ancient  times,  a  foreign  dame 

1  See  Appendix,  Kate  2  K. 

3  bee  Appendix,  Kate  2  M. 

2  See  Apjiendix.  Note  3  I, 

THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


363 


To  yonder  turret  grey. 
Stern  was  her  Lord's  suspicious  mind, 
Who  in  so  rude  :i  jail  confined 

So  soft  and  fair  a  tlinill ! 
And  oft.  when  moon  on  ocenn  slept, 
That  lovely  lady  sate  nnd  wept 

Tipon  the  castle-wall, 
And  turn' d  her  eye  to  southern  climes, 
And  thought.  perchance  of  happier  times, 
Anil  tonrh'd  her  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
Wild  dinies  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  s'ill.  when  on  the  cliff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play, 

And  every  breeze  is  mute, 
Upon  I  he  lone  Hebridean's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure  mix'd  with  fear, 
While  from  that  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  murmur  of  a  lute. 
And  sounds,  as  of  a  captive  lone, 
That  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unknown. — 
Strange  is  I  he  tale — but.  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  sons- 
Yet  who  may  pass  them  by. 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruius  grey, 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh  ! 

IX. 
Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark 

O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven. 
Her  path  by  Ronin's  mountains  dark 

The  steersman's  hand  hath  given. 
And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore,' 
And  each  his  ashen  bow  unbent, 

And  gave  his  pastime  o'er. 
And  at  the  Island  Lord's  command, 
For  hunting-spear  look  warrior's  brand. 
On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  light 
Summon'd  her  warriors  to  the  fight; 
A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  MacLeod 
O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode,3 
When  all  in  vain  the  ocean  cave 
Its  refuge  to  his  victims  gave. 
The  Chief,  relentless  in  his  wrath, 
With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path; 
In  dense  and  stifling  volumes  roll'd. 
The  vapour  fill'd  the  cavern's  hold! 
The  warrior-threat,  the  infant's  plain, 
The  mother's  screams,  were  heard  in  vain; 
The  vengeful  Chief  maintains  his  fires, 
Till  in  the  vault,  a  tribe  expires  ! 
The  bones  which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom, 
Too  well  attest  their  dismal  doom. 

X. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  barks 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free, 
So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark, 

Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 
The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay, 
And  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay, 
And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  S';ilfa  found. 
Then  all  unknown  i-s  columns  rose. 
Where  dark  and  umlisturb'd  repose 

The  cormorant  had  found, 
And  the  sliv  seal  had  quiet  home. 
And  welter'd  in  that,  wondrous  dome. 
Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck  d 
By  skill  of  earthly  architect. 


t  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W .  2  Ibid,  Note  2  O. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  a  M.  4  Ibid.  Note  3  H. 


Nature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 

A  Mins'er  to  her  Maker's  praise!  4 

Not  for  a  meatier  use  ascend 

Her  columns,  or  her  arches  bend; 

Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 

That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells, 

And  still,  between  each  awful  pause, 

From  the  high  vault  an  answer  draws, 

In  varied  tone  prolong'd  and  high, 

That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 

Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 

To  old  loua's  holy  fane, 

That  Nature's  voice  might  seem  to  say, 

'•  Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  Child  of  clay ! 

Thy  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 

Task'd  high  and  hard — but  witness  mine  !" 

XI. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  hark. 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds ; 
So  darts  the  dolptiin  from  the  shark, 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 
They  left  Loch-Tua  on  their  lee. 
And  they  waken'd  the  men  of  the  wild  Tiree, 
And  the  Chief  of  the  sandy  Coll ; 
They  paused  not  at  Columba's  isle. 
Though  peal'd  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile 

With  long  and  measured  toll; 
No  time  for  matin  or  for  mass. 
And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 

Away  in  the  billows'  roll. 
Lochbuie's  fierce  and  warlike  Lord 
Their  signal  saw,  and  grasp'd  his  sword. 
And  verdant  Hay  call'd  her  host. 
And  the  clans  of  Jura's  rugged  coast 

Lord  Ronald's  call  obey, 
And  Scorba's  isle,  whose  tortured  shore 
Still  rings  to  Corrievreken's  roar, 

And  lonely  Colonsay ; 

— Scenes  sung  hy  him  who  sings  no  more !  * 
His  bright  and  brief  career  is  o'er, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains; 
Quench'd  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore. 
That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour; 
A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

Has  Leyden's  cold  remains ! 

XII. 

Ever  the  breeze  blows  merrily. 
But  the  galley  ploughs  no  more  the  sea. 
Lest,  rounding  wild  Cantyre.  they  meet 
The  southern  foeman's  watchful  fleet, 

They  held  unwonted  way ; — 
Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore, 
Then  drasg'd  their  hark  the  isthmus  o'er,* 
As  far  as  Kilmaconnel's  shore, 

Upon  the  eastern  hay. 
It  was  a  wondrous  sight  to  see 
Topmast  and  pennon  glitter  free. 
High  raised  above  the  greenwood  tree, 
As  on  dry  land  the  galley  moves. 
By  cliff  and  copse  and  alder  groves. 
Deep  import  from  that  selcouti,  sign, 
Did  many  a  mountain  Seer  divine, 
For  ancient  legends  told  the  Gael, 
That  when  a  royal  hark  should  sail 

O'er  Kilmaconnel  moss, 
Old  Albyu  should  in  fight  prevail, 
And  every  foe  should  faint  and  quail 

Before  her  silver  Cross. 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q.  6  Ibid,  Note  3  B. 


364                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

XIII 

From  worldly  joy  and  hope  estranged, 

Much  is  the  hapless  mourner  changed. 

Now  launch  'd  once  more,  the  inland  sea 

Perchance,"  here  smiled  the  noble  King, 

They  furrow  with  fair  augury, 

"  This  tale  may  other  musings  bring. 

And  steer  for  Arran's  isle  ; 

Soon  shall  we  know  —  vou  mountains  hide 

The  sun,  ere  vet  he  sunk  behind 

The  little  convent  of  S;iint  Bride; 

Ben-Ghoil,     The  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 

There,  sent  by  Edward,  she  must  stay. 

Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 
And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile.  1 

Till  fate  shall  give  more  prosperous  day; 
And  thither  will  I  bear  thy  suit. 

Thither  their  destined  course  they  drew; 

Nor  will  thine  advocate  be  mute." 

It  seem'd  the  isle  her  monarch  knew, 

So  brilliant  was  the  landward  view, 

XVI. 

The  ocean  so  serene  ; 

As  thus  they  talk'd  in  earnest  mood, 

Each  puny  wave  in  diamonds  roll'd 

That  speechless  boy  beside  them  stood. 

O'er  the  calm  deep,  where  hues  of  gold 
With  azure  strove  and  green. 

He  stoop'd  his  head  aanmst  the  mast, 
And  bitter  sobs  came  thick  and  fast, 

The  hill,  the  vale,  the  tree,  the  tower, 

A  grief  that  would  not  be  repress  'd. 

Glow'd  with  the  tints  of  evening's  hour, 

But  seem'd  to  hurst  his  youthful  breast. 

The  beach  was  silver  sheen. 

His  hands,  against  his  forehead  held, 

The  wind  breathed  soft  as  lover's  sigh, 

As  if  by  force  his  tears  repel  I'd, 

And.  oft  renew'd,  seem  d  oft  to  die, 

But  through  his  fingers,  long  and  slight, 

With  breathless  pause  between. 
0  who,  with  speech  of  war  and  woes, 

Fast  trill'd  the  drops  of  crystal  bright, 
b'dward.  who  walk'd  the  deck  apart, 

Would  wish  to  break  the  soft  repose 

First  spied  this  conflict  of  the  heart. 

Of  such  enchanting  scene  ! 

Thoughtless  as  brave,  with  bluntness  kind 

He  sought  to  cheer  the  sorrower's  mind; 

XIV. 

By  force  the  slender  hand  he  drew 

Is  it  of  war  Lord  Ronald  speaks  T 
The  blush  that  dies  his  manly  cheeks, 
The  timid  look  and  downcast  eye. 
And  faltering  voice  the  theme  deny. 
And  good  King  Robert's  brow  eipress'd, 
He  ponder'd  o'er  some  high  request, 
As  doubtful  to  approve; 
Yet  in  his  eye  and  Up  the  while, 
Dwelt  the  half-pitying  glance  and  smile, 
Which  manhood's  graver  mood  beguile, 
When  lovers  talk  of  love. 
Anxious  his  suit  Lord  Ronald  pled  ; 
—  "  And  for  my  bride  betrothed,"  he  said, 
"  My  Liege  has  heard  the  rumour  spread 
Of  Edith  from  Arlornish  fled. 

From  those  poor  eyes  that  streani'd  with  dew. 
As  in  his  hold  the  stripling  strove.  — 
('Twas  a  rough  grasp,  though  meant  in  love,) 
Away  his  tears  the  warrior  swept. 
And  bade  shame  on  him  that  wept. 
"  I  would  to  heaven,  thy  helpless  tongue 
Could  tell  me  who  hath  wrought  thee  wrong! 
For,  were  he  of  our  crew  the  best, 
The  insult  went  not  tmredress'd. 
Come,  cheer  thee  ;  thou  art  now  of  age 
To  be  a  warrior's  gallant  page  ; 
Thou  shall  be  mine  !  —  a  palfrey  fair 
O'er  hill  and  holt  my  boy  shall  bear, 
To  hold  my  how  in  hunting  grove, 
Or  speed  on  errand  to  my  love  ; 

Too  hard  her  fate  —  1  claim  no  right 
To  blame  her  for  her  hasty  flight; 

For  well  I  wot  thou  wilt  not  tell 
The  temple  where  my  wishes  dwell." 

Be  joy  and  happiness  her  lot  !  — 

XVII 

But  she  hath  tied  the  bridal-knot. 

And  Lorn  recall'd  his  promised  plight, 
In  the  assembled  chieftains'  sight.  — 

Bruce  interposed.  —  '•  Gay  Edward,  no, 
This  is  no  youth  to  hold  thy  bow. 

When,  to  fulfil  our  fathers'  band, 

To  fill  thy  goblet,  or  to  bear 

I  profler'd  all  I  could  —  my  hand  — 

Thy  message  light  to  lighter  fair. 

1  was  repulsed  with  scorn  ; 

Thou  art  a  patron  all  too  wild 

Mine  honour  I  should  ill  assert, 

And  thoughtless,  for  this  orphan  child. 

And  worse  the  feelings  of  my  heart, 
If  I  should  play  a  suitor's  part 

See'st  thou  not  how  apart  he  steals, 
Keeps  lonely  couch,  and  lonely  meals? 

Again,  to  pleasure  Lorn."  — 

Filter  by  far  in  yon  calm  cell 

To  tend"  our  sister  I>abel, 

XV. 

With  father  Ausrustm  to  share 

"Yonng  Lord,"  the  Royal  Bruce  replied, 
"  That  question  must  the  Church  decide  ; 
Yet  seems  it  hard,  since  rumours  state 

The  peaceful  change  of  convent  prayer, 
Than  wander  wild  adveniures  through, 
With  such  a  reckless  guide  as  you."  — 
"Thanks,  brother!'1  Edward  answer'd  gay, 

Edith  takes  Clifford  for  her  mate. 
The  very  tie.  which  she  hath  broke, 
To  thee  "should  still  be  binding  yoke. 

"  For  the  high  laud  thy  words  convey  ! 
But  we  may  learn  some  future  day, 
If  thou  or  1  can  this  poor  buy 

But,  for  my  sister  Isabel  — 

Protect  the  best,  or  best  employ. 

The  mood  of  woman  who  can  rellT 

Meanwhile,  our  vessel  nears  the  strand  : 

I  guess  the  Champion  of  the  Rock, 
Victorious  in  the  tourney  shock. 

Launch  we  the  boat,  and  seek  the  laud." 

That  knight  unknown,  to  whom  the  prize 

XVI  TI. 

She  dealt,  —  had  favour  in  her  eyes  ; 

But  since  our  brother  Nigel's  fate. 

To  land  King  Robert  lightly  sprung, 

Our  ruin'd  house  and  hapless  stale. 

And  thrice  aloud  his  bugle  rung 
With  note  prolong'd  and  varied  strain, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 

Till  bold  Ben-Ghoil  replied  again. 

THE    LORD    OF    THE    ISLES.                   365 

'  Good  Douglas  then,  and  De  la  Haye, 
Had  ill  a  glen  a  hart,  ar,  bay. 
A  id  Lennox  cheer'd  the  laggard  hounds, 
When  waked  that  hum  the  greenwood  bounds. 

'his  patriot  band  around  him  hang, 
nd  to  his  knees  and  bosom  clung?  — 
ame  ve  the  Bruce  ?—  his  brother  blamed, 
ut  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed. 

'•  It  is  the  foe  !"  cried  B.iyd,  who  came 
n  hreai  bless  haste  with  eve  of  flame,  — 

ith  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turn'd, 
id  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorii'd." 

"  It  is  the  foe  !—  Each  valiant  lord 

XXI 

Fling  bv  his  how.  and  grasp  h,s  sword  !"— 
"  Not  so."  replied  the  good  Lord  James, 
"That  blast  no  English  bugle  claims. 

'is  morning,  and  the  Convent  bell 
xnig  time  had  ceased  its  matin  kusll, 

ft  have  1  heard  it  fire  the  fight. 

Within  thy  walls.  Saint  Bride! 

^lieer  the  pursuit,  or  stop  the  flight. 

n  aged  Sister  soight  the  cell 

)ead  were  my  heart,  and  deaf  mine  ear, 
"  Bruce  should  call,  nor  Douglas  hear! 

ssign'd  to  Lady  .saN>!, 
And  hurriedly  she  cried, 

iach  to  Loch  Ranza's  margin  spring; 
'hat  blast  was  winded  by  the  King!"  l 

Haste,  gentle  Lady,  baste  —  there  waits 
noble  stranger  at  the  gates  ; 
aint  Bride's  poor  vot'ress  ne'er  has  seen 

XIX. 

Knight  of  such  a  princely  mien; 

Fast  to  their  mates  the  tidings  spread, 

!is  errand,  as  he  bade  me  tell, 

And  fast  to  shore  the  warriors  sped. 

s  with  the  Lady  Isabel." 

Jurstmg  from  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 

'he  princess  rose,  —  for  on  her  knee 

High  waked  their  loval  jubilee  ! 

.ow  bent  she  told  her  rosary,  — 

Around  the  royal  Bruce  they  crowd. 
And  clasp'd  his  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 

Let  him  by  thee  his  purpose  teach: 
may  not  give  a  stranger  speech."  — 

Veterans  of  early  fields  were  there. 

Saint  Bride  forfend.  thou  royal  Maid  !" 

Whose  helmets  press'd  their  hoary  hair, 

'he  portress  cross'd  herself,  and  said,  — 

Whose  swords  and  axes  bore  a  stain 

Not  to  be  prioress  might  1 

From  life-blood  of  the  red-hair'd  Dane  ; 

)ebate  his  will,  his  suit  deny."  — 

And  hoys,  whose  hands  scarce  brook'd  to  wielt 

Has  earthly  show  then,  simple  fool, 

The  heavy  sword  or  bossy  shield 

'ower  o'er  a  sister  of  thy  rule. 

ilen  too  were  there,  that  bore  the  scars 

And  art  thou.  like  the  wordly  train. 

linpress'd  in  Albyn's  woful  wars. 

Subdued  by  splendours  light  and  vain?"— 

M  Falkirk's  tierce  and  faial  fight, 

Teyndrum's  dread  rout,  and  Methven's  flight; 

XXII. 

The  might  of  Douglas  there  was  seen. 

No.  Lady  !  in  old  eyes  like  mine. 

There  Lennox  with  his  graceful  mien; 

5auds  have  no  glitter,  gems  no  shine  ; 

Kirkpatnck,  Closeburn's  dreaded  Knight; 

'Jor  grace  his  rank  attendants  vain, 

The  Lindsay,  fieiy.  fierce,  and  light; 
The  Heir  of  mmdered  De  la  Haye, 

3ne  youthful  page  is  all  his  train, 
t  is  the  form,  the  eye,  the  word. 

And  Boyd  the  grave,  and  Seton  gay. 
Around  their  King  regain'd  they  press'd. 

The  bearing  of  that  stranger  Lord  ; 
-Us  stature,  manlv,  hold,  and  tall, 

Wept,  shouted,  clasp'd  him  to  their  breast, 

Built  like  a  castle's  ba:tled  wall, 

And  young  and  old.  and  serf  and  lord, 

Yet  moulded  in  such  just  degrees, 

And  he  wno  ne'er  uusheaihed  a  sword, 

lis  giant  strength  seems  lightsome  ease. 

And  he  in  many  a  peril  tried, 

31ose  as  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 

Alike  resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 

i-lis  locks  upon  his  forehead  twine, 

And  live  or  die  by  Bruce's  side  ! 

Jet-black,  save  where  some  touch  of  grey 

Has  ta'en  the  youthful  hue  away. 

A.  A.. 

Weather  and  war  their  rougher  trace 

Oh,  War  !  thou  hast  thy  fierce  delight, 

Have  left  on  that  majestic  face  ;  — 

Thy  gleams  of  joy.  intensely  bright  ! 

But  'tis  his  dignity  of  eye  ! 

Such  gleams,  as  from  thy  polish'd  shield 

There,  if  a  suppliant,  would  I  fly. 

Fly  dazzling  o'er  the  battle-field  ! 

Secure,  'mid  danger,  wrongs,  and  grief, 

Such  transports  wake,  severe  and  high, 

Of  sympathy,  redress,  relief— 

Amid  the  pealing  conquest-cry; 

That  glance,  if  guilty,  would  I  dread 

Scarce  less,  when,  alter  battle  lost, 

More  than  the  doom  that  spoke  me  dead  !"  — 

Muster  the  remnants  of  a  host, 

"Enough,  enough,"  the  princess  cried. 

And  as  each  comrade's  name  they  tell, 
Who  in  the  well-fought  conflict  fell, 

'•'Tis  Scotland's  hope,  her  joy,  her  pride! 
To  meaner  front  was  ne'er  assign'd 

Knitting  stern  brow  o'er  flashing  eye, 

Such  mastery  o'er  the  common  mind— 

Vow  to  avenge  them  or  to  die  !  — 

Bestow'd  thy  high  designs  to  aid. 

Warriors  !  —  and  where  are  warriors  found, 

How  long,  O  Heaven  !  how  long  delay'd  I—- 

If not  on  martial  Britain's  ground  ? 

Haste,  Mona,  haste,  to  introduce 

And  who.  when  waked  with  note  of  fire, 

My  darling  brother,  royal  Bruce  !" 

Love  mure  than  they  the  British  lyre  ?  — 

Know  ye  not.—  heai  ts  to  honour  dear  ! 

XXI  II. 

That  joy,  deep  thrilling,  stern,  severe, 

They  met  like  friends  who  part  in  pain, 

At  which  the  heartstrings  vibrate  high, 
And  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye? 

And  meet  in  doubtful  hope  again. 
But  when  subdued  that  fitful  swell 

And  blarne  ye.  then,  the  Bruce,  if  trace 

The  Bruce  survey'd  the  humble  cell;  — 

Of  tear  is  on  his  manly  face, 

"  And  tins  is  thine,  poor  Isabel  !  — 

When,  scanty  relics  of.  the  train 

That  pallet-couch,  and  naked  wall, 

That  hau'd  at  Scone  his  early  reign, 

1  or  room  of  state,  and  bed  of  pall  ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Mote  »  T. 

•2  See  Appendix,  HotcSU. 

366                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

For  costly  robes  nnd  jewels  rare, 
A  string  of  beads  and  zone  of  hair: 

Mind  not  his  tears  ;  I've  seen  them  flow, 
As  in  the  thaw  dissolves  the  snow. 

And  for  the  trumpet's  sprightly  call 

Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful, 

To  sport  or  banquet,  grove  or  hall. 

Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull, 

The  hell's  grim  voice  divides  thy  care, 

And  those  that  with  the  Bruce  would  sail. 

'Twixt  hours  of  penitence  and  prayer!— 

Must  learn  to  strive  with  stream  and  gale.  — 

O  ill  for  thee.  mv  royal  claim 

But  forward,  gentle  Isabel— 

1  From  the  First  David's  sainted  name  ! 

My  answer  for  Lord  Ronald  tell."— 

O  woe  for  thee,  that  while  he  sought 

His  right,  thy  brother  feebly  fought  !"  — 

xxvir. 

XXIV. 

"  This  answer  1)6  to  Ronald  given  — 

"  Now  lay  these  vain  regrets  aside, 
And  be  the  unshaken  Bruce  !"  she  cried. 
'•  For  more  I  glory  to  have  shared 
The  woes  thy  venturous  spirit  dared, 
When  raising  first  thy  valiant  band 
In  rescue  of  thv  native  land, 
Than  had  fair  fortune  set  me  down 
The  partner  of  an  empire's  crown. 
And  grieve  not  that  on  Pleasure's  stream 
No  more  I  drive  in  giddy  dream, 
For  Heaven  the  erring  pilot  knew, 
And  from  the  gulf  the  vessel  drew. 
Tried  me  with  judgments  stern  and  great, 

The  heart  he  asks  is  fix'd  on  heaven. 
My  love  was  like  a  summer  flower, 
That  wither'd  in  the  wintry  hour, 
Born  but  of  vanity  and  pride, 
And  with  these  sonny  visions  died. 
If  further  press  his  suit  —  then  say, 
He  should  his  plighted  troth  obey. 
Troth  plighted  both  wit  h  ring  and  word, 
And  sworn  on  crucifix  and  sword  — 
Oh.  shame  thee.  Robert!  I  have  seen 
Thou  hast  a  woman's  guardian  been  ! 
Even  in  extremity's  dread  hour, 
When  press'd  on  thee  the  Southern  power, 
And  safety,  to  all  human  sight. 

My  house's  ruin,  thy  defeat. 
Poor  Nigel's  death,  till,  tamed,  I  own, 
My  hopes  are  fix'd  on  Heaven  alone  ; 
Nor  e'er  shall  earthly  prospects  win 
My  heart  to  this  vain  world  of  sin."  — 

Was  only  found  in  rapid  flight. 
Thou  he'ard'st  a  wretched  female  plain 
In  agony  of  travail-pain. 
And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 
Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 

YYV 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do, 

AA  V  . 

Rather  than,  like  knight  untrue, 

"Nay.  Isabel,  for  such  stern  choice, 
First  wilt  thou  wait  thy  brother's  voice  ; 

Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 
A  woman  in  her  last  distress.! 

Then  ponder  if  in  convent  scene 

And  wilt  thou  now  deny  thine  aid 

No  softer  thoughts  might  intervene  — 
Say  they  were  of  that  unknown  Knight, 
Victor  in  Woodstock's  tourney-fight  — 

To  an  oppress'd  and  injured  maid, 
Even  plead  for  Ronald's  perfidy. 
And  press  his  fickle  faith  on  me  ?  —  p 

Nay,  if  his  name  such  blush  you  owe, 

So  witness  Heaven,  as  true  I  vow, 

Victorious  o'er  a  fairer  foe  !" 

Had  I  those  earthly  feelings  now. 

Truly  his  penetrating  eye 

Which  could  my  former  bosom  move 

Hath  caught  that  blush's  passing  dye.  — 

Ere  taught  to  set  its  hopes  above. 

Like  the  last  be-mi  of  evening  thrown 

I'd  spurii  each  proffer  he  could  bring. 

On  a  white  cloud,—  just  seen  and  gone. 
Soon  with  calm  cheek  and  steady  eye, 
The  princess  made  composed  reply  :  —  • 
"I  guess  my  brother's  meaning  well; 

Till  at  my  feet  heHaid  the  ring. 
The  ring  and  spousal  contract  both. 
And  fair  acquittal  of  his  oath, 
By  her  who  brooks  his  perjured  scorn, 

For  not  so  silent  is  the  cell, 
But  we  have  heard  the  islesmen  all 

The  ill-requited  Maid  of  Lorn!" 

Arm  in  thy  cause  at  Ronald's  call. 

XXV  III. 

And  mine  eye  proves  that  Knight  unknown 
And  the  brave  Island  Lord  are  one.  — 
Had  then  his  suit  been  earlier  made, 
In  his  own  name,  with  thee  to  aid, 
(But  that  his  plighted  faith  forbade,) 
I  know  not  .           .  But  thy  page  so  near?  — 

With  sudden  impulse  forward  sprung 
The  page,  and  on  her  neck  he  hung  ; 
Then,  recollected  instantly. 
His  head  he  stoop'd,  and  bent  his  knee, 
Kiss'd  twice  the  hand  of  Isabel, 
Arose,  and  sudden  left  the  cell.  — 
The  princess,  loosen'd  from  his  hold, 

This  is  no  tale  for  menial's  ear." 

XXVI. 

Blush'd  angry  at  his  bearing  bold  ; 
But  good'  King  Robert  cried. 

Still  stood  that  page,  as  far  apart 

"  Chafe  not  —  by  signs  he  speaks  his  mind, 

As  the  small  cell  would  space  afford  ; 
With  dizzy  eye  and  bursting  heart, 

He  heard  the  plan  my  care  design'd, 
Nor  could  his  transports  hide.  — 

He  leant  his  weight  on  Bruce  's  sword, 

But,  sister,  now  bethink  thee  well; 

The  monarch's  mantle  loo  he  bore. 

No  easy  choice  the  convent  ceil  ; 

And  drew  the  fold  his  visage  o'er. 

Trust,  I  shall  plav  no  tyrant  part. 

"  Fear  not  for  him  —  in  murderous  strife," 

Either  to  force  thv  hand  or  heart, 

Said  Bruce,  '•  his  warning  saved  my  life; 

Or  suffer  that  Lord  Ronald's  scorn, 

Full  seldom  pans  he  from  my  side, 

Or  wrong  for  thee,  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 

And  in  his  silence  I  confide, 

But  think.  —  not  long  the  time  has  been, 

Since  he  can  tell  no  tale  again. 

That  thou  wert  wont  to  sigh  unseen, 

He  is  a  boy  of  gentle  strain, 
And  1  have  purposed  he  shall  dwell 

And  wouldst  the  ditties  best  approve, 
That  told  some  lay  of  hapless  love 

In  Augustin  the  chaplain's  cell, 

And  wait  on  thee,  my  Isabel.  — 

1  Sc>-  Apprndix,  Note  1  V. 

THE   LORD   OP   THE   ISLES. 


367 


Now  are  thy  wishes  in  thy  power, 
And  thou  art  bent  on  cloister  hower ! 
Oh  !  if  our  Edward  knew  the  change, 
How  would  his  busy  satire  range, 
With  many  a  sarcasm  varied  still 
On  woman's  wish,  and  woman's  will !'' — 

XXIX. 

"  Brother,  I  well  believe."  she  said, 
"  Even  so  would  Edward's  part  be  play'd. 
Kindly  in  heart,  in  word  severe. 
A  foe 'to  thought,  and  grief,  and  fear, 
He  holds  his  humour  uncontroll'd ; 
But  thou  art  of  another  mould. 
Say  then  to  Ronald,  as  I  say, 
Unless  before  my  feet  he  lay 
The  ring  which  bound  the  faith  he  swore, 
By  Edith  freely  yielded  o'er, 
He  moves  his  suit  to  me  no  more. 
Nor  do  I  promise,  even  if  now 
He  stood  absolved  of  spousal  vow, 
That  I  would  change  my  purpose  made, 
To  shelter  me  in  holy  shade. — 
Brother,  for  little  space,  farewell! 
To  other  duties  warns  the  bell." — 

XXX. 

"  Lost  to  the  world,"  King  Robert  said, 
When  he  had  left  the  royal  maid, 
"  Lost,  to  the  world  by  lot  severe, 
O  what  a  gem  lies  buried  here, 
Nipp'd  by  misfortune's  cruel  frost, 
The  buds  of  fair  affection  lost ! — 
But  what  have  1  with  love  to  do? 
Far  sterner  cares  my  lot  pursue. 
—Pent  in  this  isle  we  may  not  lie. 
Nor  would  it  long  our  wants  supply. 
Kight  opposiie.  the  mainland  towers 
Of  my  own  Turnberry  court  our  powers — 
— Might  not  my  father's  beadsman  hoar, 
Cuthbert,  who  dwells  upon  the  shore, 
Kindle  a  signal  flame,  to  show 
The  time  propitious  for  the  blow  T 
It  shall  be  so — some  friend  shall  bear 
Our  mandate  with  despatch  and  care; 
— Edward  shall  find  the  messenger. 
That  fortress  ours,  the  island  fleet 
May  on  the  coast  of  Carrick  meet. — 
O  Scotland  !  shall  it  e'er  be  mine 
To  wreak  thy  wrongs  in  battle- line, 
To  raise  my  victor-head,  and  see 
Thy  hills,  thy  dales,  thy  people  free, — 
That  glance  of  bliss  is  all  I  crave, 
Betwixt  my  labours  and  my  grave  !" 
Then  down  the  hill  he  slowly  went, 
Oft  pausing  on  the  steep  descent, 
And  reach'd  the  spot  where  his  bold  train 
Held  rustic  camp  upon  the  plain. 


Slorfc  of  tlje  Jtsles. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


I. 

On  fair  Loch-Ranza  stream'd  the  early  day, 
Thin  wreaths  of  cottage-smoke  are  upward 

curl'd 

From  the  lone  hamlet,  which  her  inland  bay 
And  circling  mountains  sever  from  the  world. 


|  And  there  the  fisherman  his  sail  unfurl'd. 
The  goat-herd  drove  lus  kids  to  steep  Hen- 

Ghoil, 

Before  the  hut  the  dame  her  spindle  twirl'd, 
Courting  the  sunbeam  as  she  plied  her  toil. — 
For,  wake  where'er  he  may,  Man  wakes  to 

care  and  toil. 

But  other  duties  call'd  each  convent  maid, 
Roused  by  the  summons  of  the  moss-grown 

bell; 

Sung  were  the  matins,  and  the  mass  was  said, 
And  every  sister  sought  her  separate  cell, 
Such  was  the  rule,  her  rosary  to  tell. 
And  Isabel  has  knelt  in  lonely  prayer; 
The  sunbeam,  through  the  narrow  lattice,  fell 
Upon  the  snowy  neck  and  long  dark  hair. 
As  stoop'd  her  gentle  head  in  meek  devotion 

there. 

II. 

She  raised  her  eyes,  that  duty  done, 
When  glanced  upon  the  pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd  and  enchased,  a  golden  ring, 
Bound  to  a  scroll  with  silken  string, 
With  few  brief  words  inscribed  to  tell, 
"  This  for  the  Lady  Isabel." 
Within,  the  wriiing  farther  bore, — 
"'Twas  with  this  rms  his  plight  he  swore, 
With  this  his  promise  I  restore; 
To  her  who  can  the  heart  command, 
Well  may  I  yield  the  plighted  hand. 
And  0 !  for  better  fortune  born, 
Grudge  not  a  passing  sigh  to  mount 
Her  who  was  Ediih  once  of  Lorn!" 
One  single  flash  of  glad  surprise 
Just  glanced  from  Isabel's  dark  eyes, 
But  vanish'd  in  the  blush  of  shame. 
That,  as  its  penance,  ins)  ant  came. 
"  O  thought  unworthy  of  my  race  ! 
Selfish,  ungenerous,  mean,  and  base, 
A  moment's  throb  of  joy  to  own, 
That  rose  upon  her  hopes  o'erthrown! — 
Thou  pledge  of  vows  too  well  believed, 
Of  man  ingrate  and  maid  deceived, 
Think  not  thy  lustre  here  shall  gain 
Another  heart  to  hope  in  vain  ! 
For  thou  shall  rest,  thou  tempting  gaud, 
Where  worldly  thoughts  are  overawed, 
And  worldly  splendours  sink  debased." 
Then  by  the  cross  the  ring  she  placed. 

III. 

Next  rose  the  thought, — its  owner  far, 
How  came  it  here  throush  bolt  and  bar? — 
But  the  dim  lattice  is  ajar. — 
She  looks  abroad,  the  morning  dew 
A  light  short  step  had  brush'd  anew, 

And  there  were  foot-prints  seen 
On  the  carved  buttress  rising  still, 
Till  on  the  mossy  window-sill 

Their  track  effaced  the  green. 
The  ivy  twigs  were  torn  and  fray'd, 
As  if  some  climber's  steps  to  aid. — 
But  who  the  hardy  messenger. 
Whose  venturous  "path  these  signs  infer?— 
"  Strange  doubts  are  mine  ! — Mona,  draw  nigh; 
— Nought  'scapes  old  Mona's  curious  eye — 
What  strangers,  gentle  mother,  say, 
Have  sought  these  holy  walls  to-day?" — 
".None,  Lady,  none  of  note  or  name; 
Only  your  brother's  foot-page  came, 
At  peep  of  dawn — I  pray'd  him  pass 
To  chapel  where  they  said  the  mass; 


368                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   AVORKS. 

But  like  an  arrow  he  shot  hy, 

He  breathed  a  timid  prayer  for  those 

And  tears  seem'd  buying  from  his  eye." 

Who  died  ere  Shiloh's  sun  arose. 

Beside  Macfarlane's  Cross  he  staid, 

IV. 

There  told  his  hours  within  the  shade, 

The  truth  at  once  on  Isabel, 

And  at  the  stream  his  thirst  allay'd. 

As  darted  hy  a  sunbeam,  fell.— 

Thence  onward  journeying  slowly  still, 

"  'Tis  Edith's  self!  —  her  speechless  woe 

As  evening  closed  he  reach  'd  the  hill. 

Her  form,  her  looks,  the  secret  show  ! 

Where,  rising  through  the  woodland  green, 

—  Instant,  good  Mima,  to  the  bay. 

Old  Brodick's  gothic  towers  were  seen, 

And  to  my  royal  brother  say. 

From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 

I  do  conjure  him  seek  my  cell. 

Douglas  had  won  them  bv  the  sword.  3 

With  that  mute  page  he  loves  so  well."  — 

The  sun  that  sunk  behind  the  isle, 

"  What  !  know'st  thou  not  his  warlike  host 

Now  tinged  them  with  a  parting  smile. 

At  break  of  day  has  left  our  coast  ? 

My  old  eyes  saw  them  from  the  tower. 

VII. 

At  eve  they  couch'd  in  greenwood  bower, 
At  dawn  a  bugle  signal,  made 
By  their  bold  Lord,  their  ranks  array'd  ; 
Up  sprung  the  spears  through  bush  and  tree, 
No  time  for  l»enedicite  ! 

But  though  the  beams  of  light  decay, 
Twas  bustle  all  in  Brodick-Bay. 
The  Bruce  's  followers  crowd  the  shore, 
And  boats  and  barges  some  unmoor. 

Like  deer,  that,  rousing  from  their  lair. 
Just  shake  the  dewdrops  from  their  hair, 
And  toss  their  armed  crests  aloft, 

Some  raise  the  sail,  some  seize  the  oar; 
Their  eyes  oft  turn'd  where  glimmer'd  far 
What  might  have  seem'd  an  early  star 

Such  matins  theirs  !"  —  ••  Good  mother,  soft.  — 
Where  does  my  brother  bend  his  way  J"  — 
"  As  I  have  heard,  for  Brodick-Bay, 

On  heaven's  blue  arch,  save  that  its  light 
Was  all  too  flickering,  fierce,  and  bright. 
Par  distant  in  the  south,  the  ray 

Across  the  isle  —  of  barks  a  score 

Shone  pale  amid  retiring  day, 

Lie  there,  'tis  said,  to  waft  them  o'er, 

But  as.  on  Carrick  shore, 

On  sudden  news,  to  Carrick-shore."  — 
"If  such  their  purpose,  deep  the  need," 
Said  anxious  Isabel,  "  of  speed  ! 
Call  Father  Augustine,  good  dame."  — 
The  nun  obey'd,  the  Father  came. 

Dim  seen  in  outline  faintly  blue. 
The  shades  of  evening  closer  drew, 
It  kindled  more  and  more. 
The  monk's  slow  steps  now  press  the  sands, 
And  now  amid  a  scene  he  stands, 
Full  strange  to  churchman's  eye  ; 

y 

Warriors,  who,  arming  for  the  fight, 

"Kind  Father,  hie  without  delay, 
Across  the  hills  to  Brodick-Bay. 
This  message  to  the  Bruce  be  given  ; 

Rivet  and  clasp  their  harness  light, 
And  twinkling  spears,  and  axes  bright, 
And  helmets  flashing  high. 
Oft,  too,  with  unaccustom'd  ears, 

I  pray  him.  by  his  hopes  of  Heaven, 
That,  till  he  speak  with  me.  he  stay  ! 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears,* 
While,  hastening  all  on  board, 

Or.  if  his  haste  brook  no  delay, 
That  he  deliver,  on  my  suit. 

As  stormy  as  the  swelling  surge 
That  mix'd  its  roar,  the  leaders  urge 

Into  thy  charge  that  stripling  mute. 

Their  followers  to  the  ocean  verge, 

Thus  prays  his  sister  Isabel, 
For  causes  more  than  she  may  tell  — 

With  many  a  haughty  word. 

Away,  good  father  !  and  take  heed. 

That  life  and  death  are  on  thy  speed." 

VIII. 

His  cowl  the  good  old  priest  did  on, 
1'ook  his  piked  staff  and  saridall'd  shoon, 
And,  like  a  palmer  bent  by  eld, 
O'er  moss  and  moor  his  journey  held. 

Through  that  wild  throng  the  Father  pais'd, 
And  reach'd  the  Royal  Bruce  at  last. 
He  leant  against  a  stranded  boat. 
That  the  approaching  tide  must  float, 

And  counted  every  rippling  wave, 

VI. 

As  higher  yet  her  sides  they  lave, 

Heavy  and  dull  the  foot  of  age, 
And  rugged  was  the  pilgrimage  ; 
But  none  was  there  beside,  whose  care 

And  oft  the  distant  fire  he  eyed, 
And  closer  yet  his  hauberk  tied, 
And  loosen'd  in  its  sheath  his  brand. 

Might  such  important  message  bear. 

Edward  and  Lennox  were  at  hand, 

Through  birchen  copse  he  wander'd  slow, 

Douglas  and  Ronald  had  the  care 

Stunted  and  sapless,  thin  and  low; 

The  soldiers  to  the  barks  to  share.  — 

Bv  manv  a  moun'ain  stream  lie  pass'd, 

The  Monk  approach'cl  and  homage  paid  ; 

From  the  tall  cliffs  in  tumult  cast, 

"And  art  thou  come,"  King  Robert  said, 

Dashing  to  foam  their  waters  dun. 

'•  So  far  to  bless  us  ere  we  part  ?"  — 

And  sparkling  in  the  summer  sun. 

—"My  Liege,  and  with,  a  loyal  heart!— 

Round  his  grey  head  the  wild  curlew 

But  other  charge  1  ham  to  tell,"  — 

In  many  a  fearless  circle  flew. 
O'er  chasms  he  pass'd,  where  fractures  wide 

And  spoke  the  hest  of  Isabel. 
—  "Now  hy  Saint  Giles,"  the  monarch  cried, 

Craved  wury  eye  and  ample  stride  ;  1 

"This  moves  me  much!  —  this  morning  tide, 

He  cross'd  his  brow  beside  the  stone 

1  sent  the  stripling  to  Saint  Bride, 

Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan, 

With  my  commandment  there  to  hide."— 

And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild. 

—  ''Thither  he  came  the  portress  sliow'd. 

O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled,2 

But  there,  my  Liege,  made  brief  abode.''  — 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W.          3  Ibid,  Note  2  X. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y.         4  Ibid,  Note  2  Z. 

THE   LORD   OF   THE    ISLES. 


3G9 


IX. 

"'Twas  T,"  said  Edward,  "found  employ 
Of  nobler  import  for  the  boy. 
Deep  pondering  in  my  anxious  mind, 
A  fitting  messenger  to  find, 
To  bear  t.liy  written  inundate  o'er 
To  Cuthbert  on  tlie  C.-irrick  sliore, 
I  chanced,  at  early  dawn,  to  pass 
Tlie  chapel  gate  to  snatch  u  mass. 
I  found  the  stripling  on  a  tomb 
taw-seated,  weeping  for  the  doom 
That  gave  his  youlh  to  convent  gloom. 
I  told  my  purpose,  and  his  eyes 
Flash'd  joyful  at  the  glad  surprise. 
He  bounded  to  the  skill',  the  sail 
Was  spread  before  a  prosperous  gale, 
And  well  my  charge  he  hath  obey'd; 
For. see!  the  ruddy  signal  made, 
That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all. 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall." — l 

X. 

"0  wild  of  thought,  and  hard  of  heart!" 
Answer'd  the  Monarch,  "on  a  part 
Of  such  deep  danger  to  employ 
A  mute,  an  orphan,  and  a  boy! 
Unlit  for  flight,  unfit  for  strife, 
Without  a  tongue  to  plead  for  life  ! 
Now,  were  my  right  restored  by  Heaven, 
Edward,  my  crown  [  would  have  given, 
lire,  thrust  on  such  adventure  wild, 
I  peril'd  thus  the  helpless  child." — 
—Offended  half,  and  half  submiss, 
"  Brother  and  Liege,  of  blame  like  this," 
Edward  replied,  "I  little  drearn'd. 
A  stranger  messenger.  I  deem'd, 
Might  safest  seek  the  beadsman's  cell, 
Where  all  thy  squires  are  known  so  well. 
Noteless  his  presence,  sharp  his  sense, 
His  imperfection  his  defence. 
If  seen,  none  can  bis  errand  guess; 
If  ta'en.  his  words  no  tale  express — 
Methinks,  too.  yonder  beacon's  shine 
Might  expiate  greater  fault  than  mine." — 
"  Rash,"  said  King  Robert,  "  was  the  deed- 
But  it  is  done.— Embark  with  speed ! — 
Good  Father,  say  to  Isabel 
How  this  unhappy  chance  befell; 
If  well  we  thrive  on  yonder  shore. 
Soon  shall  my  care  her  page  restore. 
Our  greeting  to  our  sister  bear. 
And  think  of  us  in  mass  and  prayer." — 

XI. 

"  Aye  !"  said   the  Priest,  "  while  this    poor 

hand 

Can  chalice  raise  or  cross  command, 
While  my  old  voice  has  accents'  use, 
Can  Augustine  forget  the  Bruce  !" 
Then  to  his  side  Lord  Ronald  press'd, 
And  whisper'd.  "  Bear  thou  this  request, 
That  \vnen  by  Brnce's  side  1  tight, 
For  Scotland's  crown  and  freedom's  right. 
The  princess  grace  her  knight  to  bear 
Some  token  of  her  favouring  care ; 
It  shall  he  shown  where  England's  best 
May  shrink  to  see  it  on  my  crest. 
And  for  the  boy— since  weigh! ler  care 
For  royal  Bruce  the  times  prepare. 
The  helpless  youth  is  Ronald's  charge. 
His  couch  my  plaid,  his  fence  my  targe." 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 


He  ceased  ;  for  many  an  eager  hand 
Had  urged  the  barges  from  the  strand. 
Their  number  was  a  score  and  ten, 
They  bore  thrice  threescore  chosen  men. 
Wiiu  such  small  force  did  Bruce  at  last 
The  die  for  death  or  empire  cast ! 

XII. 

Now  on  the  darkening  mam  afloat 
Ready  and  niann'd  rocks  every  boat ; 
Beneath  their  oars  the  ocean's  might 
Was  dash'd  to  sparks  of  glimmering  light. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  as  off  they  bore, 
Their  armour  glanced  against  the  shore, 
And,  mingled  with  the  dashing  tide, 
Their  murmuring  voices  distant  died. — 
"God  speed  them!"  said  the  Priest,  as  dark 
On  distant  billows  glides  each  bark: 

0  Heaven!  when  swords  for  freedom  shine, 
And  Monarch's  right,  the  cause  is  tm'ue ! 
Edge  doubly  every  patriot  blow  ! 
Beat  down  the  banners  of  the  foe ! 
And  be  it  to  the  nations  known, 
That  Victory  is  from  God  alone!" 
As  up  the  hill  his  pa'h  he  drew, 
He  turn'd  his  blessings  to  renew, 
Oft  turn'd.  till  on  the  darkeu'd  coast 
All  traces  of  their  course  were  lost; 
Then  slowly  bent  to  Brodick  lower. 
To  shelter  for  the  evening  hour. 

XIII. 

In  night  the  fairy  prospects  sink, 
Where  Ciimray's  isles  with  verdant  link 
Close  the  fair  entrance  of  the  Clyde; 
The  woods  of  Bute,  no  more  descried, 
Are  gone — and  on  the  placid  sea 
The  rowers  ply  their  task  with  glee, 
While  hands  that  knightly  lances  bore 
Impatient  aid  the  labouring  oar. 
The  half-faced  moon  shone  dim  and  pale, 
And  glanced  against  the  whiten'd  sail; 
But  on  that  ruddv  beacon-light 
Each  steersman  kept  the  helm  aright, 
And  oft.  for  such  the  King's  command. 
That  all  at  once  might  reach  the  strand, 
From  boat  to  boat  loud  shout  and  hail 
Warn'd  them  to  crowd  or  slacken  sail.    . 
South  and  by  west  the  armada  bore, 
And  near  at 'length  the  Carrick  shore. 
As  less  and  less  the  distance  grows. 
High  and  more  high  the  beacon  rose ; 
The  light,  that  seem'd  a  twinkling  star, 
Now  blazed  portentous,  fierce,  and  far. 
Dark-red  the  heaven  above  it  glow'd, 
Dark-red  the  sea  beneath  it  flow'd, 
Red  rose  the  rocks  on  ocean's  brim, 
In  blood-red  light  her  islets  swim; 
Wild  scream  the  dazzled  sea-fowl  gave, 
Dropp'd  from  their  crags  on  plashing  wave 
The  deer  to  distant  covert  drew. 
The  black-cock  deem'd  it  day,  and  crew. 
Like  some  tall  castle  given  to  flame. 
O'er  half  the  land  the  lustre  came. 
"  Now,  good  my  Liege,  and  brother  sage, 
What  think  ye  of  mine  elfin  page?" — 
"  Row  on  !"  the  noble  King  replied, 
"  We'll  learn  the  truth  whate'er  betide; 
Yet  sure  the  beadsman  and  the  child 
Could  ne'er  have  waked  that  beacon  wild, ' 

XIV. 

With  that  the  boats  approach'd  the  land, 
But  Edward's  grounded  on  the  sand ; 


370 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  eaeer  Knieht  leap'd  in  the  sea. 

Waist-deep,  ami  first  on  shore  was  he, 

Though  every  barge's  lianly  band 

Contended  which  should  Rain  the  land. 

When  that  strange  light,  which,  seen  afar, 

Seem'd  steady  as  the  polar  siar, 

Now,  like  a  prophet's  fiery  chair, 

Seem'U  travelling  the  realms  of  air. 

Wide  o'er  the  sky  the  splendour  glows, 

As  that  portentous  meteor  rose ; 

Helm,  axe,  and  falchion  glitter'd  bright, 

And  in  the  red  and  dusky  light 

His  comrade's  face  each  warrior  saw, 

Nor  marvell'd  it  was  pale  with  awe. 

Then  high  in  air  the  beams  were  lost, 

And  darkness  sunk  upon  the  coast. — 

Ronald  to  Heaven  a  prayer  address'd. 

And  Douglas  cross "d  his  dauntless  breast; 

"  Saint  James  protect  us !"  Lennox  cried, 

But  reckless  Edward  spoke  aside, 

••  Deem'st  thou,  Kirkpatrick,  in  that  Same 

Red  Comyn's  angry  spirit  came. 

Or  would'  thy  dauntless  heart  endure 

Once  more  to  make  assurance  sure  ?" — 

"  Hush  !''  said  the  Bruce. "  we  soou  shall  know 

If  this  be  sorcerer's  empty  show, 

Or  stratagem  of  southern  foe. 

The  moon  shines  out— upon  the  sand 

Let  every  leader  rank  his  band." 

XV. 

Faintly  the  moon's  pale  beams  supply 

That  roddy  light's  unnatural  dye; 

The  dubious  cold  reflection  lay 

On  the  wet  sands  and  quiet  bay. 

Beneath  the  rocks  King  Robert  drew 

His  scatter'd  files  to  order  due, 

Till  shield  compact  ami  serried  spear 

In  the  cool  light  shone  blue  and  clear. 

Then  down  a  path  that  sought  the  tide. 

That  speechless  page  was  seen  to  glide ; 

He  knelt  him  lowly  on  the  sand. 

And  gave  a  scroll  to  Robert's  hand 

"  A  torch."  the  Monarch  cried.  "  What,  ho! 

Now  shall  we  Cuthbert's  tidings  know." 

But  evil  news  the  letters  bare. 

The  Clifford's  force  was  strong  and  ware, 

Augmented,  too.  that  very  morn. 

By  mountaineers  who  came  with  Lorn. 

Long  harrow'd  by  oppressor's  hand, 

Courage  and  faith  had  fled  the  land, 

And  over  Carrick.  dark  and  deep. 

Had  sunk  dejection's  iron  sleep. — 

Cuthbert  had  seen  that  beacon-flame, 

Unwitting  from  what  source  it  came. 

Doubtful  of  perilous  event, 

Edward's  mute  messenger  he  sent, 

If  Bruce  deceived  should  venture  o'er, 

I'o  warn  him  from  the  fatal  shore. 

XVI. 

As  round  the  torch  the  leaders  crowd, 
Bruce  read  these  chilling  news  aloud. 
"  What  council,  nobles,  have  we  now  ? — 
To  ambush  us  in  greenwood  hough. 
And  take  the  chance  which  fate  may  send 
'I'o  bring  our  enterprize  to  end. 
Or  shall  we  turn  us  to  the  main 
As  exiles,  and  embark  ag-.iin  ?" — 
Answer'd  fierce  Edward.  "  Hap  what  may, 
In  Carrick.  Carrick's  Lord  must  stay. 
I  would  not  minstrels  told  the  tale. 
Wildfire  or  meteor  made  us  quail."— 


Answer'd  the  Douglas.  "  If  my  Liege 

May  win  yon  walls  by  storm  or  siege, 

Tlien  were  each  brave  and  patriot  heart 

Kindled  of  new  for  loyal  part." — 

Answer'd  Lord  Rondo,  "  Not  for  shame 

Would  I  that  aged  Torquil  c;inie. 

And  found,  for  all  our  empty  hoaxt, 

Without  a  blow  we  fled  the  roast. 

I  will  not  credit  that  this  bind. 

So  famed  for  warlike  heart  and  hand, 

The  nurse  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce, 

Will  long  with  tyrants  hold  a  truce." — 

"  Prove  we  our  fate — the  brunt  we'll  bide  !" 

So  13oyd  and  Have  and  Lennox  cried  ; 

So  said,  so  vow'd.  the  leaders  all ; 

So  Bruce  resolved  :  ••  And  in  my  hall 

Since  the  Bold  Southern  make  their  home, 

The  hour  of  payment  soon  shall  come, 

When  with  a  rough  and  rugged  host 

Clifford  may  reckon  to  his  cost. 

Meantime,  through  well-known  bosk  and  dell, 

I'll  lead  where  we  may  shelter  well." 

XVII. 

Now  ask  yon  whence  that  wondrous  light, 

Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  ? — 

It  ne'er  was  known  •  —  yet  grey-hair'd  eld 

A  superstitious  credence  held. 

That  never  did  a  mortal  band 

Wake  its  broad  glare  on  Carrick  s'.rand  ; 

Nay,  and  that,  on  the  self-same  night 

When  Bruce  cross 'd  o'er,  still  gleams  the  light. 

Yearly  it  gleams  o'er  mount  and  m(x;r. 

And  glittering  wave  and  crimwu'd  shore — 

But  whether  beam  celestial,  lent 

I!y  Heaven  to  aid  the  King's  descent, 

Or  fire  hell-kindled  from  beneath, 

To  lure  him  to  defeat  and  death. 

Or  were  it  but  some  meteor  strange. 

Of  such  as  oft  through  midnight  range, 

Startling  the  traveller  late  and  lone, 

I  know  not — and  it  ne'er  was  known. 

XVIII. 

Now  up  the  rocky  pass  they  drew, 

And  Ronald,  to  his  promise  true. 

Still  made  his  arm  the  stripling's  stay. 

To  aid  him  on  the  rngged  way. 

"  Now  cheer  thee,  simple  Amadine  ! 

Why  throbs  that  silly  heart  of  thine  ?"— 

—That  name  the  pirates  to  their  slave 

(In  Gaelic  'tis  the  Changeling)  save— 

"  Dost  thou  not  rest  thee  on  my  arm  ? 

Do  not  my  plaid-folds  hold  thee  warm  ? 

Hath  not  the  wild  bull's  treble  bide 

This  targe  for  thee  and  me  supplied? 

Is  not  Clan-Colla's  sword  of  steel  ? 

And,  trembler,  canst  thou  terror  feel  ? 

Cheer  thee,  and  still  that  throbbing  heart : 

From  Ronald's  guard  Ihou  shall  not  p^irt.'' 

— O!  many  a  shaft,  at  random  M-U'. 

Finds  mark  the  archer  little  meant ! 

And  many  a  word,  at  random  snokr-n. 

May  soothe  or  wound  a  heart  that's  broken! 

Half  soothed,  half  griWed.  half  'err;!ied, 

Clo*e  drew  the  page  to  Ronald's  side ; 

A  wild  delirious  thrill  of  joy 

Was  in  that  hour  of  agony. 

As  up  the  steepy  pass  he  strove. 

Fear,  toil,  and  sorrow,  losr  in  love  ! 


1  Sw  AppMlJil,  iNole  3  B. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


371 


XIX. 

The  harrier  of  that  iron  shore. 
The  rock's  steep  ledge,  is  now  climb'cl  o'er; 
And  from  tlie  castle's  distant  wall. 
From  tower  to  tower  the  warders  c;ill : 
The  sound  swinsrs  over  land  and  sea. 
And  murks  a  watchful  enemy. — 
They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Leu  lor  tlie  Castle's  silvan  reign,1 
(Seek  not  the  scene— the  axe,  the  plough, 
The  boor's  dull  fence,  have  marr'd  it  now,) 
But  then,  soli  swept  in  velvet  green 
The  plain  w.th  many  a  glade  between, 
Whose  tangled  alleys  far  invade 
The  depth  of  the  brown  forest  shade. 
Here  the  tall  fern  obscured  the  lawu, 
Fair  shelter  for  the  sportive  fawn ; 
There,  tufted  close  with  copsewood  green, 
Was  many  a  swelling  hillock  seen; 
And  all  around  was  verdure  meet 
For  pressure  of  the  fairies'  feet. 
The  glossy  holly  loved  the  park, 
The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  dark. 
And  many  an  old  oak,  worn  and  bare, 
With  all  its  shiver'd  boughs,  was  there. 
Lovely  between,  the  moonbeams  fell 
On  lawn  and  hillock,  glade  and  dell. 
The  gallant  Monarch  sigh'd  to  see 
These  glades  so  loved  in  childhood  free. 
Bethinkms  that,  as  outlaw  now. 
He  ranged  beneath  the  forest  bough. 

XX. 

Fast  o'er  the  moonlight  Chase  they  sped. 
Well  knew  the  band  that  measured  tread, 
When,  ill  retreat  or  in  advance. 
The  serried  warriors  move  at  once  ; 
And  evil  were  the  luck,  if  dtiwn 
Descried  them  on  the  open  lawn. 
Copses  they  traverse,  brooks  they  cross, 
Strain  up  the  hank  and  o'er  the  moss. 
From  the  exhausted  page's  brow 
Cold  drops  of  toil  are  streaming  now; 
With  effort  faint  and  lensthen'd  pause, 
His  weary  step  the  stripling  draws. 
"  Nay.  dr.iop  not  yet !"  the  warrior  said  ; 
"  Come,  let  me  give  thee  ease  and  aid  I 
Strong  are  mine  arms,  and  little  care 
A  weight  so  slight  as  thine  to  hear. — 
What !  wilt  thou  not,  ?— capricious  boy ! 
Then  thine  own  limbs  and  strength  employ. 
Hass  but  this  night,  and  pass  thy  care, 
I'll  place  thee  with  a  lady  fair. 
Where  thou  shall  tune  thy  lute  to  tell 
How  Ronald  loves  fair  Isabel !" 
Worn  out,  dishearten'd,  and  dismay'd, 
Here  Amadine  let  go  the  plaid  ; 
His  trembling  limbs  their  aid  refuse, 
lie  sunk  among  the  midnight  dews! 

XXI. 

Wiiat  may  be  done  ?— the  night  is  gone — 
The  Bruce's  band  moves  swiftly  on — 
Eternal  shame,  if  at  the  brunt 
Lord  Ronald  grace  not  battle's  front! — 
"See  yonder  oak,  within  whose  trunk 
Decay  a  darken'd  cell  hath  sunk  ; 
Knter,  and  rest  thee  there  a  space, 
Wrap  in  my  plaid  thy  limbs,  thy  face. 
I  will  nut  be,  believe  me,  far; 
But  must  not  quit  the  ranks  of  war. 


Well  will  I  mark  the  bosky  bourne. 
And  soon,  to  guard  thee  hence,  return.— 
s:ay,  weep  not  so,  thou  simple  boy ! 
3ut  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  in  joy." 
'n  silvan  lodging  close  bestow'd. 
ie  placed  the  page,  and  onward  strode 
iVith  strength  put  forth,  o'er  moss  and  brook, 
And  souii  the  marching  baud  o'ertook. 

XXII. 

Thus  strangely  left,  long  sobb'd  and  wept 
The  page,  till,  weaned  out,  he  slept — 
A  rough  voice  waked  his  dream — "  Nay,  here, 
Hlere  by  this  thicket,  pass'd  the  deer — 
Beneath  that  oak  old  Ryno  staid— 
What  have  we  here?— a  Scottish  plaid, 
And  in  its  folds  a  stripling  laid  ? — 
Some  forth  !  thy  name  and  business  tell  I— 
What,  silent  ? — then  I  guess  thee  well. 
The  spy  that  sought  old  Cuthbert's  cell, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 


m  Arran  yester  morn — 


Some,  comrades,  we  will  straight  return. 
3ur  Lord  may  choose  the  rack  should  leach 
To  this  young  lurcher  use  of  speech. 
Thy  bow-string,  till  I  bind  him  fast."— 
"  Nav,  but  he  weeps  and  stands  aghast; 
Unbound  we'll  lead  him,  fear  it  not ; 
'Tis  a  fair  stripling,  though  a  Scot." 
The  hunters  to  the  castle  sped. 
And  there  the  hapless  captive  led. 

XXIII. 

Stout  Clifford  in  the  castle  court 
Prepared  him  for  the  morning  sport; 
And  now  with  Lorn  held  deep  discourse, 
Now  gave  command  for  hound  mid  horse. 
War-steeds  and  palfreys  paw'd  the  ground, 
And  many  a  deer-dog  how  I'd  around. 
To  Amadine,  Lorn's  well-known  word. 
Replying  to  that  Southern  Lord. 
Mix'd  with  this  clausing  din,  might  seem 
The  phantasm  of  a  fever'd  dream. 
The  tone  upon  his  ringing  ears 
Came  like  the  sounds  which  fancy  hears, 
When  in  rude  waves  or  roaring  winds 
Some  words  of  woe  the  muser  finds, 
Until  more  loudly  arid  more  near, 
Their  speech  arrests  the  page's  ear. 

XXIV. 

And  was  she  thus,"  said  Clifford,  "lost? 
The  priest  should  rue  it  to  his  cost ! 
What  says  the  Monk  ?"— "The  holy  Sire 
Owns,  that  in  masquers  quaint  attire 
She  sought  his  skiff,  disguised,  unknown 
To  all  except  to  him  alone. 
But,  says  the  priest,  a  bark  from  Lorn 
Laid  them  aboard  that  very  morn. 
And  pirates  seized  her  for  their  prey. 
He  proffer'd  ransom-gold  to  pay. 
And  they  agreed — but  ere  told  o'er, 
'['lie  winds  iilow  loud,  the  billows  roar; 
They  sever'd.  and  they  met  no  more. 
He  deems,  such  tempest  vex'd  the  coast- 
Ship,  crew,  and  fugitive,  were  lost. 
So  let  it  be.  with  the  disgrace 
And  scandal  of  her  lofty  race ! 
Thrice  better  she  had  ne'er  been  born, 
Than  brought-  her  infamy  on  Lorn !" 

XXV. 

Lord  Clifford  now  the  captive  spied : — 

"  Whom.  Herbert,  hast  thou  there ;"  he  cried 


372 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  spy  we  seized  within  the  Chase, 
A  hollow  oak  his  lurking  place  " — 
"  What  tidings  can  Ihe  youth  afford  ?"— 
"  He  plays  the  mute."— "Then  noose  a  cord — 
Dnless  hrave  Lorn  reverse  the  doom 
For  his  plaid's  sake." — "  Claii-Colla's  loom," 
Saul  Lorn,  whose  careless  glances  trace 
Ralher  the  vesture  than  the  face, 
"Clan-Colla's  danies  such  tartans  twine; 
Wearer  nor  plaid  claims  care  of  mine. 
Give  him,  if  my  advice  you  crave, 
His  own  scathed  oak  ;  and  let  him  wave 
In  air,  unless,  liy  terror  wrung. 
A  frank  confession  find  his  tongue.— 
Nor  shall  he  die  without  his  nte : 
— Thou.  Angus  Hoy.  attend  the  sight, 
And  give  Clan-Colla's  dirge  thy  breath, 
As  they  convey  him  to  his  death." — 
-  O  brother!  cruel  to  the  last!" 
Through  the  poor  captive's  bosom  pass'd 
The  thought,  but,  to  his  purpose  true, 
He  said  not,  though  he  sigh'd,  "  Adieu !" 

XXVI. 

And  will  he  keep  his  purpose  still. 
In  sight  of  that  last  closing  ill. 
When  one  poor  breath,  one  single  word, 
May  freedom,  safety,  life  afford? 
Can  he  resist  the  instinctive  call, 
For  life  that  bids  us  barter  all  ?— 
Love,  strong  as  death,  his  heart  hath  steel'd. 
His  nerves  hath  strung — he  will  not  yield  ! 
Since  that  poor  breath,  that  little  word, 
May  yield  l-ord  Ronald  to  the  sword. — 
Clan-Colia's  dirge  is  pealing  wide. 
The  griesly  headsman 's  by  his  side ; 
Along  the  greenwood  Chase  they  bend. 
And  now  their  march  has  ghastly  end ! 
That  ..Id  and  shatter'd  oak  beneath, 
They  destine  for  the  place  of  death. 
— What  thoughts  are  his,  while  all  in  vain 
His  eye  for  aid  explores  the  plain  ? 
What  thoughts,  while,  with  a  dizzy  ear, 
He  hears  the  death-prayer  mutter'd  near? 
And  must  he  die  such  death  accurst, 
Or  will  that  bosom-secret  burst  ? 
Cold  on  his  brow  breaks  terror's  dew, 
His  trembling  lips  are  livid  blue ; 
The  agony  of  parting  life 
Has  nought  to  match  that  moment's  strife ! 

XXVII. 

But  other  witnesses  are  nigh, 
Who  mock  at  fear,  and  death  defy ! 
Soon  as  the  dire  lament  was  play'd. 
It  waked  the  lurking  ambuscade. 
The  Island  Lord  look'd  forth,  and  spied 
The  cause,  and  loud  in  fury  cried. 
"By  Heaven,  they  lead  the  page  to  die, 
Anil  mock  me  in  his  agony ! 
They  shall  abye  it !" — On  his  arm 
Bruce  laid  strong  grasp.  "They  shall  Dot  harm 
A  ringlet  of  the  stripling's  hair; 
But.  till  I  give  the  word,  forbear. 
— Douglas,  le.-icl  fifty  of  our  force 
Up  yonder  hollow  water-course. 
And  cour.h  thee  midway  on  the  wold, 
Between  the  flyers  and  their  hold  : 
A  spear  above  the  copse  display'd, 
13e  signal  of  the  ambush  made 
— Kdward,  with  forty  spearmen,  straight 
Through  yonder  copse  approach  the  gate, 
And.  when  thou  hear'st  the  battle-din, 
Hush  forward,  and  the  passage  win. 


Secure  the  drawbridge— storm  the  port. 
And  man  and  guard  the  castle-court. — 
The  rest  move  slowly  forth  with  me, 
In  shelter  of  the  forest-tree, 
Till  Douglas  at  las  post  I  see/' 

XXVIII. 
Like  war-horse  eager  to  rush  on. 
Compell'd  to  wait  the  signal  blown, 
Hid,  and  scarce  hid.  by  greenwood  bough, 
Trembling  with  rage,  stands  Ronald  now, 
And  in  his  grasp  his  sword  gleams  blue, 
Soon  to  be  dyed  with  deadlier  hue. — 
Meanwhile  the  Bruce,  with  steady  eye. 
Sees  the  dark  death-tram  moving  by. 
And,  heedful,  measures  oft  the  space 
The  Douglas  and  his  band  must  trace. 
Ere  they  can  reach  their  destined  ground. 
Now  sinks  the  dirge's  wailing  sound. 
Now  cluster  round  the  direful  tree 
That  slow  and  solemn  company, 
While  hymn  mistimed  and  mutter'd  prayer 
The  victim  for  his  fate  prepare.— 
What  glances  o'er  the  greenwood  shade  ? 
The  spear  that  marks  the  ambuscade!— 
"  Now,  noble  Chief!  I  leave  thee  loose  ; 
Upon  them,  Ronald  !"  said  the  Bruce. 

XXIX. 

"  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce  !"  to  well-known  cry 
His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply 
•'  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce !''  in  that  dread  word 
The  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard. 
The  astomsh'd  Southern  gazed  at  first, 
Where  the  wild  tempest  was  to  burst, 
That  waked  in  that  presaging  name. 
Before,  behind,  aruund  it  came  ! 
Half-arm'd.  surprised,  on  every  side 
Hemm'd  in,  hew'd  down,  they  bled  and  died. 
Deep  in  the  ring  the  Bruce  engaged. 
And  fierce  Clan-Colla's  broadsword  raged  ! 
Full  soon  the  few  who  fought  were  sped, 
Nor  better  was  their  lot  who  fled. 
And  met,  'mid  terror's  wild  career. 
The  Douglas's  redoubted  spear ! 
Two  hundred  yoemen  on  that  morn 
The  castle  left,  and  none  return. 

XXX 

Not  on  their  flight  press'd  Ronald's  brand, 
A  gentler  duly  claim'd  his  hand 
He  raised  the  page,  where  on  the  plain 
His  fear  had  sunk  him  with  the  slain  : 
And  twice  that  morn,  surprise  well  near 
Betray'd  the  secret  kept  by  fear  ; 
Once.  when,  with  life  returning,  came 
To  the  boy's  lip  Lord  Ronald's  name, 
And  hardly  recollection  drown'd 
The  accents  in  a  murmuring  sound  ; 
And  once,  when  scarce  he  could  resist 

I  The  chieftain's  care  to  loose  the  vest, 

'  Drawn  tightly  o'er  his  lal»ouring  breast. 

j  But  then  the  Bruce 's  bugle  blew. 
For  martial  worK  was  yet  to  do. 

XXXI. 

A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits. 
Ere  signal  given,  the  castle  gates 

His  fury  had  assail'd; 
Such  was  his  wonted  reckless  mood. 
Yet  desperate  valour  oft  made  good. 
Even  by  its  daring,  venture  n:de. 

Where  prudence  might  have  fail'd. 

]  Upon  the  bridge  his  strength  he  threw, 
And  struck  the  iron  chain  in  two, 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


373 


By  which  its  planks  arose ; 
The  warder  next  his  axe's  edge 
Struck  down  upon  the  threshold  ledge. 
'  1  wixt  door  and  pos:  a  ghastly  wedge  ! 

The  gate  thev  may  not  close. 
Well  fought  the  Southern  in  the  fray, 
Clifibrd  and  Lorn  fought  well  that  day. 
But  stubborn  Edward  forced  his  way 

Against  a  hundred  Cues. 
Loud  came  the  cry.  "  '['he  Bruce,  the  Bruce  !' 
No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce, 

Fresh  combatants  pour  in; 
Mad  with  success,  and  drunk  with  gore, 
They  drive  the  s'rugsling  foe  before, 

And  ward  on  ward  they  win. 
Unsparing  was  the  vengeful  sword, 
And  limbs  were  lopn'd  and  life-blood  pour'd, 
The  cry  of  death  and  conflict  roar'd. 

And  fearful  was  the  din! 
The  s:artlmg  horses  plunged  and  flung, 
Clamour'd  the  dogs  till  turrets  rung, 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry, 
Till  not  a  foemun  was  tiieie  found 
Alive,  save  those  who  on  the  ground 

Groan'd  in  their  agony ! 

XXXII. 

The  valiant  Clifford  is  no  more; 

On  Ronald's  broadsword  stream'd  his  gore. 

Bur  better  hap  had  he  of  Lorn, 

Who,  by  the  foemen  backward  borne. 

Yet  gni'n'd  with  slender  train  the  port, 

Where  lay  his  bark  beneath  the  fort, 

And  cut  the  cable  loose. 
Short  were  his  shrift  in  that  debate, 
That  hour  of  fury  and  of  late. 

If  Lorn  encuunter'd  Bruce! 
Then  Ions  and  loud  the  victor  shout 
From  turret  and  from  tower  rung  out, 

The  rugaed  vaults  replied  ; 
And  from  the  donjon  tower  on  high, 
The  men  of  Carrick  may  descry 
Saint  Andrew's  cross  in  blazonry 

Of  silver,  waving  wide  ! 

XXXIII. 

The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall !  > 
— "  Welcome,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all, 

Welcome  to  mirth  and  joy ! 
The  first,  the  last,  is  welcome  here. 
From  lord  and  chieftain,  prince  and  peer, 

To  this  poor  speechless  hoy. 
Great  Gin] !  once  more  my  sire's  abode 
Is  mine — behold  the  fl  >or  I  trode 

In  tottering  infancy ! 

And  there  the  vaulted  arch,  whose  sound 
Echoed  my  joyous  shout  and  hound 
In  boyhood,  and  that  rung  around 

To  youth's  unthinking  glee  ! 
O  first,  to  thee,  all-gracious  Heaven. 
Then  to  my  friends,  my  thanks  be  given  !"— 
lie  paused  a  space,  his  brpw  he  cross'd — 
Then  on  the  board  his  sword  lie  toss'd, 
Yet  steaming  hot:  with  Southern  gore 
From  hilt  to  point  'twas  crnnsou'd  o'er. 

XXXIV. 

"  Bring  here."  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four, 
My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore." 
Thrice  let  them  circle  round  the  board, 
The  pledge,  fair  Scotland's  rights  restored  ! 


And  he  whose  lip  shall  touch  the  wine, 
Without  a  vow  as  true  as  mine, 
To  hold  both  lands  and  life  at  nought, 
Until  her  freedom  shall  be  bought,— 
Be  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot, 
And  lasting  infamy  his  lot ! 
Sit,  gentle  friends !  our  hour  of  glee 
Is  brief,  we'll  spend  it  joyously  ! 
j  Blithest  of  all  the  sun's  "bright  beams, 
i  When  betwixt  storm  and  storm  he  gleams. 
'  Well  is  our  country's  work  begun, 
But  more,  far  more,  must  yet  be  done. 
Speed  messengers  the  country  through ; 
Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new  ;  3 
Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  mail, 
Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 
Let  Ettnck's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 
The  fairest  forms,  the  truest  hearts ! 
Call  all,  call  all !  from  Reedswair-Path, 
To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape-Wrath  ; 
Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring, 
The  Northern  Eagle  claps  his  wing!" 


2Tf)c  ILorli  of  tje  ftslcs. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


I. 

O  who,  (hat  shared  them,  ever  shall  forget 
The  emotions  of  the  spirit-rousing  time, 
When  breathless  in  the  mart  the  couriers  met 
b'arly  and  late,  at  evening  and  at  prime : 
When  the  loud  cannon  and  the  merry  chime 
Hail'd  news  on  news,  as  field  on  field  was  won 
When  Hope,  long  doubtful,  soar'd  at  length 

sublime, 

And  our  elad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun, 
Watoh'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  to  meet  the 

rising  sun ! 

0  these  were  hours,  when  thrilling  joy  repaid 
A  long,  long  course  of  darkness,  doubts,  and 

fears ! 

The  heart-sick  faintness  of  the  hope  delay'd, 
The  waste,  the  woe,  the  bloodshed,  and  the 

tears 

That  track'd  with  terror  twenty  rolling  years, 
All  was  forgot  in  that  blithe  jubilee  ! 
Her  downcast  eye  even  pale  Affliction  rears, 
To  sigh  a  thankful  prayer,  amid  the  glee. 
That  hail'd  the  Despot's  fall,  and  peace,  and 

liberty ! 

Such  news  o'er  Scotland's  hills  triumphant 

rode. 
When  'gainst  the  invaders  turn'd  the  battle's 

scale, 

W'hen  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flow'd 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale;  * 
When   Knelish   blood   oft  deluged    Douglas- 

dale,& 

And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John,* 
When  Randolph's  war-cry  swell'd  the  south- 
ern gale,7 
And  many  a  fortress,  town,  and  tower,  was 

won, 

And  Fame  still  sounded  forth  fresh  deeds  of 
glory  done. 

5  See  Appendix,  Nolr  3  H.  6  Ibid.  Note  3  I. 


374                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

For  Neustria's  knights  obey'd, 

II. 

Gascogne  hath  lent  her  horsemen  good. 

Blithe  tidings  flew  from  baron's  tower, 

And  Cambria,  hu   of  late  subdued, 

To  peasant's  cot,  to  forest-bower, 

Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude,* 

And  waked  the  solitary  cell, 

And  Connought  pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 

Where  lone  Saint  Bride's  recluses  dwell. 

Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 

Princess  no  more,  fair  Isabel, 

Dark  Elu  O'Connor  sway'd.* 

A  vofress  of  the  order  now. 

Say,  did  the  rule  that  bid  thee  wear 

V. 

Dim  veil  and  woollen  scapulaire, 

Right  to  devoted  Caledon 

And  reft  thy  locks  of  dark-brown  hair, 
That  stern  and  rigid  vow. 

The  storm  of  war  rolls  slowly  on, 
With  menace  deep  and  dread  ; 

Pid  it  condemn  the  transport  high. 

So  the  dark  clouds,  with  gathering  power, 

Which  glisten'd  in  thy  watery  eye. 

Suspend  awhile  the  threaten'd  shower, 

When  minstrel  or  when  palmer  told 

Till  every  peak  and  summit  lower 

Each  fresh  exploit  of  Bruce  the  bold  ?— 

Round  the  pale  pilgrim's  head. 

And  whose  the  lovely  form,  that  shares 

Not  with  such  pilgrim's  startled  eye 

Thy  anxious  hopes,  thy  fears,  thy  prayers  ? 

King  Robert  mark'd  the  tempest  nigh! 

No  sister  she  of  convent  shade; 

Resolved  the  brunt  to  hide. 

So  say  these  locks  in  lengthen'ii  braid, 

His  royal  summons  warn'il  the  land, 

So  say  the  blushes  and  the  sighs, 

That  all  who  own'd  the  King's  command 

The  tremors  that  unbidden  rise. 

Should  instant  take  the  spear  and  brand, 

When,  mingled  with  the  Brace's  fame, 

To  combat  at  his  side. 

1'he  brave  Lord  Ronald's  praises  came. 

0  who  may  tell  the  sons  of  fame. 

That  at  King  Robert's  bidding  came, 

III. 

To  battle  for  the  right  ! 

From  Cheviot  to  the  shores  of  Ross, 

Believe,  his  father's  castle  won, 
And  his  bold  enterprise  begun. 

From  Solway-Sands  to  Marshal's-  Moss, 
All  boun'd  them  for  the  fight. 

That  Bruce's  earliest  cares  restore 
The  speechless  page  to  Arran's  shore  : 
Nor  think  that  long  the  quaint  disguise 
Conceal'd  her  from  a  sister's  eyes; 

Such  news  the  royal  courier  tells. 
Who  came  to  rouse  dark  Arran's  dells; 
But  further  tidings  must  the  ear 
Of  Isabel  in  secret  hear. 

And  sister-like  in  love  they  dwell 

These  in  her  cloister  walk,  next  morn. 

In  that  lone  convent's  silent  cell. 
There  Bruce's  slow  assent  allows 

Thus  shared  she  with  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 

Fair  Isabel  the  veil  and  vows  ; 

VI. 

And  there,  her  sex's  dress  regain'd, 
The  lovely  Maid  of  Lorn  remain'd, 
Unnamed,  unknown,  while  Scotland  far 
Resounded  with  the  din  of  war; 
And  many  a  month,  and  many  a  day, 
In  calm  seclusion  wore  away. 

•'  My  Edith,  can  I  tell  how  dear 
Our  intercourse  of  hearts  sincere 
Hath  been  to  Isabel  ?— 
Judge  then  the  sorrow  of  my  heart. 
When  I  must  say  the  words,  We  part  ! 
The  cheerless  convent-cell 

Was  not,  sweet  maiden,  made  for  thee  ; 

IV. 

Go  thou  where  thy  vocation  free 

These  davs,  these  months,  to  years  had  worn, 

On  happier  fortunes  fell. 

When  tidings  of  high  weight  were  borne 

Nor,  Edith,  judge  thyself  betray'd. 

To  that  lone  island's  shore  ; 

Though  Robert  knows  that  Lorn's  high  Maid 

Of  all  the  Scottish  conquests  made 

And  his  poor  silent  page  were  one. 

By  the  First  Edward's  ruthless  blade, 
His  son  relain'd  no  more. 

Versed  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man, 
Earnest  and  anxious  hath  he  look'J 

Northward  of  Tweed,  but  Stirling's  towers. 

How  Ronald's  heart  the  message  brook'd 

Beleaguer'd  by  King  Robert's  powers; 

That  gave  him,  with  her  last  farewell, 

And  they  took  term  of  truce.' 

The  charge  of  Sister  Isabel, 

If  England's  King  should  not  relieve 

To  think  upon  thy  better  right, 

The  siege  ere  John  the  Baptist's  eve, 

And  keep  the  faith  his  promise  plight. 

To  yield  them  to  the  Bruce. 

Forgive  him  for  thy  sister's  sake, 

England  was  roused—  on  every  side 

At  first  if  vain  repining*  wake  — 

Courier  and  post  and  herald  hied, 

Long  since  that  mood  is  gone  : 

To  summon  prince  and  peer. 

Now  dwells  he  on  thy  juster  claims, 

At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  Liege.a 

And  oft  his  breach  of  faith  he  blames- 

Prepared  to  raise  fair  Stirling's  siege, 

Forgive  him  for  thine  own  !"  — 

With  buckler,  brand,  and  spear. 

The  term  was  nigh  —  they  muster'd  fast, 

VII. 

By  beacon  and  by  bugle-blast 

"  No  !  never  to  Lord  Ronald's  bower 

Forth  marsliall'd  for  the  field; 

Will  I  again  as  paramour"  

There  rode  each  knight  of  noble  name, 

•'  Nay,  hush  thee,  too  impatient  maid, 

There  England's  hardy  archers  came. 
The  land  thev  trode  seem'd  all  on  flame, 

Until  my  final  tale  be  said  !— 
The  good  King  Robert  would  engage 

With  banner,  blade,  and  shield  ! 

Edith  once  more  his  elfin  page. 

And  not  famed  England's  powers  alone, 

Bv  her  own  heart,  and  her  own  eye, 

Renown'd  in  arms,  the  summons  own; 

Her  lover's  peniience  to  try— 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L.            2  Ibid,  Note  3  M. 

3  See  ApiXMidix,  Not<-  3  N.            4  Ibid,  Note  3  O. 

THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES.                    375 

Safe  in  his  royal  charge  and  free, 

But  storms  and  fate  her  course  delay  : 

Should  such  thy  h'n;d  purpose  be, 

It  was  on  eve  of  battle-dav. 

Agnin  unknown  to  seek  the  cell, 

When  o'er  the  Gillie's-hill'she  rode. 

And  live  and  die  with  Isabel." 

The  landscape  like  a  furnace  glow'd, 

Thus  spoke  the  maid  —  King  Robert's  eye 

And  far  as  e'er  t  he  eye  was  borne. 

Might  have  some  alance  of  policy; 

The  lances  waved  liKe  autumn-corn. 

DunstaH'iiiigi-  had  the  monarch  ta'en. 

In  battles  four  henealh  their  eye, 

And  Lorn  had  own'd  King  Robert's  reign; 

The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie.2 

Her  brother  had  to  England  fled. 

And  one  below  the  hill  was  laid, 

And  there  in  banishment  was  dead  ; 

Reserved  for  rescue  and  for  aid  ; 

Ample,  through  exile,  death,  and  flight, 

And  three,  advanced,  form'd  vaward-line, 

O'er  tower  and  land  was  Edith's  right; 

Twixt  Bannock's  brook  and  Ninian's  shrine. 

This  ample  right  o'er  tower  and  land 

Detach'd  was  each,  yet  each  so  nigh 

Were  safe  in  Ronald's  faithful  hand. 

As  well  might  mutual  aid  supply. 

Beyond,  tlie  Southern  host  appears,' 

VIM. 

A  boundless  wilderness  of  spears. 

Emharrass'd  eye  and  blushing  cheek 

Whose  verge  or  rear  the  anxious  eye 

Pleasure  and  shame,  and  fear  bespeak  ! 

Strove  far.  but  strove  in  vain,  to  spy. 

Yet  much  the  reasoning  Edith  made: 

Thick-flashing  in  the  evening  beam, 

'•  Her  sister's  faith  she  must  upbraid. 
Who  gave  such  secret,  dark  and  dear, 

Glaives,  lances,  bills,  and  banners  gleam  ; 
And  where  the  heaven  join'd  with  the  hill, 

In  council  1  1  another's  ear. 
Why  should  she  leave  the  peaceful  cell?  — 

Was  distant  armour  flashing  still. 
So  wide,  so  far.  the  boundless  host 

How  should  she  part  with  Isabel?— 

Seem'd  in  the  blue  horizon  lost. 

How  wear  that  strange  attire  agen?  — 

VT 

How  risk  herself  'midst  martial  men?— 

Al. 

And  how  be  guarded  on  the  way  ?  — 
At  least  she  might  entreat  delay." 

Down  from  the  hill  the  maiden  pass'd 
At  the  wild  show  of  war  aghast  ; 

Kind  Isahel.  with  secret  smile. 

And  traversed  first  the  rearward  host, 

Saw  and  forgave  the  maiden's  wile. 

Reserved  for  aid  where  needed  most. 

Reluctant  to  be  thought,  to  move 
At.  the  first  call  of  truatit  love. 

The  men  of  Carrick  and  of  Ayr, 
Lennox  and  Lanark,  too.  were  there, 

And  all  the  western  land  ; 

IX. 

With  these  the  valiant,  of  the  Isles 

Oh,  blame  her  not!  —  when  zephyrs  wake 

Beneath  their  chieftains  rank'd  their  files,« 

The  aspen's  trembling  leaves  must,  shake  ; 

In  many  a  plaided  band. 

When  beams  the  sun  through  April's  shower, 

There,  in  the  centre,  proudly  raised, 

It  needs  must  bloom,  the  violet  flower; 

The  Bruce  's  roval  standard  blazed, 

And  Love,  howe'er  the  maiden  strive, 

And  there  Lord  Ronald's  banner  bore 

Must,  with  reviving  hope  revive  ! 

A  galley  driven  by  sail  and  oar. 

A  thousand  soft  excuses  came. 

A  wild,  yet  pleasing  contrast,  made 

To  plead  his  cause  'gainst  virgin  shame. 

Warriors  in  mail  and  plate  array'd. 

Pledged  by  their  sires  in  earliest  youth, 

With  the  plumed  bonnet  and  the  plaid, 

He  had  her  plighted  faith  and  truth- 

By  these  Hebrideans  worn  : 

Then,  'twas  her  Liege's  strict  command, 

But,  0  !  unseen  for  three  long  years, 

And  she.  beneath  his  royal  hand. 

Dear  was  the  garb  of  mountaineers 

A  ward  in  person  and  in  land  :  — 

To  the  fair  Maid  of  Lorn  ! 

And,  last,  she  was  resolved  to  stay 

For  one  she  look'd—  but  he  was  far 

Only  brief  space  —  one  little  day  — 

Busied  amid  the  ranks  of  war  — 

Close  hidden  in  her  safe  disguise 

Yel  with  affection's  troubled  eye 

From  all  —  but  most  from  Ronald's  eyes  — 

She  mark'd  his  banner  boldly  fly, 

But  once  to  see  him  more  !  —  nor  blame 

Gave  on  the  countless  foe  a  glance. 

Her  wish  —  to  hear  him  name  her  name  !  — 

And  thought  on  battle's  desperate  chance. 

Then,  to  bear  hack  to  solitude 

XII 

The  thought  he  had  his  falsehood  rued! 

To  centre  of  the  vaward-line 

Her  pallid  cheek  and  pensive  mien, 
And  well  herself  the  cause  might  know, 

Fitz-Louis  guided  Amadine. 
Arm'd  all  on  foot,  that  host  appears 

Though  innocent,  of  Edith's  woe, 
Joy'd,  generous,  that  revolving  time 
Gave  means  to  expiate  the  crime 
High  glow'd  her  bosom  as  she  said, 
"  Well  shall  her  sufferings  be  repaid  !" 
Now  came  the  parting  hour—  a  band 
From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land; 
Their  chief.  Fitz-Louis,i  had  the  care 

A  serried  mass  of  glimmering  spears. 
There  stood  the  Marchers'  warlike  band, 
The  warriors  there  of  Lodon's  land  ; 
Ettrick  and  Liddell  bent  the  yew, 
A  band  of  archers  fierce,  though  few  ; 
The  men  of  Nith  and  Annan's  vale, 
And  the  bold  Spears  of  Teviotdale  ;  — 
The  dauntless  Douglas  these  obey. 

The  speechless  Amadine  to  hear 
To  Bruce,  with  honour,  as  behoved 

And  the  young  Stuart's  gentle  sway. 
North-eastward  by  Saint  Ninian's  shrine, 

To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved. 

Beneath  fierce  Randolph's  charge,  combine 
The  warriors  whom  the  hardy  North 

X. 

From  Tay  to  Sutherland  sent  forth. 

The  King  had  deem'd  the  maiden  bright 

The  rest  of  Scotland's  war-array 

Should  reach  him  long  before  the  fight. 

With  Edward  Bruce  to  westward  lay. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P.                   2  Ibid,  Note  3  Q, 

3  See  Appendix,  Nole  8  R.                     4  Ibid,  Note  3  S. 

376                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Where  Bannock,  with  his  broken  bank 

XV. 

And  deep  ravine,  protects  their  flank. 
Behind  them,  screen'd  hv  sheltering  wood, 

Of  Hereford's  hish  blood  he  came, 

The  gallant  Keith,  Lord"  Marshal,  stood  : 

A  race  renown  'd  for  knightly  fame. 

His  men  at-arms  bear  mace  ami  lance. 

He  burn'd  before  his  Monarch's  eye 

And  plumes  that  wave,  and  helms  that  glance. 
Thus  fair  divided  by  the  King, 
Centre,  and  right,  and  left'  ward  wing, 
Composed  his  front  ;  nor  distant  fur 
Was  strong  reserve  to  aid  the  war. 
And  'twas  to  front  of  this  array. 

To  do  some  deed  of  chivalry. 
He  spurr'd  his  steed,  he  couch'd  his  lance. 
And  darted  on  the  Bruce  at  once. 
—  As  motionless  as  rocks,  that  bide 
The  wrath  of  the  advancing  tide. 
The  Bruce  stood  fast.—  Each  breast  beat  high, 

Her  guide  and  Edith  made  their  way. 

And  dazzled  was  each  guzing  eve  — 
The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  think, 

XIII. 

The  evelid  scarce  had  time  to  wink. 

While  on  the  King,  like  flash  of  flame. 

Here  must  they  pause  ;  for.  in  advance 
As  far  as  one  might  pitch  a  lance. 

Spurr'd  to  full  speed  ;he  war-horse  came  1 
The  partridge  may  the  falcon  mock. 

The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van.' 

If  that  slight  palfrey  stand  the  shock- 

The  foe's  approaching  force  to  scan, 

But,  swerving  from  the  Knight's  career. 

His  line  to  marshal  and  to  range. 

Just  as  they  met.  Bruce  shunn'd  the  spear. 

And  ranks  to  square,  and  fronts  to  change. 

Onward  the  baffled  warrior  hore 

Alone  he  rode  —  from  head  to  heel 

His  course  —  but  soon  his  course  was  o'er!— 

Sheathed  in  his  ready  arms  of  steel; 

High  in  his  stirrups  stood  the  King, 

Nor  mounted  yet  on  war-horse  wight, 

And  gave  his  hatlle-axe  the  swmjr. 

But,  till  more  near  the  shock  of  fight, 

Right  on  De  Boune.  the  whiles  he  pass'd, 

Reining  a  palfrey  low  and  light. 

Fell  that  stern  dint—  the  first—  the  last  !  — 

A  diadem  of  gold  was  set 

Such  strength  upon  the  blow  was  put, 

Abnve  his  bright  steel  basinet, 

The  helmet  crash'd  like  hazel-nut; 

And  clasp'd  within  its  glittering  twine 

The  axe-shaft,  with  its  brazen  clasp, 

Was  seen  the  glove  of  Argentine  ; 

Was  shiver'd  to  the  gauntlet  grasp. 

Truncheon  or  leading  staff  he  lacks, 

Springs  from  the  blow  the  startled  horse, 

Bearing,  instead,  a  battie-axe. 

Drops  to  the  plain  the  lifeless  corse; 

He  ranged  his  soldiers  for  the  fight, 

—First  of  thai  fatal  field,  how  soon, 

Accoutred  thus,  in  open  sight 

How  sudden,  fell  the  fierce  De  Boune  1 

Of  either  host.—  Three  bowshots  far, 

Paused  the  deep  front  of  England's  war, 

XVI. 

And  rested  on  their  arms  awhile. 
To  close  and  rank  their  warlike  file, 

One  pitying  glance  the  Monarch  sped, 
Where  on  the  field  his  foe  lay  dead; 

And  hold  high  council,  if  that  night 

Then  gently  turn'd  his  palfrey's  head, 

Should  view  the  strife,  or  dawnirig  light. 

And,  pacing  back  Ins  sober  way, 

Slowly  he  gain'd  his  own  array. 

XIV. 

There  round  their  King  the  leaders  crowd, 

O  gay,  yet  fearful  to  behold. 
Flashing  with  steel  and  rough  with  gold. 

And  blame  his  recklessness  aloud. 
That  risk'd  'gainst  each  adventurous  spear 

And  bristled  o'er  with  bills  and  spears, 
With  plumes  and  pennons  waving  fair. 

A  life  so  valued  and  so  dear. 
His  broken  weajion's  shaft  survey  'd 

Was  that  bright  battle-front  !  for  there 

The  King,  and  careless  answer  made,  — 

Rode  England's  King  and  peers  : 
And  who,  that  saw  that  monarch  ride, 

"  My  loss  may  pay  my  folly's  tax  ; 
I've  broke  my  trusty  battle-axe." 

His  kingdom  battled  by  his  side, 
Could  then  his  direful  doom  foretell!  — 

Twas  then  Fitz-I-oiiis,  bending  low, 
Did  Isabel's  commission  show  ; 

Fair  was  his  seat  in  knightly  selle, 
And  in  his  sprightly  eye  was  set 
Some  spark  of  the  Plantagenet. 

Edith,  disguised  at  distance  stands, 
And  hides  her  blushes  with  her  hands. 
The  Monarch's  brow  has  changed  its  hue, 

Though  light  and  wandering  was  his  glance, 
It  flash'd  at  sight  of  shield  and  lance. 

Away  the  gory  axe  he  threw, 
While  to  the  seeming  page  he  drew, 

"  Know'st  thou."  he  said,  "  De  Argentine, 

Clearing  war's  terrors  from  his  eye. 

Yon  knight  who  marshals  thus  their  line  ?"  — 

Her  hand  with  gentle  ease  he  took, 

"  The  tokens  on  his  helmet  tell 

With  such  a  kind  protecting  look, 

The  Bruce,  my  Liege  :  I  know  him  well."  — 
"  And  shall  the  audacious  traitor  brave 

As  to  a  weak  and  timid  boy 
Might  speak,  that  elder  brother's  care 

The  presence  where  our  banners  wave  V  — 

And  elder  brother's  love  were  there. 

"So  please  my  Liege."  said  Argentine, 

WIT 

•'  Were  he  but  horsed  on  steed  like  mine, 

.V  V  J  1. 

To  give  him  fair  and  knightly  chance. 

"  Fear  not,"  he  said.  "  young  Amadine  !" 

I  would  adventure  forth  my  lance.''— 

Then  whisper"d.  "Still"  that  name  be  thine. 

"  In  battle-day,"  the  King  replied, 
"Nice  tourney  rules  are  set  aside. 

Fate  plays  her  wonted  fantasv, 
Kind  Aniadine.  with  thee  and  me. 

—  Still  must  the  rebel  dare  our  wrath  ? 

And  sends  thee  here  in  dountful  hour. 

Set  on  him  —  sweep  him  from  our  path  !" 

But  soon  we  are  beyond  her  power; 

And.  at  King  Edward's  signal,  soon 

For  on  this  chosen  battle-plain. 

Dash'd  from  the  ranks  Sir  Henry  Boune. 

Victor  or  vanquish'd.  I  remain. 
Do  thou  to  vonder  hill  repair; 

1  Sw  Appendix,  Sole  3  T. 

The  followers  of  our  host  are  there. 

THE   LORD   OP   THE   ISLES.                    377 

And  all  who  may  not  weapons  hear.— 

Vhile  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 

?itz-  Louis,  have  him  in  thy  care.  — 

'he  niurninr'd  praver,  the  early  mass!— 

jovful  we  meet,  if  all  go  well  ; 

lere,  numbers  had  presumption  given  ; 

:f  not,  in  Arran's  holy  cell 

?here.  bands  o'er-match'd  sought  aid  from 

Thou  must  take  part  with  Isabel; 
For  brave  Lord  Ronald,  too.  hath  sworn, 

Heaven. 
XX. 

Not  to  regain  the  Maid  of  Lorn, 

On  Gillie's-hill.  whose  height  commands 

(The  bliss  on  earth  he  covets  most,) 

The  hattle-field,  fair  Edith  stands, 

Would  he  forsake  his  battle-post, 

With  serf  and  page  unfit  for  war, 

Or  shun  the  fortune  that  may  fall 

'o  eve  the  conflict  from  afar. 

To  Bruce,  to  Scotland,  and  to  all.  — 

O!  with  what  doubtful  agony 

But.  hark  1  some  news  these  trumpets  tell  ; 

^he  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky!— 

Forgive  my  haste—  farewell  !—  farewell  !"  — 

Now  on  the  Ochils  gleams  the  sun, 

And  in  a  lower  voice  he  said, 

And  glistens  now  Demayet  dun  ; 

:   "  Be  of  good  cheer—  farewell,  sweet  maid  !"— 

Is  it  the  lark  that  carols  shrill. 

YVTIT 

Is  it  the  bittern's  early  bum  ? 

JLTxIl. 

No!  distant,  but  increasing  still. 

"  What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet-sound 

The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill. 

And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 

With  the  deep  murmur  of  the  drum. 

i  Our  leftward  flank  ?"  1  —  the  Monarch  cried. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host,  . 

To  Moray's  Earl  who  rode  beside. 

Jipe-clang  and  bugle  sound  were  toss'd.8 

"  Lo!  round  thy  station  pass  the  foes  ! 

Us  breast  and  brow  each  soldier  cross'd, 

Randolph,  thy  wreath  has  lost  a  rose." 

And  started  from  the  ground  ; 

The  Earl  his  visor  closed,  and  said. 

Arm'd  and  array'd  for  instant  fight. 

'•  My  wreath  shall  bloom,  or  life  shall  fade.— 

?ose  archer,  spearman,  squire  and  knight, 

Follow,  my  household  !"—  And  they  go 

And  in  the  pomp  of  haitle  bright 

Like  lightning  on  the  advancing  foe. 

The  dread  battalia  frowu'd. 

"  My  Liege."  said  noble  Douglas  then, 

"  Karl  Randolph  has  but  one  to  ten  : 

XXI. 

Let,  me  go  forth  his  band  to  aid  !"— 

Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

—  "  Stir  not.    The  error  he  hath  made, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew.s 

Let  him  amend  it  as  he  may; 

Dark-  rolling  like  the  ocean-tide. 

I  will  not  weaken  mine  array." 

When  the  rough  west  hath  c.liafed  his  pride, 

Then  loudly  rose  the  conflict-cry. 
And  Douglas's  hrave  heart  swell'd  high,  — 

And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 
To  all  that  bars  his  way  ! 

"  My  Liege,"  he  said,  "  with  patient  ear 
I  must  not  Moray's  death-knell  hear!"— 
"  Then  go  —  but  speed  thee  hack  again  "  — 

[n  front  the  gallant  archers'  trode. 
The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode. 
And  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 

Forth  sprung  the  Douglas  with  his  train: 

The  Monarch  held  his  sway. 

But,  when  they  won  a  rising  hill, 

Beside  him  many  a  war-horse  fumes. 

He  bade  his  followers  hold  them  still.— 

Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes. 

"See.  see!  the  routed  Southern  fly! 

Where  many  a  knight  in  battle  known. 

The  Earl  hath  won  the  victory. 

And  some  who  spurs  had  first  braced  on. 

Lo!  where  yon  steeds  run  masterless, 

And  deem'd  that  fight  should  see  them  won, 

His  banner  towers  above  the  press. 

King  Edward's  hests  obey. 

Rein  up;  our  presence  would  impair 

De  Argentine  attends  his  side. 

The  fame  we  come  too  late  to  share." 

With  stout  De  Valence.  Pembroke's  pride, 

Back  to  the  host  the  Douglas  rode, 

Selected  champions  from  the  train, 

And  soon  glad  tidings  are  abroad, 

To  wait  upon  bis  bridle-rein. 

That,  Dayncourt  by  stout  Randolph  slain. 

Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed— 

His  followers  fled  with  loosen'd  rein.  — 

—  At  once,  before  his  sight  amazed, 

That  skirmish  closed  the  busy  day. 

Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield  ; 

And  couch  'd  in  battle's  prompt  array, 

Each  weapon-point  is  downward  sent, 

Each  army  on  their  weapons  lay. 

Eacli  warrior  to  the  ground  is  hent. 

"The  rebels.  Argentine,  repent! 

XIX. 

Kor  pardon  they  have  kneel'd."  — 

It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 

"  Aye,  but  they  bend  to  other  powers, 

High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 

And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours  ! 

Demavet  smiled  beneath  her  ray; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light. 

See  where  yon  bare-f<x>t  Abbot  stands, 
And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands!  * 

And.  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright. 

Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneel'd, 

Her  winding  river  lay. 

These  men  will  die,  or  win  the  field."  — 

Ah,  gentle  planet!  other  sight 
Miall  greet  thce  next  returning  night, 

—  "Then  prove  we  if  they  die  or  win! 
Bid  Gloster's  Earl  the  fight  begin." 

Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore, 

And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore, 

XXII. 

And  piles  of  slaughter'd  men  and  horse. 

Earl  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high 

And  Forth  that  floats  the  frequent  corse, 

Just  as  the  northern  ranks  arose, 

And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 
Beneath  thv  silver  light  in  vain  ! 

Signal  for  England's  archery 
To  halt  and  bend  their  hows. 

But  now.  from  England's  host  the  cry 

Then  stepp'd  each  yeoman  forth  a  pace, 

Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 

Glanced  at  the  intervening  space. 

1  See  Appendil.  Holt  3  C.                    2  Ibid.  Note  3  V. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W.                 4  Ibid,  Note  3  X. 

378 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  raised  his  left  hand  high ; 
To  the  right  ear  the  cords  they  bring — 
— At  once  ten  thousand  bow-strings  ring, 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly! 
Nor  paused  on  Ihe  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot ; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast. 
Forth  whistling  came  the  grey-goose  wing 
As  the  wild  hailstones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast 
Nor  mountain  targe  ofMough  bull-hide, 
Nor  lowland  mail  that  storm  may  bide  ; 
Woe.  woe  to  Scotland's  batiner'd  pride, 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last! 
Upon  the  right,  behind  the  wood. 
Each  by  his  steed  dismounted,  stood 

The  Scottish  chivalry;— 
With  foot  in  stirrup,  hand  on  mane, 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  train, 
Until  the  archers  gain'd  the  plain ; 

Then,  "  Mount,  ye  gallants  free !" 
He  cried  :  and.  vaulting  from  the  ground, 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found. 
On  high  their  glittering  crests  they  toss. 
As  springs  the  wild-fire  from  the  moss; 
The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast, 
Each  ready  lance  is  in  the  rest. 

And  loud  shouts  Edward  Bruce. — 
"  Forth.  Marshal !  on  the  peasant  foe ! 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose !" ' 

xxm. 

Then  spurs  were  dash'd  in  chargers'  flanks, 
They  rush'd  among  the  archer  ranks. 
No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let. 
No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set. 
And  how  shall  yeoman's  armour  slight. 
Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might? 
Or  what  may  their  short  swords  avail, 
'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail  ? 
Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung. 
High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swung. 
And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengeful  shout 
Give  note  of  triumph  and  of  rout ! 
Awhile,  with  stubborn  hardihood. 
Their  English  hearts  the  strife  made  good. 
Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side, 
Compell'd  to  flight,  they  scatter  wide. — 
Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee. 
And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom-Lee ! 
The  broken  bows  of  Bannock's  shore 
Shall  in  the  greenwood  ring  no  more ! 
Hound  Wakefield's  merry  May-pole  now. 
The  maids  may  twine  the  summer-bough, 
May  northward  look  with  longing  glance, 
For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 
For  the  blithe  archers  look  in  vain ! 
Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'erta'en. 
Pierced  through,  trode  down,  by  thousands 

slain, 
They  cumber  Bannock's  bloody  plain. 

XXIV. 

The  King  with  scorn  beheld  their  flight. 
"  Are  these."  he  said.  "  our  yeoman  wight 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore !  * 
Fitter  to  plunder  chase  or  park, 
Than  make  a  manly  foe  their  mark. — 


1  See.  Appendix,  Hole  3  Y. 


8  mi.  Note  3  Z. 


Forward,  each  gentleman  and  knight ! 
Let  gentle  blood  show  generous  might, 
And  chivalry  redeem  the  fight!" 
To  rightward  of  the  wild  :iffray. 
The  field  show'd  fair  and  level  way  ; 

But,  in  mid-space,  the  Bruce 's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  runny  a  pit. 
With  turf  and  brushwood  hidden  yet, 

That  fonn'd  a  ghastly  snare. 
Rushing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came, 
With  spears  in  rest,  and  hearts  on  flame, 

That  panted  for  the  shock  ! 
With  blazing  cres's  and  banners  spread, 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamour  dread. 
The  wide  plain  thumler'd  to  their  tread, 

As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 
Down  !  down  !  in  headlong  overthrow. 
Horsemen  and  horse,  the  foremost  go,' 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field! 
The  first  are  in  destruction's  gorge, 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge; — 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield. 
The  mail,  the  acton,  and  the  spear. 
Strong  hand,  high  heart,  are  useless  here! 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  warriors  swells  on  high. 
And  "steeds  that  shriek  in  agony  :  < 
They  came  like  mountain-torrent  red, 
That  thunders  o'er  its  rocky  bed ; 
They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave 
When  swallow'd  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil. 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil. 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own ! 

XXV. 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet,  to  yield  the  fight. 

Her  noblest  all  are  here; 
Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known, 
Bold  Norfolk's  Earl  De  Brotherton, 

And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vere. 
There  Gloster  plied  the  bloodv  sword, 
And  Berkley.  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetoiirt  ami  Sanzavere, 
Ross.  Montague,  and  Mauley,  came, 
And  Courtenay's  pride,  and  Percy's  fame — 
Names  known  too  well  in  Scotland's  war, 
At  Falkirk.  \lethveii.  and  Dunbar, 
Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  years, 
At  Cressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these,  and  Argentine, 
Brought  up  the  rearward  battle-line. 
With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread, 
Slippery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead, 
Till  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set, 
The  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met, 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side, 
Raged  the  full  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  triea. 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride, 
And  well  did  Stewart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race ! 

Firmlv  they  kept  their  ground  ; 
As  firmly  England  onward  press 'd. 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest. 
And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast, 

And  Slaughter  revell'd  round. 

XXVI. 

Unflinching  foot  'gainst  foot  was  set, 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met ; 


!  See  Appendix,  Sole  4  , 


4  Ibid.  Kale  4  B. 


THE    LORD    OF    THE    ISLES.                   379 

The  groans  of  those  who  fell                        !  Heard  the  wilil  call  their  trumpets  sent, 

Were  drown'd  nmid  the  shriller  clan? 

n  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 

That  from  the  blades  and  harness  rang, 

That  rallying  force,  combined  anew, 

And  in  the  battle  veil. 

Appear'd  in  her  distracted  view, 

Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot. 

To  hem  the  Islesmen  round  ; 

Both  Southern  fierce  ami  hardy  Scot; 

'  0  God  !  the  combat  they  renew, 

And  O!  amid  that  waste  of  life. 

And  is  no  rescue  found  ! 

What  various  motives  fired  the  strife! 

And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on. 

The  aspirin?  Noble  hied  for  fame. 

And  see  your  native  land  o'erthrown. 

The  Patriot  for  his  country's  claim  ; 

O  !  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone  I" 

This  knight  his  youthful  strength  to  prove, 

And  tlia'  to  win  his  lady's  love  ; 

XXX, 

Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood, 

The  multitude  that  watch'd  afar, 

From  habit  some,  or  hardihood. 

Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war. 

But  ruffian  stern,  and  soldier  good, 

Had  not  unmoved  beheld  the  fight. 

The  noble  and  the  slave, 

When  strove  the  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right; 

From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road, 

Earh  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark. 

On  the  same  bloody  mornine:,  trode, 

Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk. 

To  lh:it  dark  inn,  the  grave  ! 

Bondsman  and  serf;  even  female,  hand 

XXVII. 

Stretch'd  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand; 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins. 

But,  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard 
Give  to  their  zeal  his  sistml-word, 

Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins. 

High  rides  the  sun.  thick  rolls  the  dust. 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thrust. 

"Ponents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth—  the  dumb  our  duties  teach— 

Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now, 
And  Randolph  wipes  his  blnodv  brow; 
Nor  less  had  toil'd  each  Southern  knight, 
From  morn  till  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  air  must  gasp, 
Beauchamp  undoes  his  visor-clasp. 

And  he  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech, 
Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 
To  us.  as  tn  our  lords,  are  eiven 
A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven; 
To  us.  as  to  our  lords,  belongs 
The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs; 

And  Montague  must  quit  his  spear, 
'  And  sinks  thv  falchion,  bold  Ue  Vere  ! 
The  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fast. 
And  gallant  Pembroke's  husle-blast 
Hath  lost  its  lively  tone  ; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-  word. 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heard 

The  choice,  'I  wixt  death  or  freedom,  warms 
Our  hreasts  as  theirs  —  To  arms,  to  arms!" 
To  arms  they  flew.  —  axe.  club,  or  spear,  — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear,' 
And,  like  a  hanner'd  host  afar, 
Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  war. 

"  My  merry  men.  fight  on  !" 

XXXI. 

XXVIll. 

Already  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain. 

Bruce,  with  the  pilot's  wary  eye, 
The  slackening  of  the  storm  could  spy. 
"  One  effort  more,  and  Scotland's  free  ! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 
Is  firm  ;LS  AiKa  Rock  • 

Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain, 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain, 
Or  made  but  doubtful  stav;  — 
But  when  they  rnark'd  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  nmrsliaU'd  foe, 

Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearsmen,  charge;  ' 
Now   forward  to  the  shock  '" 

The  boldest  broke  array. 
O  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due  !  3 
In  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 

At  once  the  speurs  were  forward  thrown. 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone; 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone, 
And  loud  King  Robert's  voice  was  known  — 
"  Carrick.  press  on  —  they  fail,  they  fail  ! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  Ininsgail, 
The  foe  is  fainting  fast! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife, 
For  Sco'land,  liberty,  and  life,— 
The  battle  cannot  last  !" 

His  person  'mid  the  spears. 
Cried,  "  Fight  !"  to  terror  and  despair, 
Menaced,  and  wept,  and  tore  his  hair, 
And  cursed  their  caitiff  fears; 
Till  Pembroke  turn'd  his  bridle  rein, 
And  forced  him  from  the  fatal  plain. 
With  them  rode  Argentine,  until 
They  gain'd  the  summit,  of  the  hill, 
But  quitted  there  the  train  :— 
'•  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left.— 
I  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft; 

XXIX. 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 

The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 

Speed  hence,  my  Liege,  for  on  your  trace 

The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more, 

The  fiery  Douglas  takes  the  chase; 

Leaving  their  noblest  in  their  gore. 

I  know  his  banner  well. 

Alone,  De  Argentine 

God  send  my  Sovereign  joy  and  bliss. 

Yet  bears  on  high  his  red-cross  shield, 

And  many  a  happier  field  than  this!  — 

Gathers  the  relics  of  the  field. 

Ouce  more,  my  Liege,  farewell." 

Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reel'd. 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 

XXXII. 

Brief  strife,  but  fierce,  —  his  efforts  raise 

Again  he  faced  the  battle-field.  — 

A  bright  but  momentary  blaze. 

Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield. 

Fair  txliih  heard  the  Southron  shout. 

"Now  then,"  lie  said,  and  couch  'd  his  spear, 

Beheld  them  turning  from  the  rout. 

"My  course  is  run.  the  goal  is  near; 

1  See  Apprndix,  Note  4  C.           3  Ibid,  Note  ^  D. 

3  See  Ap|>eodix,  Note  4  E. 

380                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

One  effort  more,  one  brave  career. 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awfnl  tone.1 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine." 

That  yellow  lustre  glinimer'd  pale, 

Then  in  his  stirrups  rising  hish, 

3n  broken  plate  and  bloodied  iir.nl, 

He  shouted  loud  his  battle-cry. 

Rent  crest  and  shatter'd  coronet.  . 

"Saint  James  for  Argentine!" 

Of  Baron,  Earl,  and  Banneret  ; 

And,  of  the  bold  pursuers,  four 

And  the  best  names  that  Englan  1  knew. 

The  gallant  knight  from  saddle  bore; 

Claim'd  in  the  death-prayer  dNmal  due. 

But  not  unharni'd  —  a  lance's  point 

Yet  mourn  not,  Land  of  Fame  ! 

Has  found  his  breastplate's  loosen'd  joint, 

Though  ne'er  the  leopards  on  thy  shield 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest  ; 

Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field. 

Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  lord, 

Since  Norman  William  came. 

Who  press'd  the  chase  with  gory  sword, 

Oft  mav  thine  annals  justlv  boast 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest. 

Of  batflps  stem  by  Scotland  lost; 

And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored, 

Grudge  not  her  victory. 

And  through  his  gallant  breast. 

When  for  her  freehorn  rights  she  strove  ; 

Nail'd  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 

Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love, 

Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear. 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee  ! 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round  ! 

YYY  VI 

—  Stirrup,  steel-boot,  and  cuish  gave  way, 
Beneath  that  blow's  tremendous  sway, 
The  blood  gush'd  from  the  wound  ; 
And  the  grim  Lord  of  Colonsay 
Hath  turned  him  on  the  ground, 
And  laugh'd  in  death-pang,  that  his  blade 
The  mortal  thrust  so  well  repaid. 

A  A  A.  V  I. 

Turn  we  to  Bruce,  whose  curious  ear 
Must  from  Fitz-Louis  tidings  hear; 
With  him.  a  hundred  voices  tell 
Of  prodigy  and  miracle, 
"  For  the  mute  page  had  spoke."  — 
"  Page  !"  said  Fitz-Louis,  "  rather  say, 
An  angel  sent  from  realms  of  day, 

"YYY1TT 

To  burst  the  English  yoke. 

A  A.A111. 

Now  toil'd  the  Bruce,  the  battle  done, 

1  saw  his  plume  and  bonnet  drop, 
When  hurrying  from  the  mountain  top  ; 

To  use  his  conquest  boldly  won  ; 

A  lovely  brow,  dark  locks  that  wave, 

And  gave  commnnd  for  horse  and  spear 
To  press  the  Southron's  scatter'd  rear, 
Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 
—When  the  war-cry  of  Argentine 

To  his  bright  eyes  new  lustre  gave, 
A  step  as  light  upon  the  green. 
As  if  his  pinions  waved  unseen  !"  — 
"Spoke  he  with   none  ?"—  ••  With  none  —  one 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear; 

word 

"  Save,  save  his  life."  he  cried.  "  0  save 
The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave  !" 
The  squadrons  round  free  passage  ga»e, 

Burst  when  he  saw  the  Island  Lord, 
Returning  from  the  battle-field."  — 
"What    answer    made    the    Chief?"  —  "He 

The  wounded  knight  drew  near; 

kneel'd. 

He  raised  his  red  cross  shield  no  more. 
Helm,  cuish.  and  breastplate  stream'd  .with 

Durst  not  look  tip.  bat  mntter'd  low. 
Some  mingled  sounds  that  none  might  know, 

gore, 
Yet,  as  he  saw  the  King  advance. 
He  strove  even  then  to  couch  his  lance— 

And  greeted  him  'twill  Joy  and  fear, 
As  being  of  superior  sphere." 

The  effort  was  in  vain  ! 

XXXV  II. 

The  spur-stroke  fail'd  lo  rouse  the  horse; 
Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  course 

Even  upon  Bannock's  bloody  plain, 
Heap'd  then  with  thousands  of  the  slain, 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 
Then  foremost  was  the  generous  Brticn 

'Mid  victor  monarch's  musings  high. 
Mirih  laugh'd  in  good  King  Robert's  eye. 

To  raise  his  head,  his  helm  to  loose  ;— 

••  And  bore  he  such  angelic  air. 

"  Lord  Earl,  the  day  is  thine  ! 

Such  noble  front,  such  waving  hair? 

My  Sovereign's  charge,  and  adverse  fate, 
Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late: 

Hath  Itonatd  kneel'd  to  him?"  he  said, 
"  Then  must  we  call  the  church  to  aid  — 

Yet  this  may  Argentine. 
As  boon  from  ancient  comrade,  crave  — 

Our  will  be  to  the  Abbot  known. 
Ere  these  strange  news  are  wider  blown, 

A  Christian's  mass,  a  soldier's  grave." 

To  Cambuskenneth  straight  ye  pass. 

And  deck  the  church  for  solemn  mass, 

XXXIV. 

To  pay  for  high  deliverance  given. 

Bruce  press'd  his  dying  hand  —  its  grasp 
Kindly  replied;  hut,  in  his  clasp, 
It  stiffp.n'd  and  grew  cold— 
"  And.  0  farewell  !"  the  victor  cried, 
"  Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride. 
The  arm  in  battle  bold. 
The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race. 

A  nation's  thanks  to  gracious  Heaven. 
Let  him  array,  besides,  sucli  state. 
As  should  on  princes'  nuptials  wait, 
Ourself  the  cause,  through  fortune's  spite, 
That  once  broke  short  that  spousal  rite, 
Ourself  will  grace,  with  early  morn, 
The  bridal  of  Ihe  Maid  of  Lorn." 

The  stainless  faith,  the  manly  face  !— 

Hid  Ninian's  convent  light  their  shrine. 

For  late-wake  of  De  Argentine 

CONCLUSION. 

O'er  better  knight  on  death-bier  laid. 
Torch  never  gleam'd  nor  mass  was  said  !" 

Go  forth,  my  Song,  upon  thy  venturous  way; 
Go  lx>ld!y  forth;  nor  yet  thy  master  blame, 

XXXV. 

Who  chose  no  patron  for  his  humble  lay, 

Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone, 

Anil  graced  thy  numbers  with  no  friendly  namp, 

Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone. 

IS^APP^NO^P. 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


381 


Whose  partial  zeal  might  smooth  thy  paih  to 

fame. 

Thne,  was — and  O !  how  many  sorrows  crowd 
Into  those  two  brief  words  I— there  tons  a  claim 
By  generous  friendship  given  —  had  fate 

allow'd. 
It  well  hud  hid  thee  rank  the  proudest  of  the 

proud ! 

All  angel  now— yet  little  less  than  all, 
While  still  a  pilgrim  in  our  world  below  ! 


What  Vails  it  us  that  patience  to  recall. 
Which  hid  its  own  to  soothe  all  other  woe; 
What    Vails    to    tell,    how    Virtue's    purest 

glow 

Shone  yet  more  lovely  in  a  form  so  fair: 
Arid,  least  of  all,  what  Vails  the  world  should 

know, 
That  one  poor  garland,  twined  to  deck  thy 

hair, 
Is  hung  upon  thy  hearse,  to  droop  and  wither 

there ! 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

Thy  rugged  halls,  Arlortiish  !  rung.— P.  346. 

The  ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Artornish  are 
situated  upon  a  promontory,  on  the  Morven, 
or  mainland  side  of  the  Sound  of  Mull,  a 
name  given  to  the  deep  arm  of  the  sea,  which 
divides  that  island  from  I  he  continent.  The 
situation  is  wild  and  romantic  in  the  highest, 
decree,  having  on  the  one  hand  a  high  and 
precipitous  chain  of  rocks  overhanging  the 
sea,  and  on  the  other  Hie  narrow  entrance  to 
the  beautiful  sait-water  lake,  called  Loch 
Alline.  which  is  in  many  places  finely  fringed 
with  copsewood  The  ruins  of  Artornish  are 
not  now  very  considerable,  and  consist  chiefly 
of  the  remains  of  an  old  keep,  or  tower,  with 
fragments  of  outward  defences.  But.  in  for- 
mer days,  it  was  a  place  of  great  consequence, 
being  one  of  the  principal  strongholds,  which 
the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  during  the  period  of 
their  stormy  independence,  possessed  upon  the 
mainland  of  Argyllshire  Here  they  assembled 
what  popular  tradition  calls  their  parliaments, 
meaning.  I  suppose,  their  four  plfnifre,  or  as- 
sembly of  feudal  and  patriarchal  vassals  and 
dependents.  From  this  Castle  of  Artornish. 
upon  the  19th  day  of  October,  1461.  John  de 
Yle.  designing  himself  Earl  of  Ross  and  Lord 
of  the  Isles,  granted,  in  the  style  of  an  inde- 
pendent sovereign,  a  commission  to  his  trusty 
and  well-beloved  cousins,  Ronald  of  the  Isles, 
and  Duncan.  Arch-Dean  of  the  Isles,  for  em- 
powering them  to  enter  into  a  treaty  with  the 
most  excellent  Prince  Edward,  by  the  grace 
of  liml.  King  of  Fiance  and  England,  and  Lord 
of  Ireland.  Edward  IV  .  on  his  part,  named 
bmrence,  Bishon  of  Durham,  the  Earl  of 
Worcester,  the  Prior  of  St.  John's.  Lord  Wen- 
lock,  and  Mr.  Robert.  Stillington.  keeper  of  the 
privy  seal,  his  deputies  and  commissioners,  to 
confer  with  those  named  by  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles.  The  conference  terminated  in  a  treaty, 
by  which  the  Lord  of  I  he  Isles  agreed  to  be- 
come a  vassal  to  the  crown  of  England,  and 
to  assist  Kdward  IV.  and  James  Earl  of  Dou- 
glas, then  in  bnnishmeiit,  in  subduing  the 
realm  of  Scot  land. 

The  first  article  provides,  that  John  de  Isle, 
Earl  of  Ross,  with  his  son  Donald  Balloch, 
and  his  grandson  John  de  Isle,  with  all  their 


subjects,  men.  people,  and  inhabitants,  become 
vassals  and  liegemen  to  Edward  IV.  of  Eng- 
land, and  assist  him  in  his  wars  in  Scotland  or 
Ireland  :  and  ihen  follow  the  allowances  to  be 
made  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  in  recompense 
of  his  military  service,  and  the  provisions  for 
dividing  such  conquests  as  their  united  arms 
should  make  upon  the  mainland  of  Scotland 
among  the  confederates.  These  appear  such 
curious  illustrations  of  the  period,  that  they 
are  here  subjoined  : 

"Am.  The  seid  John  Erie  of  Rosse  shall, 
from  the  seid  fest  of  Whittesoniyde  ne.« 
coinyng,  yerely.  duryng  his  lyf.  have  and  take, 
for  fees  and  wages  in  tynie  of  peas,  of  the  seid 
most  high  and  Chrislien  prince  c.  marc  ster- 
lyng  of  Englysh  money  ;  and  in  tyme  of  werre, 
as  long  as  he  shall  entende  with  his  mysht 
and  power  in  the  seid  werres.  in  manner  and 
fourme  abovesaid.  he  shall  have  wages  of  cc. 
Ib.  sterlyng  of  English  money  yearly:  and 
after  the  rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be  oc- 
cupied in  the  seid  werres 

-  Item.  The  seid  Donald  shall,  from  the  seid 
feste  of  Whittesontyde.  have  and  take,  during 
his  lyf.  yerly,  in  tyme  of  peas,  for  his  fees  and 
wages,  xx  1.  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money ;  and, 
when  he  shall  be  occupied  and  intend  to  the 
werre.  with  his  myght  and  power,  and  in  man- 
ner and  fourme  al«iveseid.  he  shall  have  and 
take,  for  his  wages  yearly,  xl.  1.  sterlynge  of 
Englysh  money ;  or  for  the  rate  of  the  tyme 

of  werre 

"  Itfm.  The  seid  John,  sonn  and  heire  appa- 
I  rant  of  the  seid  Donald,  shall  have  and  take, 
.  yerely,  from  the  seid  fest.  for  his  fees  ai:d 
wages,  in  the  tyme  of  peas,  x  I.  sterlynge  of 
Engiysh  money;  and  for  tyme  of  werre.  and 
his  intendyng  thereto,  in  manner  and  fourme 
aboveseid,  he  shall  have,  for  his  fees  and 
wages,  yearly,  xx  I.  sterlynge  of  Knglysh  mo- 
ney; or  after  the  rate  of  the  tyme  that  he 
shall  be  occupied  in  the  werre  :  And  the  seid 
John,  th'  Erie  Donald  and  Joliu.  and  eche  of 
them,  shall  have  good  and  sufficiaunt  paiment 
of  the  seid  fees  and  wages,  as  wel  for  tyme  of 
peas  as  of  werre.  acrordyng  to  thees  articules 
and  appoyntements  lli-m.  It  is  appointed,  ac- 
corded, concluded,  and  finally  determined, 
that,  if  it  so  be  that  hereafter  the  said  reaume 
of  Scotlande.  or  the  more  part  thereof,  be  con- 


382 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


quered,  subdued,  and  brought  to  the  obeissanre 
of  the  seid  most  high  and  Cbnstien  prince,  anil 
his  heires,  or  successoures.  of  the  seid  Lionel!, 
in  fournie  abovesexl  desoendyiiit.  be  the  assist- 
ance, helpe.  and  aide  of  the  seid  John  Erie  of 
Kosse,  and  Dcinald,  and  of  James  Erie  of  Dou- 
glas, then,  the  seid  fees  and  wages  for  the 
Ivnie  of  peas  cessying,  the  same  erles  and 
Donald  shall  have,  by  the  graunte  of  the  same 
m<*t  Christien  prince,  all  the  possessions  of 
the  seid  reaume  beyonde  Scottishe  see.  they 
to  he  departed  equally  betwix  them :  eche  of 
them,  his  heires  and  successours,  to  holde  his 

E:irte  of  tlie  seid  most  Christien  prince,  his 
eires  and  successours.  for  evermore,  in  right 
of  his  croiine  of  England,  by  homage  and 
feaute  to  be  done  therefore. 

"  Item,  If  so  be  that,  by  th'  aide  and  assist- 
ence  of  the  seid  James  Erie  of  Douglas,  the 
seid  reaume  of  Scotlande  be  conquered  and 
subdued  as  above,  then  he  shall  have,  enjoie, 
and  inherite  all  his  own  possessions,  landes, 
and  inlientaunce,  on  this  syde  the  Scottishe 
see ;  that  is  to  saye,  betwixt  the  seid  Scottishe 
see  and  Englande,  such  he  hath  rejoiced  and 
be  possessed  of  before  this ;  there  to  holde 
them  of  the  seid  most  high  and  Christien 
prince,  his  heires,  and  successours,  as  is  above- 
seid,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  the  coroune  of 
Englonde,  as  weel  the  seid  Erie  of  Douglas. 
as  his  heires  and  successours,  by  homage  and 
feaute  to  he  done  therefore. " — Rymer's  Fcedera 
Conventiones  Literce  ft  mjuscunque  gmensAcla. 
Pubttca,  fol  vol.  V.,  1741. 

Such  was  the  treaty  of  Artornish:  but  it 
does  not  appear  that  the  allies  ever  made  any 
very  active  effort  to  realize  their  ambitious 
designs.  It  will  serve  to  show  both  the  power 
of  these  reguli.  and  their  independence  upon 
the  crown  of  Scotland. 

It  is  only  farther  necessary  to  say  of  the 
Castle  of  Artornish.  that  it  is  almost  opposite 
to  the  Bay  of  Aros,  in  the  Island  of  Mull,  where 
there  was  another  castle,  the  occasional  resi- 
dence of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles. 


NOTE  B. 

Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark, 
WiU  long  pursue  the  minstret'sbark.—P.  346. 
The  seal  displays  a  taste  for  music,  which 
could  scarcely  be  expected  from  his  habits 
and  local  predilections.  They  will  long  follow 
a  boat  in  which  any  musical  instrument  is 
played,  and  even  a  tune  simply  whistled  has 
attractions  for  them.  The  Dean  of  the  Isles 
says  of  Heiskar.  a  small  uninhabited  rock, 
about  twelve  (Scottish)  miles  from  the  isle  of 
Uist,  that  au  infinite  slaughter  of  seals  lakes 
place  there. 

NOTE  C. 

a  turret's  airy  head. 

Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 
O'erlook'd,  dark  Mull !  thy  mighty  Sound. 

P.  347. 

The  Sound  of  Mull,  which  divides  that  island 
from  the  continent  of  Scotland,  is  one  of  the 
most  striking  scenes  which  the  Hebrides  afford 


to  the  traveller.  Sailing  from  Oban  to  Aros, 
or  Tobermory,  through  a  narrow  channel,  yet 
deep  enough  to  hear  vessels  of  the  largest 
burden,  he  has  on  his  led  the  hold  and  moun- 
tainous shores  of  Mull ;  on  the  right  those  of 
that  uistrict  of  Argylesliire.  called  Morven,  or 
Morvern.  succf  ssively  indented  by  deep  salt- 
water lochs,  running  up  many  miles  inland. 
To  the  south-eastward  arise  a  prodigious  range 
of  mountains,  among  which  Crnachau-Ben  is 
pre-eminent  And  to  the  north-east  is  the  no 
less  huge  and  picturesque  range  of  the  Ardna- 
murchan  hills.  Many  ruinous  castles,  situated 
generally  upon  cliffs  overhanging  the  ocean, 
add  interest  to  the  scene.  Those  of  Donolly 
and  Dunstaffnage  are  first  passed,  then  that  of 
Duart.  formerly  belonging  to  the  chief  of  the 
warlike  and  powerful  sept  of  Macleans,  and 
the  scene  of  Mjss  liaillie's  beautiful  tragedy, 
entitled  the  Family  Legend  Still  passing  on 
to  the  northward,  Artornish  and  Aros  become 
visible  upon  the  opposite  shores;  and.  lastly, 
Mmgarry.  and  other  rums  of  less  distinguished 
note.  In  fine  weather,  a  grander  and  more 
impressive  scene,  both  from  its  natural  beau- 
ties, and  associations  with  ancient  history  and 
tradition,  can  hardly  be  imagined.  When  the 
weather  is  rough,  the  passage  is  both  difficult 
and  dangerous,  from  the  narrowness  of  the 
channel,  and  in  part  from  the  number  of  in- 
land lakes,  out  of  which  sally  forth  a  number 
of  conflicting  and  thwarting  tides,  making  the 
navigation  perilous  to  open  boats.  The  sud- 
den flaws  and  gusts  of  wind  which  issue  with- 
out a  moment's  warning  from  the  mountain 
glens,  are  equally  formidable.  So  that  in  un- 
settled weather,  a  stranger,  if  not  much  ac- 
customed to  the  sea,  may  sometimes  add  to 
the  other  sublime  sensations  excited  by  the 
scene,  that  feeling  ot  dignity  which  arises 
from  a  sense  of  danger. 


NOTE  D. 


- "  these  seas  behold. 


Round  twice  a  hundred  islands  rolfd, 
From  Hirt,  that  hears  their  northern  roar, 
7b  the  green  llay's  fertile  shore."— P.  347. 

The  number  of  the  western  isles  of  Scotland 
exceeds  two  hundred,  of  which  St.  Kilda  is 
the  most  northerly,  anciently  called  Hirth,  or 
Hirt,  probably  from  "earth,"  being  in  fact  the 
whole  globe  to  its  inhabitants.  Hay.  which 
now  belongs  almost  entirely  to  Walter  Camp- 
bell, Esq.  of  Shawfield,  is  by  far  the  most  fer- 
tile of  the  Hebrides,  and  has  been  greatly 
improved  under  the  spirited  and  sagacious 
management  of  the  present  proprietor.  This 
was  in  ancient  times  the  principal  abode  of 
the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  being,  if  not  the  largest, 
the  most  important  island  of  their  archipelago. 
In  Martin's  time,  some  relics  of  i heir  grandeur 
were  yet  extant.  "  Ix>ch-Finlagan.  about  three 
miles 'in  circumference.  aHords  salmon,  trouts, 
ami  eels:  this  lake  lies  in  the  centre  of  the 
isle.  The  Isle  Finlagau.  from  which  this  lake 
hath  its  name,  is  in  it.  It's  famous  for  Iteing 
once  the  court  in  which  <he  great  MacDonald, 
King  of  the  Isles,  had  his  residence ;  his  houses, 
chapel,  &c.  are  now  ruinous.  His  guards  de 
corps,  called  Luchttach,  kept  guard  on  the 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


383 


lake  side  nearest  to  Hie  isle:  Hie  walls  of    been  detached  for  the  purpose  by  Montrose. 


their  houses  are  still  to  be  seen  there 
high  court  of  judicature,  consisting  of  four- 
teen, sat  always  here;  and  there  was  an  ap- 
peal to  them  from  all  the  courts  in  the  isles: 
the  eleven! h  share  of  the  sum  in  debate  was 
d'Je  to  the  principal  judge.  There  was  a  big 
stone  of  seven  foot  square,  in  which  there 
was  a  deep  impression  made  to  receive  the 
feet  of  MacDonaUl ;  for  he  was  crowned  King 
of  the  Isles  standing  in  this  stone,  and  swore 
that  he  would  continue  his  vassals  in  the  pos- 
session of  their  lands,  and  do  exact  justice  to 
all  his  subjects  :  and  then  his  father's  sword 
was  put  iiito  his  hand.  The  Bishop  of  Argyle 
and  seven  priests  anointed  him  king,  in  pre- 
sence of  all  the  heads  of  the  tribes  in  the 
isles  and  continent,  and  were  his  vassals ;  at 
which  lime  the  orator  rehearsed  a  catalogue 
of  his  ancestors,"  <tc.  —  Martin's  Account  of 
the  Western  Isles,  8vo,  London,  1716,  p.  240,  1. 


NOTE  E. 


Miruiarry  sternly  placed. 


O'eratoes  the  woodland  and  the  waste.— P.  347. 

The  Castle  of  Mingarry  is  situated  on  the 
sea-coast  of  the  district  of  Ardnarnurchan. 
The  ruins,  which  are  tolerably  entire,  are 
surrounded  by  a  very  high  wall,  forming  a 
kind  of  polygon,  for  the  purpose  of  adapting 
itself  to  the  projecting  angles  of  a  precipice 
overhanging  the  sea.  on  which  the  castle 
stands.  It  was  anciently  the  residence  of  the 
Mac-lans,  a  clan  of  Mac-Donalds,  descended 
from  Ian,  or  John,  a  grandson  of  Angus  Og, 
Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  last  time  that  Min- 
garrv  was  of  military  importance,  occurs  in 
the  celebrated  Leabhar  dearg.  or  Red-book  of 
Clanronald,  a  MS.  renowned  in  the  Ossianic 
controversy.  Allaster  Mac- Donald,  commonly 
called  Colquitto.  who  commanded  the  Irish 
auxiliaries,  sent  over  by  the  Earl  of  Antrim 
during  the  great  civil  war  to  the  assistance  of 
Monlruse,  began  his  enterprise  in  1614,  by 
taking  the  castles  of  Kinloch-Alline  and  Min- 
garry,  the  last  of  which  made  considerable 
resistance,  as  might,  from  the  strength  of  the 
situation,  be  expected.  In  the  meanwhile. 
Allaster  5Iac- Donald's  ships, which  had  brought 
him  over,  were  attacked  in  Loch  Eisord,  in 
Skye,  by  an  armament  sent  round  by  the  cove- 
nanting parliament,  and  his  own  vessel  was 
taken.  This  circumstance  is  said  chiefly  to 
have  induced  him  to  continue  in  Scotland, 
vhere  there  seemed  little  prospect  of  raising 
behalf  of  the  King.  He  had  no 
ed  eastward  to  join  Montrose,  a 
junction  which  he  effected  in  the  braes  of 
Athole,  than  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  besieged 
the  castle  of  Mingarry,  but  without  success. 
Among  other  warriors  and  chiefswhom  Argyle 
summoned  to  his  camp  to  assist  upon  this  oc- 
casion, was  John  of  Moidart,  the  Captain  of 
Clanronald.  Clanronald  appeared;  but,  far 
from  yielding  effectual  assistance  to  Argyle, 
he  took  the  opportunity  of  being  in  arms  to 
lay  waste  the  district  of  Sunart,  then  belong- 
[  ing  to  the  adherents  of  Argyle,  and  sent  part 
of  the  spoil  to  relieve  the  Castle  of  Mingarry. 
Thus  the  castle  was  maintained  until  relieved 
by  Allaster  Mac-Donald  (Colquilto),  who  had 


an  army  in  behalf  of  the 


hardly  worth  nieiiti 

ith  the  nieino- 


The.se  particulars  ar 

ing.  were  they  not  <:o 

ralile  successes  of  Montrose.  related    by  an 

eyewitness,  and  hitherto  unknown  to  Scottish 

historians. 


NOTE  F. 

The  heir  of  mighty  Somerlcd.—P.  344. 

Somerled  was  thane  of  Argyle  and  Lord  of 
the  Isles,  about  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. He  seems  to  have  exercised  his  autho- 
rity in  both  capacities,  independent  of  the 
crown  of  Scotland,  against  which  he  often 
stood  in  hostility.  He  made  various  incursions 
upon  the  western  lowlands  during  the  reign 
of  Malcolm  IV.,  and  seems  to  have  made 
peace  with  him  upon  the  terms  of  an  indepen- 
dent prince,  about  the  year  1157.  In  1164.  he 
resumed  the  war  against  Malcolm,  and  in- 
vaded Scotland  with  a  large,  but  probably  a 
tumultuary  army,  collected  in  the  isles,  in  ihe 
mainland  of  Argyleshire.  and  in  the  neigh- 
bouring provinces  of  Ireland.  He  was  de- 
feated and  slain  in  an  engagement  with  a  very 
inferior  force,  near  Renfrew.  His  son  Uillico- 
lane  fell  in  the  same  battle.  This  mighty 
chieftain  married  a  daughter  of  Ulaus,  King 
of  Man.  From  him  our  genealogists  deduce 
two  dynasties,  distinguished  in  the  stormy 
history  of  the  middle  ages;  the  Lords  of  the 
Isles  descended  from  bis  elder  son  Konald, — 
and  the  Lords  of  Lorn,  who  took  their  sirname 
of  M'Dougal.  as  descended  of  his  second  son 
Dougal.  That  Soinei  led's  territories  upon  the 
mainland,  and  upon  the  islands,  should  have 


been  ihus  divided  hetwe 


his  I  wu 


stead  of  passing  to  the  elder  exclusively,  may 
illustrate  the  uncertainty  of  descent  among 
the  great  Highland  families,  winch  we  shall 
presently  notice. 

NOTE  G. 

Lord  of  the  hies— P.  347. 
The  representative  of  this  independent  prin- 
cipality, for  such  it  seems  to  have  been,  though 
acknowledging  occasionally  the  pre-eminence 
of  the  Scottish  crown,  was,  at  the  period  of 
the  poem.  Angus,  called  Angus  Og:  but  the 
name  has  been,  euphoniiz  gratia,  exchanged  for 
that  of  Konald.  which  frequently  occurs  in  the 
genealogy.  Angus  was  a  protector  of  Robert 
Bruce,  whom  he  received  at  his  Castle  of  Dun- 
naverty,  during  the  time  of  his  greatest  dis- 
tress. As  I  shall  be  equally  liable  to  censure 
for  attempting  to  decide  a  controversy  which 
has  long  existed  between  three  disiinguished 
chieftains  of  this  family,  who  have  long  dis- 
puted the  representation  of  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  or  for  leaving  a  question  of  ,-uch  import- 
ance altogether  untouched,  I  choose,  in  the 
first  place,  to  give  such  information  as  I  have 
been  able  to  derive  from  Highland  genealo- 
gists, and  which,  for  those  who  have  patience 
to  investigate  such  subjects,  really  contains 
some  curious  information  concerning  the  his- 
tory of  I  lie  Isles.  In  the  second  place.  I  shall 
offer  a  few  remarks  upon  the  rules  of  succes- 
sion at  that  period,  without  pretending  to  de- 
cide their  bearing  upon  the  question  at  issue. 


384 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


which  must  depend  upon  evidence  which  1 1 
have  had  no  opportunity  to  examine 

"  Angus  Og."  savs  iin  ancient  manuscript1 
translated  from  the  Gaelic,  "sun  of  Angus; 
Mor,  son  of  Donald,  son  of  Ronald,  son  of 
Somerled,  high  chief  am!  superior  Lord  of  In- 
nisgull,  (for  the  Isles  of  the  Gael,  the  general 
iiiime  given  to  the  Hel>r;des.J  he  married  a| 
daughter  of  Cunhui.  namely,  Cathan;  she  was  , 
mother  to  John,  son  of  Angus,  and  with  her 
rauiK  an  unusual  portion  from  Ireland,  viz 
twenty-lour  clans,  of  whom  twenty-four  fami- 
lies in  Scotland  are  descended  Angus  had 
another  son.  namely,  young  John  Fraocii. 
wliose  descendants  are  called  Clan-Ean  of 
Glencoe.  and  the  M'Donalds  of  Fraoch.  This 
Angus  Og  died  in  Isla,  where  his  body  was 
interred.  His  son  John  succeeded  to  the  in- 
heritance of  Innisgall.  He  had  good  descend- 
anls,  namely,  three  sons  procreate  of  Ann, 
daughter  of  Rodric,  high  chief  of  Lorn,  and 
one  daughter,  Mary,  married  to  John  Maclean, 
Laird  of  Dnart,  and  Lauchlan,  his  brother, 
Laird  of  Coll ;  she  was  interred  m  the  church 
of  the  Black  Nuns.  The  eldest  sons  of  John 

were  Ronald,  Godfrey,  and  Aliens 

He  gave  Ronald  a  great  inheritance.  These 
were  the  lands  which  he  gave  him.  viz.  from 
Kilcumin  in  Abertarf  to  the  river  Sell,  and 
from  thence  to  Beilli.  north  of  Eig  and  Rum. 
and  the  two  Uists.  and  from  thence  to  the  foot 
of  the  river  Glaichan,  and  threescore  lone 
ships.  John  married  afterwards  Margaret 
Stewart,  daughter  to  Robert  Stewart.  King  of 
Scotland,  called  John  Fernyear;  she  bore  him 
three  good  sons.  Donald  of  the  Isles,  the  heir. 
John  liie  Tamister.  (i.e.  Thane.)  the  second 
son.  and  Alexander  Carrach.  John  had  an- 
other son  called  Marcus,  of  whom  the  clan 
Macdonald  of  Cnoc.  in  Tirowen,  are  descend- 
ed. This  John  lived  Ion;,  and  made  donations 
to  Icolumkill ;  he  covereil  the  Chanel  of  Eor- 
say-Elan.  the  chapel  of  Finlagam.  and  the 
chapel  of  the  Isle  of  Tsuihhne,  and  gave  the 

K roper  furniture  for  the  service  of  God,  up- 
olding  the  clergy  and  monks;  he  built  or 
repaired  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cross  imme- 
diately before  his  death.  He  died  at  his  own 
castle  of  Ardtorinish.  many  priests  and  monks 
took  the  sacrament  at  his  funeral,  and  they 
embalmed  the  body  of  this  dear  man.  anil 
brought  it  to  Icolnmkill;  the  abbot,  monks, 
and  vicar,  came  as  they  ought  to  meet  the 
King  of  Fiongal.i  and  out  of  great  respect  to 
his  memory  mourned  eight  days  and  nights 
over  it,  and  laid  it  in  the  same  grave  with  his 
father,  in  the  church  of  Oran,  1380. 

"Ronald,  son  of  John,  was  chief  ruler  of 
the  Isles  in  his  father's  lifetime,  and  was  old 
in  the  government  at  his  father's  death. 

"  He  assembled  the  gentry  of  the  Isles. 
brought  the  sceptre  from  Kildonan  in  Eig. 
and  delivered  it  to  his  brother  Donald,  who 
was  thereupon  called  M'Donald.  and  Donald 
Lord  of  the  isles.*  contrary  lu  the  opinion  of 
the  men  of  the  Isles 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  was 
a  great  supporter  of  the  church  and  clergy; 
his  descendants  are  called  Clanronald.  He 
gave  the  lauds  of  Tiruma,  in  (Jist.  to  the 
minister  of  it  for  ever,  for  the  honour  of  God 
and  Columkill :  he  was  proprietor  of  all  the 


lands  of  the  north  along  the  coast  and  the 
isles;  he  died  in  the  year  of  Christ  1386.  in 
his  own  mansion  of  Ca.sile  Tirim,  leaving  five 
children.  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John. 
son  of  Angus  Og,  the  brother  of  Ronald,  took 
possession  of  Inisgall  liv  the  consent  of  his 
brother  and  the  gentry  thereof;  they  were  all 
obedient  to  him  :  he  married  Mary  Lesley, 
daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Ross,  anil  bv  her  came 
the  Earldom  of  Ross  to  the  Macdonaldi. 
Afier  his  succession  to  that  earldom,  he  was 
called  M'Donald,  Lord  of  the  Isles  and  Earl 
of  Ross.  There  are  many  things  written  of 
him  in  other  places. 

-He  fought  the  battle  of  Garioch.  (i.  r.  Har- 
Inw)  against  Duke  Murdoch,  the  governor,  the 
Earl  of  Mar  commanded  the  army,  in  support 
of  his  claim  to  the  earldom  of  RO.-S,  which 
was  ceded  to  him  by  King  James  the  First. 
after  his  release  from  the  King  of  England  ; 
and  Duke  Murdoch.  Ins  two  sons  and  retainers, 
were  beheaded  :  he  gave  lands  in  Mull  and 
Isla  to  the  minister  of  Hi,  and  every  privilege 
which  the  minister  of  lona  had  formerly,  be- 
sides vessels  of  gold  and  silver  to  Columkill 
for  the  monastery,  and  became  himself  one  of 
the  fraternity.  He  left  issue,  a  lawful  heir  to 
Innisgall  and  Ross,  namely.  Alexander,  the 
son  of  Donald  :  he  died  in  Isla.  and  his  hody 
was  interred  in  the  south  side  of  the  temple 
of  Oran.  Alexander,  called  John  of  the  Isles. 
son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Donald 
of  the  Isles.  Angus,  the  third  son  of  John. 
son  of  Angus  Og,  married  the  daughter  of 
John,  the  sou  of  Allan,  which  connexion 
caused  some  disagreement  betwixt  the  two 
families  about  their  marches  and  division  of 
lands,  the  one  party  adhering  to  Angus,  and 
the  other  to  John:  the  differences  increased 
so  much  that  John  obtained  from  Allan  all  the 
lands  betwixt  Abhan  Fakda,  (i.  e.  the  long 
river)  and  old  na  sionnach,  (i.  e.  tiie  fox-burn 
brook,)  in  the  upper  part  of  Cantyre.  Allan 
went  to  the  king  to  complain  of  his  son-in- 
law;  in  a  short  time  thereafter,  there  happen- 
ed to  be  a  great  meeting  about  this  young 
Angns's  lands  to  the  north  of  Inverness, 
where  he  was  murdered  by  his  own  harper 
Mac-Cairbre.  by  cutting  his  ihroat  with  a  long 
knife.  He  3  lived  a  year  thereafter,  and  many 
of  those  concerned  were  delivered  up  to  the 
king.  Angns's  wife  was  pregnant  at  the  time 
of  his  murder,  and  she  bore  him  a  son  who 
was  named  Donald,  and  called  Donald  Du. 
He  was  kept  in  continement  until  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age,  when  he  was  released  by 
the  men  of  Glenco,  by  the  strong  hand  After 
this  enlargement,  he  came  to  the  Isles,  and 
convened  the  gentry  thereof.  There  hapjieii- 
ed  great  ftnds  betwixt  these  families  while 
Donald  Du  was  in  conlinement,  insomuch  ina' 
Mac-Cean  of  Ardnainnrrhaii  destroyed  the 
greatest  part  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor  of 
the  Isles  and  Cantyre.  Kor  John  Cathanach. 
son  of  John,  son  /if  Donald  IJ.ilioch.  son  of 
John  Mor.  son  of  John,  .son  of  Angus  Og.  (the 
chief  of  the  desceiidains  of  J.ilm  Mor.)  and 
John  Mor,  son  of  John  Cathanacli.  and  young 
John,  son  of  John  Calhanacli.  ami  young 
Donald  Balloch.  son  of  John  (Jill  ImauRtN  wore 
treacherously  taken  by  Mac-(Je;m  in  Ihe  iMlaml 
of  Fmlagan,  in  Isla.  ami  car/ied  to  Edinburgh, 


rderer,  I  presume,  otul  uol  Ihe 


u  who  was 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


385 


where  he  got  tliem  hanged  at  the  Burrow- 
niuir.  and  tlieir  bodies  were  buried  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Anthony,  called  the  New 
Church.  There  were  none  left  alive  at  that 
time  (if  the  children  of  John  C:ith:in:ich.  ex- 
cept Alexander,  the  son  of  John  CaMianach. 
and  Agn>'s  Finch,  who  concf-a'eil  themselves 
ill  the  glens  of  Ireland.  Mac-Cean,  hearing 
of  their  hiding-places,  went  to  cut  down  the 
woods  of  these  glens,  in  order  to  des  roy  Alex- 
ander, and  extirpate  the  whole  race.  At 
length  Mac-Cean  and  Alexmder  met.  were 
reconciled,  and  a  marriage  alliance  took  place ; 
AlrXander  married  Mac  Ce;m's  daughter,  and 
she  brought  him  good  children.  The  Mac- 
DonaMs  of  the  north  had  also  descendants; 
for.  after  the  death  of  John,  Lord  of  the  Isles. 
Earl  of  Ross,  and  the  murder  of  Angus  Alex- 
ander, the  son  uf  Archibald,  the  son  of  Alex- 
ander of  the  Isles,  took  possession,  and  John 
w  is  in  possession  of  the  earldom  of  Ross,  and 
the  north  bordering  country:  he  married  a 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  of  whom  some 
of  the  men  of  the  north  had  descended  The 
Mac-Kenzies  rose  against  Alexnnder,  and 
f.iughl  the  battle  called  Blar  na  Paire.  Alex- 
ander had  only  a  few  of  the  men  of  Ross  at 
the  battle.  He  went  after  that  battle  to  take 
possession  of  the  Isles,  and  sailed  in  a  ship  to 
the  south  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  of  the 
posterity  of  John  Mor  alive,  to  rise  along  wi'h 
him  ;  but  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan  watch- 
ed him  ad  he  sailed  past,  followed  him  to 
Oransay  and  Colonsay.  went  to  the  house 
where  he  was.  and  he  and  Alexander,  son  of 
John  Oathanach,  murdered  him  there. 

"A  good  while  after  these  things  fell  out, 
Donald  Galda,  son  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archi- 
bald, became  major;  he.  with  the  advice  and 
direction  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  came  to  the 
Isles,  and  Mac-Leod  of  the  Lewis,  and  many 
of  the  gentry  of  the  Isles,  rose  with  him:  they 
went  by  the  promontory  of  Ardnamurchan, 
where  they  met  Alexander,  the  son  of  John 
Caranach.  were  reconciled  to  him.  he  joined 
his  men  wi'h  theirs  against  Mac-Cean  of  Ard- 
namurchan. came  upon  him  at  a  place  called 
the  Silver  Craig,  where  he  and  his  three  sons, 
and  a  great  number  of  his  people,  were  killed, 
and  Donald  Galda  was  immediately  declared 
Mac-Donald  :  And,  after  the  affair  of  Ardtia- 
mnrchan.  all  the  men  of  the  Isles  yielded  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  live  above  seven  or  eight 
weeks  after  it;  he  died  at  Carnaborg,  in  Mull, 
without  issue.  He  had  three  sisters'  daughters 
of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  who  were 
portioned  in  the  north  upon  the  continent,  hut 
the  earldom  of  Ross  was  kept  for  them. 
Alexander,  the  son  of  Archibald,  had  a  natu- 
ral son,  called  John  Cam,  of  whom  is  de- 
scended Achnacoichan,  in  Rumoeh,  and  Do- 
nald Gorm,  son  of  Ronald,  son  of  Alexander 
Duson,  of  John  Cam.  Donald  Du,  son  of 
Angus,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alex- 
ander of  the  Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles, 
son  of  John  of  the  Isies,  son  of  Angus  Og. 
namely,  the  true  heir  of  the  Isles  and  Ross, 
came  after  his  release  from  capiivity  to  the 
Isles,  and  convened  the  men  thereof,  and  he 
and  the  Earl  of  Lennox  agreed  to  raise  a  great 
army  for  the  purpose  of  taking  possession,  and 
a  ship  came  from  England  with  a  supply  of 
money  to  carry  on  the  war,  which  landed  at 
Mull,  and  the  money  was  given  to  Mao-Lean 


of  Duart  to  be  distributed  among  the  com- 
manders of  the  army,  which  they  not  receiving 
in  proportion  as  it  should  have  been  distributed 
irnong  them,  caused  the  army  to  disperse, 
which,  when  the  Earl  of  Lennox  heard,  he 
lishauded  his  own  men,  and  made  it  up  with 
the  king.  Mac-Donald  went  to  Ireland  to 
raise  men.  but  he  died  on  his  way  to  Dublin, 
at  Drogheda,  of  a  fever,  without  issue  of  either 
sons  or  daughters  " 

In  this  history  may  he  traced,  though  the 
Bard,  or  Seannachie.  touches  such  a  delicate 
discussion  with  a  gentle  hand,  the  point  of 
difference  between  the  three  principal  septs 
descended  from  the  Lords  of  the  Isles.  The 
first  question,  and  one  of  no  easy  solution, 
where  so  little  evidence  is  produced,  respects 
the  nature  of  the  connexion  of  John,  called 
by  the  Archdean  of  the  Isles  "the  Good  John 
of  Ila,"  and  "the  last  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  with 
Anne,  daughter  uf  Roderick  Mac-Dougai, 
high-chief  of  Lorn.  In  the  absence  of  posi- 
'ive  evidence,  presumptive  must  be  resorted 
to,  and  1  own  it  appears  to  render  it  in  the 
highest  degree  improbable  that  this  connexion 
was  otherwise  than  legitimate.  In  the  wars 
between  David  II  and  Edward  Baliol.  John 
of  the  Isles  espoused  the  Baliol  interest,  to 
which  he  was  probably  determined  by  his  al- 
liance with  Roderick  of  Lorn,  who  was,  from 
every  family  predilection,  friendly  to  Baliol 
and  hostile  to  Bruce  It  seems  absurd  to 
suppose,  that  between  two  chiefs  of  the  same 
descent,  and  nearly  equal  power  and  rank, 
(though  the  Mac-Dougals  had  been  much 
crushed  by  Robert  Bruce.)  such  a  connexion 
should  have  been  that  of  concubinage ;  and 
it.  appears  more  likely  that  the  tempting  offer 
of  an  alliance  with  the  Bruce  family,  when 
they  had  obtained  the  decided  superiority  in 
Scotland,  induced  "the  Good  John  of  Ila"  to 
disinherit,  to  a  certain  extent,  his  eldest  son 
Ronald,  who  came  of  a  stock  so  unpopular  as 
the  Mac-Dougals,  and  to  call  to  his  succession 
his  younger  family,  born  of  Margaret  Stewart, 
daughter  of  Kobert.  afterwards  King  of  Scot- 
land. The  setting  aside  of  this  elder  branch 
of  his  family  was  most  probably  a  condition 
of  his  new  alliance,  and  his  being  received 
into  favour  with  the  dynasty  he  had  always 
opposed.  Nor  were  the  laws  of  succession  at 
tins  early  period  so  clearly  understood  as  to 
liar  such  transactions.  The  numerous  and 
slrauge  claims  set  up  to  the  crown  of  Scotland, 
when  vacant  by  the  death  of  Alexander  III. , 
make  it  manifest  how  very  little  the  indefea- 
sible hereditary  right  of  primogeniture  was 
valued  at  that  period.  In  fact,  the  title  of  the 
Bruces  themselves  to  the  crown,  though  justly 
the  most  popular,  when  assumed  with  the  de- 
termination of  asserting  the  independence  of 
Scotland,  was.  upon  pure  principle,  greatly 
inferior  to  that  of  Baliol.  For  Bruce,  the 
competitor,  claimed  as  son  of  Isabella,  second 
daughter  of  David.  Earl  of  Huntingdon;  and 
John  Baliol,  as  grandson  of  Margaret,  the 
elder  daughter  of  that  same  earl.  So  that  the 
plea  of  Bruce  was  founded  upon  the  very  loose 
idea,  that  MS  the  great-grandson  of  David  I., 
King  of  Scotland,  and  the  nearest  collateral 
relation  of  Alexander  III.,  he  was  entitled  to 
succeed  m  exclusion  of  the  great-great-grand- 
son of  the  same  David,  though  by  an  elder 
daughter.  This  maxim  savoured  of  the  an- 


386 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


cient  practice  of  Scotland,  which  often  called 
a  brother  to  succeed  to  the  crown  as  nearer 
in  blood  than  a  grand-child,  or  even  a  son  of  a 
deceased  monarch.  But,  in  truth,  the  maxims 
of  inheritance  in  Scotland  were  sometimes 
departed  from  at  periods  when  they  were 
much  more  distinctly  understood.  Such  u 
transposition  took  place  in  the  family  of  Ha- 
milton, in  1513.  when  the  descendants  of 
James,  third  Lord,  by  Lady  Janet  Home,  were 
set  aside,  with  an  appanage  of  great  value  in- 
deed, in  order  to  call  to  the  succession  those 
winch  he  had  by  a  subsequent  marriage  with 
Janet  Beatoun.  In  short,  many  other  exam- 
ples might  be  quoted  to  show  that  the  question 
of  legitimacy  is  not  always  determined  by  the 
fact  of  succession  ;  and  there  seemsVeason  to 
believe,  that  Ronald,  descendant  of  "John  of 
lia,"  tiy  Anne  of  Lorn,  w:is  legitimate,  and 
therefore  Lord  of  the  Isles  tie  jure,  though  tic 
facto  his  younger  half-brother  Donald,  son  of 
his  father's  second  marriage  with  the  Princess 
of  Scotland,  superseded  him  in  his  right,  and 
apparently  by  his  own  consent.  From  this 
Donald  so  preferred  is  descended  the  family 
of  Sleat,  now  Lords  Mac-Donald.  On  the 
other  hand,  from  Konatd.  the  excluded  heir, 
upon  whom  a  very  large  appanage  was  settled, 
descended  the  chiefs  of  Glengary  and  Clanro- 
nald,  each  of  whom  had  large  possessions  and 
a  numerous  vassalage,  and  boasted  a  long  de- 
scent of  warlike  ancestry.  Their  common 
ancestor  Ronald  was  murdered  by  the  Earl  of 
Ross,  at  the  Monastery  of  L'lcho,  A.  D.  1346 
I  believe  it  has  been  subject  of  fierce  dispute, 
whether  Donald,  who  curried  on  the  line  of 
Glengary,  or  Allan  of  Moidart,  the  ancestor  of 
the  captains  of  Claiironald.  was  the  eldest  son 
of  Ronald,  the  son  of  John  of  Isla.  A  humble 
Lowlander  may  be  permitted  to  waive  the 
discussion,  since  a  Sennachie  of  no  small  note, 
who  wro'e  in  the  sixteenth  century,  expresses 
himself  upon  this  delicate  topic  in  the  follow- 
ing words : — 

"  I  have  now  given  you  an  account  of  every 
thing  you  can  expect  of  the  descendants  of 
the  clan  Colla,  (i.  e.  the  MacDonalds,)  to  the 
death  of  Donald  Du  at  Drogheda.  namely,  the 
true  line  of  those  who  possessed  the  Isles, 
Ross,  and  the  mountainous  countries  of  Scot- 
land. It  was  Donald,  the  son  of  Angus,  that 
was  killed  at  Inverness,  (by  his  own  harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre,)  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son 
of  Alexander,  son  of  Donald,  sou  of  John,  son 
of  Angus  Og.  And  I  know  not  which  of  his 
kindred  or  relations  is  the  true  heir,  except 
these  five  sons  of  John,  the  son  of  Angus  Og, 
whom  1  here  set  down  for  you,  namely,  Ro- 
nald and  Godfrey,  the  two  sons  of  the  daugh- 
ter of  Mac-Donald  of  Lorn  and  Donald  and 
John  Mor,  and  Alexander  Carrach,  the  three 
sons  of  Margaret  Stewart,  daughter  of  Robert 
Stewart,  King  of  Scotland." — Leatihar  Dcarg. 

NOTE  II. 

The  House  of  Lm-n—  P.  317. 

The  House  of  Lorn,  as  we  observed  in  a 
former  note,  was,  like  the  Lord  of  the  Isles, 
descended  from  a  son  of  Somerled,  slain  at 
Renfrew,  in  llt>4.  This  son  obtained  the  suc- 
cession of  his  mainland  territories,  compre- 
hending the  greater  part  of  the  three  districts 


of  Lorn,  in  Argyleshire,  ami  of  course  might  ; 
rather  be  considered  as  petty  princes  than 
feudal  barons.  Thev  assumed  tiie  patronymic 
appellation  of  Mac-Dougal,  by  which  they  are 
distinguished  in  the  history  of  the  middle 
ages.  The  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  flourished  dur- 
ing the  wars  of  Bruce,  was  Allaster  (or  Alex- 
ander) Mac-Dougal.  called  Allaster  of  Argyle. 
He  had  married  the  third  daughter  of  John. 
called  the  Red  Comyu,'  who  was  slain  by 
Bruce  in  the  Dominican  Church  at  Du  mines, 
and  hence  he  was  a  mortal  enemy  of  that 
prince,  and  more  than  once  reduced  him  to 
sreat  straits  during  the  early  and  distressed 
period  of  his  reign,  as  we  shall  have  repeated 
occasion  to  notice  Bruce,  when  lie  iiegan  to 
obtain  an  ascendency  in  Scotland,  took  the 
first  opportunity  in  his  power  to  requite  these 
njuries.  He  marched  into  Argyleshire  to  lay 
*aste  the  country.  John  of  Lorn,  son  of  the 
chieftain,  was  posted  with  his  followers  in 
the  formidable-  pass  between  Daimaliy  and 
Bunawe.  It  is  a  narrow  path  along  the  verge 
of  the  huge  and  precipitous  mountain,  called 
Cruachau-Ben,  and  guarded  on  the  other  side 
by  a  precipice  overhanging  Loch  Awe  The 
pass  seems  to  the  eye  of  a  soldier  as  strong, 
as  it  is  wild  and  romantic  to  that  of  an  ordi- 
nary traveller.  But  the  skill  of  Bruce  had  ' 
anticipated  this  difficulty.  While  his  mam 
body,  engaged  in  a  skirmish  w  ith  the  men  of 
Lorn,  detained  their  attention  to  the  front  of 
their  position,  James  of  Douglas,  with  Sir 
Alexander  Fraser.  Sir  William  Wiseman,  and 
Sir  Andrew  Grey,  ascended  the  mountain  with 
a  select  body  of  archery,  and  obtained  posses- 
sum  of  the  heights  uliich  commanded  the 
pass.  A  volley  of  arrows  descending  upon 
them  directly  warned  the  Argyleshire  men  of 
their  perilous  situation,  and  their  resistance, 
which  had  hitherto  been  hold  and  manly,  wa.s 
changed  into  a  precipitate  flight.  The  deep 
and  rapid  river  of  Awe  was  then  (we  ieuru 
the  fact  from  Barbour  with  some  surprise) 
crossed  by  a  bridge.  This  bridge  the  moun- 
taineers attempted  to  demolish,  but  Bruce 's 
followers  were  too  close  upon  their  rear:  they 
were,  therefore,  without  refuge  and  defence, 
and  were  dispersed  with  great  slaughter.  John 
of  Lorn,  suspicious  of  the  event,  had  early  be- 
taken himself  to  the  gaileys  which  he  had 
upon  the  lake ;  but  the  feelings  which  Barbour 
assigns  to  him,  while  witnessing  the  rout  and 
slaughter  of  his  followers,  exculpate  bun  from 
the  charge  of  cowardice. 

"  To  Jnoue  off  Lorne  it  suld  displese 
1  trow,  quhen  he  his  men  mycht  se, 
Owte  off  his  schippis  frsi  the  se, 
Be  slayne  and  chassyt  in  the  hill. 
That  he  myf.ht  set  na  help  thur  till. 
Bot  it  angrys  als  gretumlv. 
To  gud  haftis  that  ar  WDfthi, 
To  se  thar  fayis  tuitill  thair  will 
As  to  lhaini  seltf  to  thole  the  ill." 

B.  vii.,v.  391. 


i-  tiiut.  ircordinc  to  Lord  Hailes.    But  Ibe 

artly  given  by  Wyntouc  : — 

••  The  thryd  doochtyr  of  Red  Cwrayn, 

AlyiawiiiJ.fr  of  Arrayle  syue 
Tuk,  and  wrtl'lyt  HI  hys  wyf, 
And  on  hyr  he  eat  iu-lii  hy»  lyfe 
Jhon  of  Lome,  the  qukilk  g»t 
Kwyu  of  Lome  eflyr  thai." 
taiuun'i  Car-.nsdc,  Book  viii.  Chip.  Ti.  li 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


387 


After  this  decisive  ens-igfment.  Brnce  laid 
waste  Argylesnire,  anil  besieged  Ounslaffnage 
Castle,  on  tlie  wes'ern  shore  of  Lorn,  com- 
pelled it.  Ui  surrender,  anil  placed  in  tliat  prin- 
cipal stronghold  of  the  MacDougais  a  garrison 
mid  governor  of  Ins  own.  The  elder  Mac- 
Dougal,  now  wearied  with  I  lie  contest,  snli- 
initted  lo  tlieviclor;  hut  his  son,  "  relieilidiis," 
says  Barbour,  •'  as  lie  wont  lo  he."  fled  to  Eng- 
land hv  sea.  When  the  wars  he  ween  the 
II  nee  and  Baliol  factions  again  liroke  out  in 
the  reian  of  David  II..  thu  Lords  of  Lorn  were 
again  found  uixin  the  losing  side,  owing  to 
th'-ir  hereditary  enmity  lo  Ihe  house  of  Bruce. 
Accordingly,  upon  the  issue  of  that  contest. 
they  were  deprived  by  David  It.  and  his  suc- 
cessor of  hy  far  the  greater  part  of  their  ex- 
tensive terrnories,  which  were  conferred  upon 
Stewart,  called  the  Knight  of  Lorn.  The 
house  of  Mac  Donga  I  coniinued.  however,  to 
survive  the  loss  of  power,  and  affords  a  very 
rare,  if  not  a  unique,  instance  of  a  family  of 
such  unlimited  power,  and  so  distinguished 
during  the  middle  aues,  surviving  the  decay 
of  their  grandeur,  and  nourishing  in  a  private 
station  The  Castle  of  Dunolly,  near  Ohan. 
with  its  dependencies,  was  the  principal  part 
of  whal  remained  to  them,  wuh  their  right  of 
chieftainship  over  the  families  of  their  name 
and  blood.  These  they  coniinued  to  enjoy 
until  the  year  1715,  when  the  representative 
incurred  the  penalty  of  forfeiture,  for  his  ac- 
cession to  the  insurrection  of  that  period  ; 
thus  losing  the  remains  of  his  inheritance,  lo 
replace  upon  the  throne  the  descendants  of 
those  princes,  whose  accession  his  ancestors 
had  opposed  at  the  expense  of  their  feudal 
grandeur.  The  estate  was,  however,  retired 
about  1745,  to  the  father  «f  the  present  pro- 
prielor,  whom  family  experience  had  taught 
the  hazard  of  interfering  wuh  the  established 
government,  and  who  remained  quiet  upon 
that  occasion.  He  therefore  regained  his  pro- 
perty when  many  Highland  chiefs  lost  theirs. 

Nothing  can  be  more  wildly  heauiiful  than 
the  situation  of  Dunolly.  The  ruins  are  situ- 
ated upon  a  hold  and  precipitous  promontory, 
overhanging  Loch  L'tive.  and  distant  about  a 
mile  from  the  village  and  port  of  Ohan  The 
principal  part  which  remains  is  the  donjon  or 
keep;  but  fragments  of  other  buildings,  over- 
grown with  ivy.  attest  that  it  had  been  once  H 
place  of  importance,  as  lanre  apparently  as 
Artormsh  or  Diinstatinage.  These  fragments 
enclose  a  courtyard,  of  which  the  keen  pro- 
bably formed  one  side  :  the  entrance  being  by 
a  steep  ascent  from  the  neck  of  the  isthmus. 
formerly  cut  across  by  a  moat,  and  defended 
doubtless  hy  outworks  and  a  drawb  idge.  Be- 
neath the  castle  stands  the  present  mansion 
of  ihe  family,  having  on  the  one  hand  Loch 
Etive,  with  its  islands  and  mountains,  on  the 
other  two  romantic  eminences  tutted  with 
Copsewood.  Theie  are  oilier  accompaniments 
suited  to  the  scene  :  in  particular,  a  huge  up- 
right pillar,  or  detached  fragment  of  that  sort 
of  roc.K  called  plum-pudding  stone,  upon  the 
shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
castle.  It  is  called  CUich  nn-cnu,  or  the  Dog's 
Pillar,  because  Fineal  is  said  to  have  used  itj 
as  a  stake  lo  which  he  hound  his  celebrated 
dog  Bran.  Others  say.  that  when  the  Lord 
of  the  Isles  came  upon  a  vi.-it  lo  the  Lord  of 
Lorn,  the  dogs  brought  for  his  sport  were  kept 


beside  this  pillar.  Up"ii  the  whole,  a  more 
delightful  and  romantic  spot  can  scarce  he 
conceived;  and  it  receives  a  moral  interest 
from  the  considerations  attached  to  the  resi- 
dence of  a  family  once  powerful  enough  to 
confront  and  defeat  Robert  Bruce,  and  now 
sunk  into  the  shade  of  private  life  It  is  at 
present  possessed  by  Patrick  Mac-Douaal, 
Esq..  the  lineal  and  undisputed  representative 
of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Lorn.  The  heir  of 
Dunolly  fell  lately  in  Spain,  fighting  under  the 
Duke  of  Wellington, — a  deatli  well  becoming 
his  ancestry. 


•  NOTE  I. 

Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 
The  mimic  fires  of  nrfaii  i/law. 

Those  luihtnmits  of  thr  wtnv.—P.  319. 
The  phenomenon  called  bv  sailors  Sea  fire, 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting 
which  is  witnessed  in  the  Hebrides.  At  times 
the  ocean  appears  entirely  illuminated  around 
the  vessel,  and  a  long  train  of  lambent  corus- 
cations are  perpetually  bursting  upon  the  sides 
of  the  vessel,  or  pursuing  her  wake  through 
the  darkness  These  phosphoric  appearances, 
concerning  the  onsin  of  which  naturalists  are 
not  agreed  in  opinion,  seem  to  be  called  into 
action  hy  the  rapid  motion  of  the  ship  through 
the  water,  and  are  probably  owing  to  the 
water  being  saturated  with  tish-spawn,  or 
other  animal  substances.  They  remind  one 
strongly  of  the  description  of  the  sea-snakes 
m  Mr  'Coleridge's  wild,  but  highly  poetical 
ballad  of  the  Ancient  Mariner: — 

"Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watch'd  the  water  snakes. 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white^ 
And  when  they  rear  d,  the  elvish  light 

Fell  off  lu  hoary  flakes." 


NOTE  K. 

T>ie  dark  fortress  —  P.  349. 


.        . 

The  fortress  of  a  Hehridean  chief  was  al- 
most always  on  Ihe  sea-shore,  for  the  facility 
of  communication  which  the  ocean  afforded. 
Nothing  can  be  more  wild  than  Ihe  situations 
which  they  chose,  and  the  devices  hy  which 
the  architects  endeavoured  to  defend  them. 
Narrow  stairs  and  arched  vaults  were  the 
usual  mode  of  access;  and  the  drawbridge 
appears  at  Dunstaffnage.  and  elsewhere,  to 
have  fallen  from  the  gate  of  the  building  to 
the  top  of  such  a  staircase;  so  that  any  one 
advancing  with  hostile  purpose,  found  him- 
self in  a  state  of  exposed  and  precarious  ele- 
vation, with  a  gulf  between  him  and  the 
object  of  his  aitack. 

These  fortresses  were  guarded  with  equal 
care.  The  duty  of  the  watch  devolved  chiefly 
upon  an  officer  called  the  Cocuman.  who  ha  J 
the  charge  of  challenging  all  who  approached 
the  castle.  The  very  ancient  family  of  Mac- 
Niel  of  Barra  kept"  this  attendant  at  their 
castle  about  a  hundred  years  ago.  Martin 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  difficulty 
which  attended  his  procuring  entrance  there: 
—  ••  The  little  island  Kismul  lies  about  a  quar- 


388 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


ter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  of  this  isle 
(Barra) ;  it  is  the  seat  of  Mackneil  of  Barra; 
there  is  a  stone  wall  round  it  twostories  hmti, 
reaching  the  sea;  and  within  the  wall  there 
is  an  old  tower  and  an  hall,  with  ot  her  houses 
about  it.  There  is  a  little  magazine  in  the 
tower,  to  which  no  stranger  has  access  1 
saw  the  officer  called  the  Cockman.  and  an 
old  cock  he  is;  when  I  hid  him  ferry  me  over 
the  water  to  the  island,  he  told  me  that  he 
was  but  an  mfenor  officer,  his  business  tjenig 
to  attend  in  the  tower;  but  if  (says  he)  the 
constable,  who  then  stood  on  the  wall,  will 


not  receiving  any,  I  was  obliged  to  return 
without  seeing  this  famous  fort.  Mackneil  and 
Ins  lady  being  absent,  was  the  cause  of  this 
difficulty,  and  of  my  not  seeing  the  place.  I 
was  told  some  weeks  after,  that  the  constable 
was  very  apprehensive  of  some  design  1  might 
have  in  viewing  the  fort,  and  thereby  to  ex- 
pose it  to  the  conquest  of  a  foreign  power; 
of  which  I  supposed  there  was  no  great  cause 


NOTE  L. 

That  keen  knight,  De  Argentine.— P.  350. 
S;r  Esidius,  or  Giles  de  Argentine,  was  one 
of  the  most  accomplished  knights  of  the  pe- 
riiKl.  He  had  served  in  the  wars  of  Henry  of 
Luxemburg  with  such  high  reputation.  I  hat  he 
was.  in  popular  estimation,  the  third  worthy 
of  the  age.  Those  to  whom  fame  assigned 
precedence  over  him  were.  Henry  of  Luietn- 
bure  himself,  and  Roliert  Bruce.  Argentine 
had  warred  in  Palestine,  encountered  thrice 
with  the  Saraceus,  and  had  slain  two  antago- 
nists in  each  engagement: — an  easy  matter, 
he  said,  for  one  Christian  knight  to  slay  two 
Pagan  dogs.  His  death  corresponded  wiih  his 
high  character.  With  Aymer  de  Valance.  Earl 
of  Pembroke,  lie  was  appointed  to  attend  im- 
mediately upon  the  person  of  Edward  II  at 
Bannockburn.  When  the  day  was  utterly  lost 
they  forced  the  king  from  the  field.  De  Ar- 
gentine saw  the  king  safe  from  immediate 
danger,  and  then  took  his  leave  of  him ; — 
'•  God  be  with  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  my 
wont  to  fly."  So  saying,  he  turned  his  horse, 
cried  his  war-cry,  plunged  into  the  midst  of 
the  combatants,  and  was  slain.  Baston,  a 
rhyming  monk  who  had  been  brought  by  Ed- 
ward to  celebrate  his  expected  triumph,  and 
who  was  compelled  by  the  victors  to  compose 
a  poem  on  his  defeat,  mentions  with  some 
feeling  the  death  of  Sir  Giles  de  Argentine : 

Nnbilis  Argenlum.  pugil  inclytr,  dulds  Egidi, 
Vix  scieram  mentem  cum  tc  succumbere  vidi. 

"  The  first  line  mentions  the  three  chief  re- 
quisites of  a  true  knight,  noble  birth,  valour, 
and  courteonsness.  Few  Leonine  couplets  can 
be  produced  that  have  so  much  sentiment 
I  wish  that  I  could  have  collected  more  ample 
memorials  concerning  a  character  altogether 
different  from  modern  manners.  Sir  Giles 
d'Argentine  was  a  hero  of  romance  in  real 


NOTE  M. 

"  Fill  me  the.  mighty  cup  !"  hr  said, 
"  Erst  oum'd  by  royal  Some:  led" — P  351. 
A  Hebridean  drinking  cup.  of  the  most  an- 
cient and  curious  workmanship,  has  been  lung 
preserved  in  the  castle  of  Dunvrgan.  in  Skye. 
the  romantic  seat  of  Mac-Lend  of  Mac-Lead, 
the  chief  of  that  ancient  and  powerful  clan. 
The  horn  of  Rurie  More,  preserved  in  the  same 
family,  and  recorded  by  Dr.  Johnson,  is  not  to 
be   compared   with   this    piece   of   antiquity. 


ten  and  a  half  in  height  on  the  outside,  the 
extreme  measure  over  the  lips  being  four 
inches  and  a  half  The  cup  is  divided  into 

breadth.     Beneath  this  ledge  the  shape  of  the 

circle,  like  that  of  a  tea-cup;  four  short  feel 
support  the  whole.  Above  the  projecting 
ledge  the  shape  of  the  cup  is  nearly  square, 
projecting  outward  at  the  brim.  The  cup  is 
made  of  wood,  (oak  to  all  appearance.)  but 
most  curiously  wrought  and  embossed  with 
silver  work,  which  projects  from  the  vessel. 
There  are  a  number  of  regular  projecting 
sockets,  which  appear  to  have  been  set  with 
stones  ;  two  or  three  of  them  still  hold  pieces 
of  coral,  the  rest  are  empty.  At  the  four 
corners  of  the  projectin?  ledge.,  or  cornice,  are 
four  sockets,  much  larger,  probably  for  peb- 
bles or  precious  stones.  The  workmanship  of 
the  silver  is  extremely  elegant,  and  appears  to 
have  been  highly  gilded.  The  ledge,  brim, 
and  legs  of  the  cup.  are  of  silver.  The  family 
tradition  bears  that  it  was  the  property  of 
Neil  Ghlune  dhu,  or  Black-knee.  But  "who 
this  Neil  was.  no  one  pretends  to  say.  Around 
the  edge  of  the  cup  is  a  legend,  perfectly  legi- 
ble, in  the  Saxon  black-letter,  which  seems  to 
run  thus: 

UFO  :  JOHIS  :  MICH  :  |[  MGX  :  PXCIPIS  :  DE  :  | 
HR  :  MANAE  :  VICH  :  f  LIAHIA  :  MGRYNEH,  :  g 
ET  :  SPAT  :  Do  :  IHU  :  DA  :  |j  CLEA  :  II.I-RA 
IPA  :  |  FECIT  :  ANO  :  Di :  Ix  :  93o  ONLJ 
OIME  :  || 

The  inscription  may  run  thus  at  length  :  Ufa 
Jnhnms  Mich  Mnyni  Pnncrpis  de  Hr  Manae 
Virh  Ijiihia  Alagryneil  el  sperat  Domino  Ihr.tu 


ilari  clfmrntiom    illnrum 


Ftcit   Anno 


Domini  993  On/ft  Oimi  Whirl 
English  :  Ufo.  the  sou  of  John,  the  son  of 
Magnus.  Prince  of  Man.  the  grandson  of  Lialna 
Macgryneil,  trusts  in  the  Lord  Jesus  that  their 
works  (i  e.  his  own  and  those  of  his  ances- 
tors) will  obtain  mercy.  Oneil  Oimi  made 
this  m  the  year  of  God  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-three. 

But  this  version  does  not  include  the 
puzzling  letters  hr  before  the  word  Manae. 
Within  the  mouth  of  the  cup  the  letters  JHS. 
(Jesus)  are  repeated  four  times.  From  this 


and   othe 


mid   seem  to 


lii'e."    So  observes  the  excellent  Lord  Hailes.  I  have  been  a  chalice.    This  circumstance  may 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


389 


perhaps  account  for  the  use  of  the  two 
Arabic  numerals  93.  These  figures  were  iii- 
tRHlucecl  bv  Pope  Sylvester,  A.  D.  991,  and 
might  be  used  in  a  vessel  formed  l"i>r  church 
service  sn  earlv  as  99J  The  workmanship 
of  UIK  whole  cup  is  extremely  elegant,  mil 
resembles.  I  am  mid.  ;nri",uea  of  the  same 
nature  preserved  in  Ireland. 

The  cups,  thus  elegantly  formed,  and  highly 
valued,  were  by  no  means  utensils  of  mere 
sliow.  Martin  gives  the  following  account  of 
the  festivals  of  Ins  time,  and  I  have  heard 
similar  instances  of  brutality  m  the  Lowlands 
at  no  very  distant  period. 

'•The  manner  of  drinking  used  by  the  chief 
men  of  the  Isles  is  called  in  their  language 
Streah,  i.  e.  a  Kound;  for  the  company  sat  in 
a  circle,  the  cup-bearer  fill'd  the  drink  round 
to  them,  and  all  was  drank  out,  whatever  the 
liquor  was,  whether  strong  or  weak;  they 
continued  drinking  sometimes  twenty-four, 
sometimes  forty-eight  hours :  It  was  reckoned 
a  piece  of  manhood  to  drink  until  they  be- 
came drunk,  and  there  were  two  men  with  a 
barrow  attending  punctually  on  such  occa- 
sions.  They  s:ood  at  the  door  until  some 
became  drunk,  and  they  carry 'd  them  upon 
the  barrow  to  bed.  and  returned  again  to  their 
post  us  Ions;  as  any  continued  fresh,  and  so 
carried  off  the  whole  company,  one  by  one,  as 
they  became  drunk.  Several  of  my  acquaint- 
ance have  been  witnesses  to  this  custom  of 
drinking,  but  it  is  now  abolished  " 

This  savage  custom  was  not  entirely  done 
away  within  this  last  generation  1  have 
heard  of  a  gen'leman  who  happened  to  be  a 
water-drinker,  and  was  pernntied  to  abstain 
from  the  strong  potations  of  ihe  company 
The  bearers  carried  away  one  man  after 
another,  till  no  one  was  left  but  this  Scottish 
Mirghp.  They  then  came  to  do  him  the  same 
good  office,  which,  however,  he  declined  as 
unnecessary,  and  proposed  to  walk  to  his  bed- 
room. It  was  a  permission  he  could  not 
obtain.  Never  such  a  thing  had  happened, 
they  said,  in  the  castle  !  that  it  was  impossible 
but  he  must  require  their  assistance  ;  at  any 
rate  he  must  submit  to  receive  it;  ami  carried 
him  off  in  ihe  barrow  accordingly.  A  classical 
penalty  was  sometimes  imposed  on  those  wlio 
balked  the  rules  of  good  fellowship  by  evading 
their  share  of  the  banquet.  The  same  author 
continues : — 

"  Among  persons  of  distinction  it  was  reckon- 
ed an  affront  put  upon  any  company  to  broach 
a  piece  of  wine,  ale,  or  aquavits,  and  not  to 
see  it  all  drank  out  at  one  meeting.  If  any 
man  chance  to  20  out  from  the  company, 
though  but  for  a  few  minutes,  he  is  obliged, 
up  >n  Ins  return,  anil  before  he  take  his  seat, 
to  make  an  apology  for  his  absence  in  rhyme ; 
which  if  he  cannot  perform,  he  is  liable  to 
such  a  share  of  the  reckoning  as  the  company 
thinks  tit  to  impose :  which  custom  obtains  in 
many  places  still,  and  is  called  Bianchiz  Bard, 
which,  in  their  language,  signifies  the  poet's 
congratulating  the  company." 

Few  cups  were  belter,  at  least  more  active- 
ly, employed  in  the  rude  hospitality  of  the 
period,  than  those  of  Dunvegan  ;  one  of  whicn 
we  have  just  described  There  is  in  the  Leau- 
har  Dearg,  a  song,  intimating  the  overflowing 
gratitude  of  a  bard  of  Clan-Ronald,  after  the 
exuberance  of  a  Hebridean  festival  at  the 


patriarchal  fortress  of  Mac-Leod.  The  trans- 
lation l>emg  obviously  very  liieral,  has  great  ly 
flattened,  as  I  am  informed,  the  enthusiastic 
gratitude  of  the  ancient  bard ;  and  it  must  be 
ned  that  the  works  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  to 
say  nothing  of  Mac-  Vuirich,  might  have  suffer- 
ed by  their  transfusion  through  such  a  me- 
dium It  is  pretty  plain,  that  when  the  tribute 
of  poetical  praise  was  bestowed,  the  horu  of 
Korie  More  had  not  been  inactive. 

Upon  Sir  Roderic  Mor  Mncltod,  by  Niatt  Mor 

Mac-  Vuirich.. 

The  six  nights  I  remained  in  the  Dunve- 
gau,  it  was  not  a  show  of  hospitality  1  met 
with  there,  but  a  plentiful  feast  in  thy  fair  ball 
among  thy  numerous  host  of  heroes. 

"  The  family  placed  all  around  under  the 
protection  of  their  great  chief,  raised  by  his 
prosperity  and  respect  for  his  warlike  feats, 
now  enjoying  the  company  of  Ins  friends  at 
the  feast. — Amidst  the  sound  of  harps,  over- 
flowing cups,  and  happy  youth  unaccustomed 
to  guile,  or  feud,  partaking  of  the  generous 
fare  by  a  flaming  fire. 

-  Mighty  Chief,  liberal  to  all  in  your  princely 
mansion,  filled  with  your  numerous  warlike 
host,  whose  generous  wine  would  overcome 
the  hardiest  heroes,  yet  we  continued  to  enjoy 
the  feast,  so  happy  our  host,  so  generous  our 
fare." — Translated  by  D.  Macintosh. 

It  would  he  unpardonable  in  a  modern  bard, 
who  has  experienced  the  hospitality  of  Dun- 
vegan  Castle  in  the  present  day  to  omit  paying 
his  own  tribute  of  gratitude  for  a  reception 
more  elegant  indeed,  but  not  less  kindly  sin- 
cere, than  Sir  Koderick  More  himself  could 
have  afforded.  But  Johnson  has  already  de- 
scribed a  similar  scene  in  the  same  ancient 
patriarchal  residence  of  the  Louis  of  Mac- 
Leod :— "  Whatever  is  imaged  in  the  wildest 
tales,  if  giants,  dragons,  and  enchantment  be 
excepled,  would  be  felt  by  him  who,  wander- 
ing in  the  mountains  without  a  guide,  or  upon 
the  sea  without  a  pilot,  should  be  carried, 
amidst  his  terror  and  uncertainly,  to  the  hos- 
pitality and  elegance  of  Raasay  or  Dunvegao." 


NOTE  N. 

With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand. 
The  Seneschal  Ihe  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strant/r  ijuests.—P.  351. 
The  Sewer,  to  whom,  rather  than  the  Senes- 
chal, the  office  of  arranging  the  guests  of  an 
island  chief  appertained,  was  an  officer  of  im- 
portance in  the  family  of  a  H«bndean  chief — 
"  Every  family  had  commonly  two  stewards, 
which,  in  their  language,  were  called  Mans- 
chal  Tach;  the  first  of  these  served  always  at 
home,  and  was  obliged  to  be  versed  in"  the 
pedigree  of  all  the  tribes  in  the  isles,  and  in 
the  highlands  of  Scotland  :  for  it  was  his  pro- 
vince to  assign  every  man  at  table  his  seat 
according  to  his  quality ;  and  this  was  done 
without  one  word  speaking,  only  by  drawing 
a  score  with  a  white  rod,  which  this  Mansclial 
had  in  his  hand,  before  the  person  who  was 
bid  by  him  to  sit  down ;  and  this  was  neces- 
sary to  prevent  disorder  and  contention :  and 
though  the  Mahschal  might  sometimes  be 


390 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


mistaken,  the  master  of  the  family  incurred  land.  The  islanders  at  first  fled  from  their 
no  censure  hysnnh  an  escape  ;  hut  this  custom  nrw  and  armed  guests,  but  upon  some  expla- 
has  been  laid  a-ide  of  late.  '1  hey  had  also  nation  submitted  themselves  lo  Bruce's  sove- 
cti,>-t>earers,  who  always  filled  and  carried  the  reiguty.  He  resided  unions  them  until  the 
cup  round  Ihe  company,  and  he  himself  al-  approach  of  spring  [ISW.j  when  h«  again 
wavs  drank  <.ff  the  first  draught.  They  had  returned  to  Scotland,  with  the  desperate  reso- 
likewise  purse  masters,  who  kept  their  money.  ;  luiion  to  reconquer  his  kingdom,  or  perish  in 
Bo: ii  these  officers  had  an  hereditary  right  to  the  attempt.  The  progress  of  his  success, 
their  office  in  writing,  and  each  of  them  had  a  from  its  commencement  to  its  completion, 
town  and  land  for  his  service  ;  sc me  of  those  forms  the  brightest  period  in  Scottish  history, 
rights  I  have  seen  fairly  written  on  good 
parchment.''— Marlins  Western  Isles 


NOTE  0. 

The  rebellious  Scottish  Crete. 

Who  to  Rath- Erin's  shelter  drew, 

With  Carnck's  out/aie'd  Chief?— P.  351 
It  must  he  remembered  by  all  who  have ! 
read  the  Scottish  hiMory.  that  after  he  had 
slain  Comyn  at  Dumfries,  and  asserted  his, 
right  to  the  Scottish  crown,  Robert  Bruce  was 
reduced  to  the  greatest  extremity  hy  Ihe  Eng-  ] 
lish  and  their  adherents.  He  was  crowned  at 
Scone  by  the  general  consent  of  the  Scottish 
barons,  hut  his  authority  endured  hut  a  short 
time.  According  to  the  phrase  said  to  have 
been  used  by  his  wife,  he  was  for  that  year 
••  a  summer  king,  hnt  not  a  winter  one."  On 
the  29th  March,  1306.  he  was  crowned  king  at 
Scone.  Upon  the  19th  June,  in  the  same  year, 
he  was  totally  defeated  at  Methven,  near 
Perth;  and  his  most  important  adherents, 
wilh  few  exceptions,  were  either  executed  or 
compelled  to  embrace  ihe  English  interest,  for 
safely  of  their  lives  and  fortunes.  After  this 
<!i*:is'er.  his  life  was  that  of  an  outlaw,  rather 
than  a  candidaie  for  monarchy.  He  separated 
himself  from  the  females  of  his  retinue,  whom 
he  sent  for  safety  to  the  Castle  of  Kildrurnmie. 
in  Aberdeenshire.  where  they  afterwards  be- 
came captives  to  England.  From  Aberdeen- 
shire.  Bruce  retreated  to  the  mountainous 
parts  of  Breadalhane,  and  approached  the 
borders  of  Argyleshire.  There,  as  mentioned 
in  the  Appendix.  Note  H.  and  more  fully  in 
Note  P.  he  was  defeated  by  Ihe  Lord  of  Lorn, 
who  had  assumed  arms  against  him  in  revenge 
of  the  death  of  his  relative.  John  the  Red 
Comyn.  Escaped  from  this  peril.  Bruce,  with 
his  few  attendants,  subsisted  by  hunting  and 
fishing,  antil  the  weather  compelled  rnem  to 
seek  better  sustenance  and  shelter  than  the 
Highland  mountains  afforded.  With  great 
difficulty  they  crossed,  from  Rowardennan 
probably,  to  the  western  hanks  of  Luchlo- 
niuiid.  partly  in  a  miserable  boat,  and  partly 
by  swimming.  The  valiant  and  loyal  Earl  of 
Lennox,  to  whose  territories  they  had  now 
found  their  way.  welcomed  them  with  tears, 
but.  was  unable  lo  assist  them  to  make  an 
effectual  head.  The  Lord  of  the  Isles,  then 
in  possession  of  great  part  of  I'antyre,  received 
the  fugitive  monarch  and  future  restorer  of 
his  country's  independence,  in  his  castle  of 
Duniiaverty,  in  that  district.  But  treason, 
says  Barhour.  was  so  general,  that  the  King 
durst  not  abide  there.  Accordingly,  with  the 
remnant  of  his  followers,  Bruce  embarked  for 
Rath-Erin,  or  Rachrine,  the  Recina  of  Ptolo- 
my.  a  small  island  lying  almost  opposite  to 
the  shores  of  Ballycastle,  on  the  coast  of  Ire- 


XOTE    P. 
The  Brooch  of  Lorn.— P.  352. 

It  has  been  generally  mentioned  in  the  pre- 
ceding no'es.  that  Robert  Bruce,  after  his 
defeat  at  .Meihven.  being  hard  pressed  by  the 
English,  endeavoured,  with  the  dispirited 
remnant  of  his  followers,  to  escape  from 
Breadalhane  and  the  mountains  of  Perthshire 
into  the  Argvleshire  Highlands.  But  he  was  ; 
encountered  and  repulsed,  after  a  very  severe  i 
engagement,  by  the  Lord  of  Lorn  Bruce's 
peisonal  strength  and  courage  were  never 
displayed  to  greater  advantage  than  in  this 
conflict.  There  is  a  tradition  in  the  family  of 
the  Mac-Dousals  of  Ixirn.  that  their  chieftain 
engaged  in  personal  battle  with  Bruce  him- 
self, while  the  latter  was  employed  in  pro- 
tecting the  retreat  of  his  men  ;  that  Mac-Dou- 
iral  was  struck  down  hy  the  king,  whose 
strength  of  body  was  equal  to  his  vigour  of 
mind,  and  would  have  been  shim  on  the  spot, 
had  not  two  of  Lorn's  vassals,  a  falher  and 
son.whom  tradition  terms  Mac-Keoch,  rescued 
him.  by  seizing  the  mantle  of  the  monarch, 
and  draeeing  him  from  above  his  adversary. 
Bruce  rid  himself  of  these  foes  by  two  blows 
of  his  redoubled  battle-axe,  but  was  so  closely 
pressed  hy  the  other  followers  of  Lorn,  that 
he  was  forced  to  abandon  the  mantle,  and 
brooch  which  fastened  it,  clasped  in  the  dying 
grasp  of  the  Mae-Keochs.  A  studded  brooch, 
said  to  have  been  that  which  King  Hubert  lost 
upon  this  occasion,  was  long  preserved  in  the 
family  of  Mac-Pousal,  and  was  lost  in  a  fire 
which  consumed  their  temporary  residence. 

The  metrical  history  of  Barbour  throws  an 
air  of  credulity  upon  the  tradition,  although 
it  does  not  entirely  coincide  either  in  the 
names  or  number  of  the  vassals  by  whom 
Bruce  was  assailed,  and  makes  no  mention  of 
the  personal  danger  of  Lorn,  or  of  the  loss  of 
Bruce's  mantle.  The  last  circumstance,  in- 
deed, might  be  warrantably  omitted. 

According  to  Barbour.  the  King,  with  his 
handful  of  followers,  not  amounting  probably 
to  three  hundred  men.  encountered  Lorn  with 
about  a  thousand  Argvleshire  men,  in  Glen- 
Douchart,  at  the  heaJ  of  Breadalhane,  near 
Teyndrnm.  The  place  of  action  is  still  called 
Dairy,  or  the  King's  Field.  The  field  of  battle 
was  unfavourable  to  Bruce's  adherents,  who 
were  chiefly  men-at-arms.  Many  of  the  horses 
were  slain  by  the  long  pole-axes,  of  which  the 
Arsyleshire  Scottish  had  learned  the  use  from 
Ihe  Norwegians.  A '.  length  Bruce  commanded 
a  retreat  up  a  narrow  and  diiiicult  pass,  he 
himself  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  repeatedly 
turning  and  driving  hack  the  more  venturous 
assailants.  Lorn,  observing  the  skill  and  va- 
lour used  by  his  enemy  in  protecting  the 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


391 


retreat  of  his  followers,  "  Methinks,  Murthok- 
son.''  said  he,  addressing  one  of  his  followers, 
"he  resembles  G.il  MaK-morn,  protecting  his 
followers  from  Pineal." — "A  most  unworthy 
comparison."  observes  the  Archdeacon  of 
Aberdeen,  unsuspicious  of  the  future  fame 
of  these  names;  "lie  might  with  more  pro- 
priety have  compared  the  King  to  Sir  Gaude- 
fer  de  Layrs,  protecting  the  101  users  of  Gadyrs 
against  the  attacks  (if  Alexander."  Two  bro 
Ihcrs,  the  strongest  among  Lorn's  followers, 
whose  names  Harbour  calls  Mackyn-Drosser. 
(interpreted  Durward,  or  Porterson,)  resolved 
to  rid  their  chief  of  this  formidable  foe.  A 
third  person  (perhaps  the  Mac  Keoch  of  the 
family  tradii ion;  associated  himself  with  them 
for  this  purpose.  They  watched  their  oppor- 
tunity until  Bruce's  party  had  entered  a  pass 
between  a  lake  (Loch  Dochart  probably)  and 
a  precipice,  where  the  Kins;,  who  was  the  last 
of  the  party,  had  scarce  room  to  manage  his 
steed  Here  his  three  foes  sprung  upon  him 
at  once.  One  seized  his  bridle,  but  received  a 
wound  which  hewed  off  his  arm;  a  second 
grasped  Bruce  by  the  stirrup  and  leg.  and  en- 
deavoured to  dismount  him,  but  the  King, 
putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  threw  him  down, 
still  holding  by  the  stirrup.  The  third,  taking 
advantage  of  an  acclivity,  sprung  up  behind 
him  upon  his  horse.  Bruce,  however,  whose 
personal  strength  is  uniformly  mentioned  as 
exceeding  that  of  most  men.  extricated  him- 
self from  his  grasp,  threw  him  to  the  ground, 
and  cleft  his  skull  with  his  sword.  By  similar 
exertion  he  drew  the  siirrup  from  his  grasp 
whom  he  had  overthrown,  and  killed  him  also 
with  his  sword  as  he  lay  among  the  horse's 
feet.  The  story  seems  romantic,  but  this  was 
the  age  of  romantic  exploit;  and  it  must  be 
remembered  that  Bruce  was  armed  cap-a-pie, 
and  the  assailants  were  half-chid  moun- 
taineers. Harbour  adds  the  following  circum- 
stance, highly  characteristic  of  the  sentiments 
of  chivalry.  Mac-Naughton.  a  Baron  of  Cowal. 
pointed  out  to  the  Lord  of  Lorn  the  deeds  of 
valour  which  Bruce  performed  in  this  memo- 
rable retreat,  with  the  highest  expressions  of 
admiration.  "  It  seems  to  give  thee  pleasure," 
said  Lorn.  "  that  he  makes  such  havoc  among 
our  friends" — "Not  so,  by  my  faith,"  replied 
Mac.-Naughton;  "but  he  he  friend  or  foe  who 
achieves  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  men  should 
bear  faithful  witness  to  his  valour;  and  never 
have  1  heard  of  one,  who.  by  his  knightly  feats, 
has  extricated  himself  from  such  dangers  as 
have  this  day  surrounded  Bruce." 


NOTE  Q. 

Wrought  and  chased  with  fair  detrice. 
Studded  fair  with  gems  af  price. — P.  352. 

Great  art  and  expense  was  bestowed  upon 
the  fibula,  or  brooch,  which  secured  the  plaid, 
when  the  wearer  was  a  person  of  importance 
Martin  mentions  having  seen  a  silver  brooch 
of  a  hundred  marks  value.  "  It  was  broad  as 
any  ordinary  pewter  plate,  the  whole  curiously 
engraven  with  various  animals,  <tc.  There 
was  a  lesser  buckle,  which  was  wore  in  the 
middle  of  the  larger,  and  above  two  ounces 
weight ;  it  had  in  the  centre  a  large  piece  of 


crystal,  or  some  finer  stone,  and  this  was  set 
all  round  with  several  finer  stones  of  a  lesser 
size." —  Western  Islands.  Pennant  has  given 
an  engraving  of  such  a  brooch  as  Martin  de- 
scribes, and  the  workmanship  of  which  is 
very  elegant  It  is  said  to  have  belonged  to 
the  family  of  Lochbuy — See  Pennant's  Tour, 
vol.  in.  p.  It 


NOTE  R. 

Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand- 
Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand.—V.  35J. 
The  gallant  Sir  James,  called  the  Good  Lord 
Douglas,  the  most  faithful  and  valiant  of 
Bruce's  adherents,  was  wounded  at  the  battle 
of  Dairy.  Sir  Nigel,  or  Neil  Campbell,  was 
also  in  that  unfortunate  skirmish.  He  married 
Marjorie.  sister  to  Robert  Bruce,  and  was 
among  his  most  faithful  followers.  In  a  ma- 
nuscript account  of  the  house  of  Argyle.  sup- 
plied, it  would  seem,  as  inaterals  for  Arcn- 
bishop  S pot tis wood e's  History  r.f  the  Church 
of  Scotland.  1  find  the  following  passage  con- 
cerning Sir  .Neil  Campbell  ;—"  Moreover,  when 
all  the  nobles  in  Scotland  had  left  King  Ro- 
bert after  his  hard  success,  yet  this  noble 
knight  was  most  faithful,  and  shrinked  not, 
as  it  is  to  be  seen  in  an  indenture  bearing 
these  words :  —  Memorandum  quod  cum  ab  in- 
carnatiotif  Domini  1308  convention  fitit  el  con- 
cordatum  inter  nobiles  viros  Dominion  Alexan- 
drum  de  Seatoun  militem  et  Dominion  Gillierlum 
de  Hay?  milttem  et  Domintim  Nioetlum  Camp- 
bell milittm  apud  monasterium  de  Cambusken- 
neth  9°  Stptembris  qui  tacta  sancta  eucharista, 
magnoque  juramenlo  facto,  jurarunt  se  dettere 
ttberlatem  reoni  et  Robertum  nuper  rearm  coro- 
nalnm  contra  omnes  mortales  Francos  Anglos 
Scotos  defrndere  usque  ad  ultimum  lermumm 
vita:  tpsorum.  Their  sealles  are  appended  to 
the  indenture  in  greene  wax,  togither  with  the 
seal  of  Guifnd,  Abbot  of  Cambuskemielu." 


NOTE  S. 

When  Comyn  fell  bmcnth  Vie  knife 
Of  that  fell  homimie  The  Bi-uce.—P.  3TA. 
Vain  Ifirkpatrirjc'i  b'oady  dirk. 
Making  sure  iifmurtler'i  work.— P.  352. 
Every  reader  must  recollect  that  the  proxi- 
mate cause  of  Bruce's  asserting  his  right  to 
the  crown  of  Scotland,  was  the  death  of  John, 
called  the  Red  Comyn  The  causes  of  this 
art  of  violence,  equally  extraordinary  from  the 
high  rank  both  of  the  perpetrator  and  sufferer, 
and  from  the  place  where  the  slaughter  was 
committed,  are  variously  related  by  the  Scot- 
tish and  English  historians,  and  canno'.  now 
be  ascertained.  The  fact  that  they  met  at  the 
high  altar  of  the  Minorites,  or  Greyfriar's 
Church  in  Dumfries,  that  their  ditterenee 
broke  out  into  high  and  insulting  language, 
and  that  Bruce  drew  his  dagger  and  stalib^d 
Comyn,  is  certain.  Hushing  to  the  door  of  the 
church,  Bruce  met  two  powerful  barons,  Kirk- 
patrick  of  Closeburn.  anil  James  de  Lindsay, 
who  eagerly  asked  him  what  tidings?  "Bad 
tidings,"  answered  Bruce;  "I  doubt  I  have 
slain  Comyn." — "Doubtest  thou  ?"  said  Kirk- 


392 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


patrick;  "I  make  sicker,"  (t.  t.  sore.)  With 
these  words,  he  and  Lindsay  rushed  into  the 
church,  and  despatched  the  wounded  Comyn. 
The  Kirkpatncks  of  Closeburn  assumed,  in 
memory  of  this  deed,  a  hand  holding  a  dagger, 
with  the  memorable  words.  "  I  make  sicker." 
Some  doubt  having  been  started  by  the  late 
Lord  Hailes  as  to  I  he  identity  of  the  Kirk- 
patrick who  completed  this  day's  work  with 
Sir  Roger,  then  representative  of  the  ancient 
family  of  Closeburn,  my  kind  and  ingenious 
friend,  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatricke  Sharpe,  has 
furnished  me  with  the  following  memoran- 
dum, which  appears  to  fix  the  deed  with  his 
ancestor:  — 

"The  circumstances  of  the  Reeent  Cum- 
min's murder,  from  which  the  family  of  Kirk- 
patrick,  in  Nithsdate,  is  said  to  have  derived 
Us  crest  and  motto, are  well  known  to  all  con- 
versant wiih  Scottish  history;  but  Lord  Hailes 
has  started  a  doubt  as  to  the  authenticity  of 
this  tradition,  when  recording  the  murder  of 
Roger  Kirkpatrick.  in  his  own  Castle  of  Caer- 
laverock,  by  Sir  James  Lindsay.  '  Fordim,' 
says  his  Lordship,  •  remarks  that  Lindsay  and 
Kirkpatrick  were  the  heirs  of  the  two"  men 
who  accompanied  Robert  Bruce  at  the  fatal 
conference  with  C'oinyn.  If  Kordun  was  right  ly 
informed  as  to  this  particular,  an  argument 
arises,  in  support  of  a  notion  which  1  have 
long  entertained,  that  the  person  who  struck 
his  dagger  in  Comyn's  heart,  was  not  the  re- 
presentative of  the'honourable  family  of  Kirk- 
patrick in  Nithsdale.  Roger  de  K.  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Durham,  in  1346. 
Roger  de  Kirkpatrick  was  alive  on  the  6th  of 
August,  1357;  for,  on  that  day,  Humphry,  the 
sou  and  heir  of  Roger  de  K..  is  proposed  as 
one  of  the  youns  gentlemen  who  were  to  be 
hostages  for  David  Bruce.  Roger  de  K.  Miles 
was  present  at  Uie  parliament  held  at  Kdm- 
burgh,  25th  September,  1357,  and  he  is  men- 
tioned as  alive  3d  October.  1357.  (Fcetlera;)  it 
follows,  of  necessary  consequence,  that  Roger 
de  K.,  murdered  in  June  1357,  must  have  been 
a  different  person.'— Annals  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii. 
p.  242. 

"To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  at  the 
period  of  the  regent's  murder,  there  were  only 
two  families  of  the  name  of  Kirkpatrick 
(nearly  allied  to  each  other)  in  existence  — 
Stephen  Kirkpatnck,  styled  in  the  Chartulary 
of  Kelso  (1278)  Dmiinus  mlla  tie  Closehnrn. 
Filius  et  hares  Domini  Ade  de  Kirkpatrick, 
Mililis,  (whose  father.  Ivone  de  Kirkpatnck, 
witnesses  a  charter  of  Robert  Brus,  Lord  of 
Annandale,  before  the  year  1141.)  had  two 
sons.  Sir  Roger,  who  carried  on  the  line  of 
Closeburn.  and  Duncan,  who  married  Isobel, 
daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir  David  Torthor- 
wald  of  that  Ilk  ;  they  had  a  charter  of  the 
lands  of  Torthorwald  from  King  Robert  Brus, 
dated  10th  August,  the  year  being  omitted  — 
Umpliray.  the  son  of  Duncan  and  Isobel.  got  a 
charter  of  Torthorwald  from  the  king.  16th 
July.  1322— his  son,  Roter  of  Torthorwald.  got 
a  charter  from  John  the  Grahame,  son  of  Sir 
John  Grahame  of  Moskessen.  of  an  annual 
rent  of  40  (hilling*,  out  of  the  lands  of  Over- 
dryft,  1355— his  son,  William  Kirkpatnck. 
grants  a  charter  to  John  of  Garroch.  of  the 
twa  merk  land  of  Gleiigip  and  Garvellgill. 
within  the  tenement  of  Wampliray,  22d  April, 
1372.  From  this,  it  appears  that  the  Torthor- 


w.-ild  branch  was  not  concerned  in  the  affair 
of  Comyu's  murder,  and  the  inflict  ions  of  Pro- 
vidence which  ensued  :  Duncan  Kirkpatrick, 
it  we  are  to  believe  the  Blind  Minstrel,  was 
the  firm  friend  of  Wallace,  to  whom  lie  was 
related  :— 

'  Ane  Kyrk  Patrick,  that  cruel  was  and  keyne, 
In  Esdail  wod  that  half  yer  he  had  beyne  ; 
With  Ingliss  men  he  couth  nocht  weyll  accord. 
Off  Torthorowald  he  Barron  was  and  Lord, 
Off  kyn  he  was,  and  Wallace  modyr  ner;'— &c. 
B".  v.,  v.  920. 

But  this  Baron  seems  to  have  had  no  share  in 
the  adventures  of  King  Robert ;  the  crest  of 
his  family,  as  it  still  remains  on  a  carved  stone 
built  into  a  cottage  wall,  in  the  village  of 
Torthorwald,  hears  some  resemblance,  says 
Grose, to  a  rose. 

"Universal  tradition,  anil  all  our  later  his- 
torians, have  attributed  the  regent's  death- 
blow to  Sir  Roger  K.  of  Closeburn.  The  au- 
thor of  the  MS.  History  of  the  Presbytery  of 
Penpont,  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  affirms, 
that  the  crest  and  motto  were  given  by  the 
King  on  that  occasion  ;  and  proceeds  to  relate 
some  circumstances  respecting  »  grant  to  a 
cottager  and  his  wife  in  the  vicinity  of  Cluse- 
burn  Castle,  which  are  ceilainly  authentic, 
and  strongly  vouch  for  the  truth  "of  the  oilier 
report.— 'The  steep  hill.'  (says  he,)  'railed  the 
Dune  of  Tynron.  of  a  considerable  IK  irrht. 
upon  the  top  of  which  there  hath  been  some 
habitation  or  fort.  There  have  been  in  ancient 
times,  on  all  hands  of  it.  verv  thick  woods, 
and  great  about  that  place,  which  made  it  the 
more  inaccessible,  into  which  K  Ho.  Bruce  is 
said  to  have  been  conducted  by  Roier  Kirk- 
patrvck  of  Closehurn.  after  they  had  killed  the 
Cumin  at  Dumfriess,  which  is  nine  miles  from 
this  place,  whereabout  11  is  probable  that  he 
did  abide  for  some  time  thereafter;  and  it  is 
reported,  that  during  his  abode  there,  he  did 
oiten  divert  to  a  poor  man's  cottage,  named 
Brownris,  situate  in  a  small  parcel  of  stoney 
ground, encompassed  with  thick  woods,  where 
he  was  content  sometimes  with  such  mean 
accommodation  as  the  place  could  afford. 
The  poor  man's  wife  being  advised  to  petition 
the  King  for  somewhat,  was  so  mixlest  m  her 
desires,  that  she  sought  no  more  but  security 
for  the  croft  in  her  husband's  possession,  and 
a  liberty  of  pasturage  fora  very  few  cattle  of 
different  kinds  on  the  hill,  and  the  rest  of 
the  bounds.  Of  which  privilege  that  ancient 
family,  by  the  injury  offline,  hath  a  long  time 
been,  and  is,  deprived  :  hut  the  croft  continues 
in  the  possession  of  the  heirs  and  successors 
lineally  descended  of  this  Brownrig  and  his 
wife ;  so  that  this  family,  being  more  ancient 
than  rich,  doth  yet  continue  in  the  name.  and. 
as  they  say,  retains  the  old  charter" — MS. 
History  of  the  Presbylrry  of  fenpottt,  in  the 
Advocates'  Library  of  Edinburgh. 


NOTE  T. 

Bnrrnimm  flrd  fast  away, 

t'led  the  fiery  De  la  Hat/e.—F.  352. 

These  knights  are  enumerated  by  Barbour 
among  the  small  number  of  Bruce 's  adherents. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


393 


who  remained  in  arms  with  him  after  the 
battle  of  Methven. 

"With  him  was  a  hold  baron, 
Schyr  William  the  Baroundoun, 

Schyr  Gilbert  de  la  Haye  aslua." 

There  were  more  than  one  of  the  noble  family 
of  Hay  enraged  in  Bruce 's  cause;  but  the 
principal  was  Gilbert  de  la  Haye,  Lord  of 
Errol,  a  stanch  adherent  to  Kin?  Robert's 
interest,  and  whom  he  rewarded  by  creating 
him  hereditary  Lord  High  Constable  of  Scot- 
land, a  title  which  he  used  16th  March,  1308, 
where,  in  a  letter  from  the  peers  of  Scotland 
to  Philip  the  Fair  of  France,  he  is  designed 
Gilbertus  dr  liny  Constabularius  Scntxz.  He 
was  slain  at  the  battle  of  Halidoun-hill.  Hugh 
de  la  Haye,  his  brother,  was  made  prisoner  at 
the  battle  of  Methven. 


NOTE  U. 

Well  hast  thou  framed.  Old  Man,  thy  strains. 
To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains. — P.  352. 

The  character  of  the  Highland  bards,  how- 
ever high  in  an  earlier  period  of  society,  seems 
soon  to  have  degenerated.  The  Irish  affirm, 
that  in  their  kindred  tribes  severe  laws  be- 
came necessary  to  res' rain  their  avarice.  In 
the  Highlands  they  seem  gradually  to  have 
sunk  into  contempt,  as  well  as  the  orators,  or 
men  of  speech,  witli  whose  office  that  of 
family  poet  was  often  united. — "The  orators, 
in  their  language  called  Isdane,  were  in  high 
esteem  both  in  these  islands  and  the  conti- 
nent ;  until  within  these  forty  years,  they  sat 
always  among  the  nobles  and  chiefs  of  fami- 
lies in  the  streah.  or  circle.  Their  houses  and 
little  villages  were  sanctuaries,  as  well  as 
churches,  and  they  took  place  before  doctors 
of  physick.  The  orators,  after  the  Druids 
were  extinct,  were  brought  in  to  preserve 
the  genealogy  of  families,  and  to  repeat  the 
same  at  every  succession  of  chiefs;  and  upon 
the  occasion  of  marriages  and  births,  they 
made  epithalaminrns  and  panegyricks,  which 
the  poet  or  hard  pronounced.  The  orators, 
by  the  force  of  their  eloquence,  had  a  power- 
ful ascendant  over  the  greatest  men  in  their 
time;  for  if  any  orator  did  but  ask  the  habit, 
arms,  horse,  or  any  ot  he  r  th  ing  he  longing  to  the 
greatest  man  in  these  islands,  it  was  readily 
granted  them,  sometimes  out  of  respect,  and 
sometimes  for  fear  of  beiner  exclaimed  against 
by  a  satyre,  which,  in  those  days,  was  reckoned 
a  great 'dishonour.  But  these  gentlemen  be- 
coming insolent,  lost  ever  since  both  the  profit 
and  esteem  which  was  formerly  due  to  their 
character;  for  neither  their  pa'negyriclcs  nor 
satyres  are  regarded  to  what  they  have  been, 
and  they  are  now  allowed  but  a  small  salary. 
I  must  not  omit  to  relate  their  way  of  study, 
which  is  very  singular :  They  shut  their  doors 
and  windows  for  a  day's  time,  and  lie  on  their 
backs,  with  a  stone  upon  their  belly,  and 
plads  about  their  heads,  and  their  eyes  being 
covered,  they  pump  their  brains  for  rhetorical 
encomium  or  panegyrick ;  and  indeed  they 
furnish  such  a  style  from  this  dark  cell  as  is 
understood  by  very  few ;  and  if  they  purchase 


a  couple  of  horses  as  the  reward  of  their 
meditation,  they  think  they  have  done  a  great 
matter.  The  poet,  or  hard,  had  a  title  to  the 
bridegroom's  upper  garb,  that  is.  the  plad  and 
bonnet;  but  now  he  is  satisfied  with  what  the 
bridegroom  pleases  to  give  him  on  such  occa- 
sions."— Martin's  Western  Isles. 


NOTE  V. 

Wast  not  enouuh  to  Ronald's  bower, 
I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour. — P.  351. 

It  was  anciently  customary  in  the  Highlands 
to  bring  the  bride  to  the  house  of  the  hus- 
band. Nay,  in  S'ime  cases  the  complaisance 
was  stretched  so  far,  that  she  remained  there 
upon  trial  for  a  twelvemonth  ;  and  the  bride- 
groom, even  after  this  period  of  cohabitation, 
retained  an  option  of  refusing  to  fulfil  his 
engagement.  It  is  said  that  a  desperate  feud 
ensued  between  the  clans  of  Mac-Donald  of 
Sleate  and  Mac-Leod,  owing  to  the  former 
chief  having  availed  himself  of  this  license  to 
send  back  to  Dunvegan  a  sister,  or  daughter 
of  the  latter.  Mac-Leod,  resenting  the  in- 
dignity, observed,  that  since  there  was  no 
wedding  bonfire,  there  should  be  one  to  so- 
lemnize  the  divorce.  Accordingly,  he  burned 
ami  laid  waste  the  territories  of  Mac-Donald, 
who  retaliated,  and  a  deadly  feud,  with  all  its 
accompaniments  took  place  in  form. 


NOTE  W. 

Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been. 
In  moc/c'ry  crown'd  with  wreaths  of  green. 

P.  35t. 

Stow  gives  the  following  curious  account 
of  the  trial  and  execution  of  this  celebrated 
patriot: — "William  Wallace,  who  had  oft- 
times  set  Scotland  in  great  trouble,  was  taken 
and  brought  to  London,  with  great  numbers 
of  men  and  women  wondering  upon  him.  He 
was  lodged  in  the  house  of  William  Delect,  a 
citizen  of  London,  in  Fenchurch  street.  On 
the  morrow,  being  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew, he  was  brought  on  horseback  to  West- 
minster. John  Legrave  and  Geffrey,  knights, 
the  mayor,  sheriffs,  and  aldermen  of  London, 
and  many  others,  both  on  horseback  and  on 
foot,  accompanying  him ;  and  in  the  great 
hall  at  Westminster,  he  being  placed  on  the 
south  bench,  crowned  with  laurel,  for  that  he 
had  said  in  times  past  that  he  ought  to  bear  a 
crown  in  that  hall,  as  it  was  commonly  re- 
ported ;  and  being  appeached  for  a  traitor  by 
Sir  Peter  Malorie,  the  king's  justice,  he 
answered,  that  he  was  never  traitor  to  the 
King  of  England  ;  but  for  other  things  where- 
of he  was  accused,  he  confessed  them;  and 
was  after  headed  and  quartered." — Stow,  Chr. 
It.  209.  There  is  something  singularly  doubt- 
ful about  the  mode  in  which  Wallace  was 
taken.  That  he  was  betrayed  to  the  English 
is  indubitable;  and  popular  fame  charges  Sir 
John  Meiiteith  with  the  indelible  infamy. 
"Accursed,"  says  Arnold  Blair,  "be  the  day 
of  nativity  of  John  de  Menteith,  and  may  his 
name  be  struck  out  of  the  book  of  life."  But 


394 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


fohn  de  Menteith  was  all  along  a  zealous '  this  emergence  Seatoun  came  to  his  aid,  and 
ravourer  of  the  Enslish  interest,  and  was  j  r  mounted  him.  Lanetoft  mentions,  that  in 
governor  of  Dumbarton  Castle  hy  commission  this  battle  the  Scottish  wore  white  surplices, 
rom  Edward  the  First;  and  therefore,  as  the  ;  or  shirts,  over  tht-ir  armour,  that  those  of 
accurale  Lord  Hailes  has  observed,  could  noi .  j  rank  might  not.  he  known.  In  this  manner 
>e  i  he  friend  and  confidant,  of  Wallace,  as  both  Bruce  and  Snatoun  escaped.  But  the 
radition  states  him  to  be.  The  truth  seems  latter  was  afterward*  betrayed  to  the  English, 
to  be,  that  Menteith.  thoroughly  engaged  in  Ihrouzh  means,  according  to  Barhour,  of  one  , 
he  English  interest,  pursued  Wallace  closely,  MacNab.  "  a  disciple  of  Judas.''  in  whom  the  : 
ind  made  him  prisoner  through  the  treachery !  unfortunate  knight  reposed  entire  confidence, 
f  an  attendant,  whom  Peter  Langtoft  calls  i  There  was  some  peculiarity  respecting  his 
Jack  Short.  ;  punishment :  because,  accordinz  to  Matthew 

of  Westminster,  he  was  considered  not  as  a 

'•  VV  illiam  Waleis  is  nomen  that  master  was    Scottish   subject,   but    an    Englishman       He 

of  tbeves.  i  was  therefore  taken  to  Dumfries,  where  he 

Tiding  to  the  king  is  comen  that  robbery ;  was  trje,j   condemned,  and  executed,  for  the 

mischeives,  murder  of  a  soldier  slain  hv  him.    His  bro- 

Sir  John  of  Menetest  sued  W.lham  so  mgh,    ,h<;r   J()hn  de   Se|(m    1)ad   ,-,,,,   fame  fate  at 

He   took  him   when   he   weend   least,   on    >;ewt.ast]e  .  hot h  were  considered  as  accom- 

nn.  .  "'S    u    8   u"""'     •      ^y-T    i.  ei.^  u-   i  Pli<--«s  iQ  lhe  slaughter  of  Comvn.  hut  in  what 
That  was  through  treason  of  Jack  Short  his    nlallnpr  ttiey  wpre  particularly  accessary  to 

man'  that  deed  does  not  appear. 

He  was  the  encheson  that  Sir  John  so  him       T|le  fate  of  sir  sjmon   Frazer.  or  Frizel. 

.    ancestor  of   the 'family  of    lx>vat.   is  dwelt 

Jack  s  brother  had  he  slam,  the  VV  aleis  that ,  upon  at  CTeat  ]en?th.  anj  wjth  savaze  exulta- 

'  lion,  hy  the  English  historians.    This  knight, 
ho   was   renowned   for   personal   gallantry. 


The  more  Jack  was  fain  to  do  William  that 


braid 


and  high  deeds  of  chivalrv. 


son  of  Walter. 'Earl  of   Menteith,   and   the    his  fate      It  was  written  immediately  at  the 
traitor  Jack  Short.  I  period,  for  it  mentions  the  Earl  of  Atbole  as 


period,  for  it  mentions  the  Earl  of  Athole  as 
not  yet  in  custody.  It  was  first  published  by 
the  indefatizahle  Mr.  Kitson,  hut  with  so 
many  contractions  and  peculiarities  of  cha- 
racter, as  to  render  it  illegible,  excepting  by 
antiquaries. 

"This  was  before  Saint  Bartholomew's  mass, 
That  Frizel  was  y-taken,  were  it  more  other 

less. 
To  Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  gentil  baron  and 

free. 
And  to  Sir  Johan  Jose  be-take  tho  was  he 

To  hand 

He  was  y- fettered  wele 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel 

To  bringen  of  Scotland. 


NOTE  X. 

Where's  Nigel  Bruce  1  and  De  la  Hnye, 

A  nd  valiant  Se.ton — where  art  Ihfy  ? 
Where  Somerville.  the  kind  and  free  ^ 
And  Fraser, flower  of  chivalry  ? — P  35J. 

When  these  lines  were  written,  the  author 
was  remote  from  the  means  of  correctinz  his 
indistinct  recollection  concerning  the  indi- 
vidual fate  of  Brace's  followers,  after  the 
battle  of  Methven.  Hugh  de  la  Have,  and 
Thomas  Somerville  of  Lintoun  and  Cowdally, 
ancestor  of  Lord  Somerville.  were  both  made 
prisoners  at  that  defeat,  but  neither  was 
executed. 

Sir  Nisei  Bruce  was  the  younser  brother 
of  Robert,  to  whom  he  committed  the  charge 
of  his  wife  and  daughter.  Marjorie,  and  the 
defence  of  his  strong  ensile  of  Kildrummie, 
near  the  head  of  the  Don.  in  Aberdeenshire. 
Kildriinimie  long  resisted  the  arms  of  the 
Earls  of  Lancaster  and  Hereford,  until  the 
magazine  was  treacheronsl y  burnt.  The  gar- 
rison was  then  compelled  to  surrender  at  dis- 
cretion, and  Nieel  Bruce,  a  youth  remarkable 
for  personal  beauty,  as  well  as  for  galjantry. 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  unrelenting  Edward 
He  was  tried  by  a  special  commission  at  Ber- 
wick, was  condemned,  and  executed. 

Chris'opher  Seatoun  shared  the  same  nn- 
forturia'e  fate  He  also  was  distinsuished  bv 
personal  valour,  and  signalized  himself  in  t!ie 
fata!  battle  of  Methven.  Robert  Bruce  ad- 
ventured his  person  in  that  battle  like  a 
knight  of  romance.  He  dismounted  Aymer 
d«  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  but  was  in  his 
turn  dismounted  by  Sir  Philip  Mowbray.  In 


'  Soon  thereafter  the  tiding  to  the  king  come, 
He  sent  him  to  London,  with  mouy  armed 

groom. 
He  came  in  at  Newgate,  I  tell  you  it  on  a- 

plight, 
A  garland  of  leaves  on  his  head  y-dight 

Of  greeu, 

For  he  should  be  y-know, 
Both  of  high  a»d  of  low. 

For  traitour  I  ween. 

"Y-fettered  were  his  legs  under  his  horse's 

wornbe. 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel  mancled  were 

his  houil, 

A  garland  of  pervynk'  set  upon  his  heved,2    ! 
Much  was  the  power  that  him  was  bereved,  \ 

In  land. 

So  God  me  amend, 
Little  he  weeu'd 

So  to  be  brought  in  hand. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.            395 

"  This  was  upon  our  lady's  even,  forsooth  1 

Sruce  at  Saint  Johnstoune.  in  Scotland,  and 

understand. 

with  his  company,  of  which  company  King 

The  justices  sate  for  the  knights  of  Scotland. 

Kdward  quelde  seven  thousand.     When  Ko- 

S.r  Thomas  of  Mullou.  an  kinde  knyglit  and 

lert  the  Bruce  saw  this  mischief,  and  gan  to 

wise. 

lee,  and  hov'd  linn  that   men  might  not  him 

And  Sir  Ralph  of  Sandwich  that  mickle  is 

ind;  but  S.  Simond  Friscll  pursued  was  so 

told  in  price, 

sore,  so  that  he  turned  again  and  anode  bat- 

And  Sir  Johan  Abel, 

ulle.  lor  he  was  a  worthy  knight  and  a  bolde 

More  I  misfit  tell  by  :ale 

of  bodye.  and  the  Englishmen  pursuede  him 

Both  of  great  and  of  sm:ill 

"ore  on  every  side,  and  quelde  the  steed  that 

Ye  knuvv  sooth  well. 

Sir  Simon   Fnsell  rode  upon,  and   then  toke 

him  and  led  him  to  the  host.    And  S.  Symond 

"Then  said  the  justice,  that  gentil  is  and  free. 

iieKiin  for  to  flatter  and  speke  fair,  and  saide. 

Sir  Simon  Prize!  the  king'l  trailer  hast  tliou 

l.ordys.  I  shall  give  you  four  thousand  markes 

lie; 
In  water  and  in  land  that  mony  mighlen  see. 

of  silver,  and  myne  horse  and  harness,  and 
all  my  armoure  and  income.    Tho'  answered 

What  sayst  thou  thereto,  how  will   thou 

Thobaude  of  Hevenes,  that  was  the  kinges 

quite  thee, 

archer.  Now,  God  me  so  helpe.  it  is  for  nought 

Do  say. 

that  thou  speakest.  for  all  the  gold  of  England 

So  foul  he  him  wist, 

I  would  not  let  Ihee  go  without  commandment 

Nedc  war  oil  trust 

of  King  Edward      And  tho'  he  was  led  to  the 

For  to  say  nay. 

Kins,  and  the  King  would  not  see  him,  but 

"With  fetters  and  with  gives1  y-hot  he  was 

commanded  to  lead  him  away  to  his  doom  in 
London,  on  Our  Lady's  even  nativity.   And  he 

From  the  Tower  of  London  that  many  men 
imsht  know, 
In  a  kirtle  of  liurel.  a  selcouth  wise, 
Aud  a  garland  on  his  head  ol'  the  new  guise. 
Through  Cheape 
Many  men  of  England 
For  to  see  Svoiond 
Thitherward  can  leap. 

was  hung  and  drawn,  and  his  head  smitten 
off,  and  hanged  asaiii  with  chains  of  iron  upon 
the  sallows,  and  his  head  was  set  at,  London- 
bridge  upon  a  spear,  and  against  Christmas 
the   body  was   burnt,   for  encheson   (reason) 
that  the  men  that  keeped  the  body  saw  many 
devils  ramping  with  iron  crooks,  running  upon 
1  he  gallows,  and  horribly  tormenting  the  hcpdy. 
Ami   many  that   them  saw.  anon  thereafter 

"  Though  he  cam  to  the  gallows  first  he  was 
on  hung, 

died  for  dread  or  waxen  mail,  or  sore  sickness 
they  had."  —  MS  Chronicle  in  tlie  BritvA  Mu- 

All quick  beheaded  that  him  though!  long; 

seum,  quoted  by  Ritson. 

Then  hewasy-opened.  his  bowels  y-brend,2 

The  heved  to  London-bridge  was  send 

To  shende. 

NOTE  Y. 

So  evermore  mote  1  the, 
Some  while  weened  he 
Thus  little  to  stand.  3 

Was  not  the  life  of  Alhole  shed. 
To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sickened  bed  —P.  354. 

John  de  Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole.  had 

"He  rideth  through  the  ci!y,  as  I  tell  may,' 
With  gamen  and  with  solace  that  was  their 

attempted  to  escape  out  of  the  kingdom,  hut  a 
storm  cast  him  upon  the  coast,  when  he  was 

play. 

taken,  sent  to   London,  and   executed,  with 

To  London  bridge  he  took  the  way. 

circumstances  of  great  barbarity,  being  first 

Monv   was  the   wives  child    that    thereon 

half  strangled,  then  let  clown  from  the  gallows 

iacketh  a  day,* 
And  said,  alas  ! 

while  yet  alive,  barbarously  dismembered,  and 
his  bodv  burnt.    It  may  surprise  the  reader  to 

That  he  was  y-born 

learn,  that  this  was  a  matigattd  punishment; 

Aud  so  vilely  forelorn. 

for  in   respect  that  his  mother  was  a  grand- 

So fair  man  he  was.  5 

daughter  of  King  John,  by  Ins  natural  son 

"  Now  standeth  the  heved  above  the  tu-brigge. 
Fast  by  Wallace  sooth  for  to  segge  ; 
Afier  succour  of  Scotland  long  in»y  he  prv, 
And  after  help  of  France  what  hall  it,  to  lie, 

Richard,  he  was  not  drawn  on  a  sledge  to 
execution,  "that  point  was  forgiven."  and  he 
made  the  passage  on  horseback.     Matthew  of 
Westminster  tells  ns  that  King  Edward,  then 
extremely  ill,  received  great  ease  from  the 

1  ween, 
Better  him  were  in  Scotland, 
With  his  axe  in  his  hand, 
To  play  on  the  green,"  <tc. 

news    that    his    relative    was    apprehended. 
"  Quo  audilo.  Rex  AIUJ/.KZ,  elsi  aravisximo  morho 
tune  bmiiuerel,  levius  tnmen  tulil  (tolorem."    To 
this  singular  expression  the  text  alludes. 

The  preceding  stanzas  contain  probably  as 



ininule  an  account,  as  can   be   found  of  the 

trial   and  execution  of  st^te  criminals  of  the 

NOTE  Z. 

period.    Superstition  mingled  its  horrors  with 
those  of  a  ferocious  state  policy,  as  appears 
from  the  following  singular  narrative. 

Ami  must  his  word,  till  dying  day. 
Be  noityht  but  quarter,  hung,  and  slay.—  P.  354. 

"The  Friday  ne.xt.  before  the  assumption 

This  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Barbour,  singu- 

of Our  Lady,  King  Edward   met  Robert  the 

larly  expressive  of  the  vindictive  spirit  of  Ed- 

1  He  was  rnndemned  to  be  drown. 

kuiKlit,  like  olhiTB  in  the  same  situation,  was  pitied  uy  the 

«t»nd  thus.  —4  viz.    Saith   Lack-a-Jiy.  —  5  The    gallant 

SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


ward  I     The  prisoners  taken  at  the  castle  of  i  that   of  their  country.     Many  of  the  Scottish 
Kildrummie  had  surrendered  upon  condition  |  prelates.  Lambyrton  the  primate  particularly. 


that  they  should  he  at  King  Ed  ward's  disposal 


"Bulhiswil, 


Harbour.  "  was  always  evil 


towards  Scottisln'iien."  The  news  of  the  sur- 
render of  Kildrummie  arrived  when  he  wa 
ill  his  niortu.  sickness  at  Burgh-upon-Sands. 

"  And  when  he  to  the  death  was  near, 
The  folk  that  at.  Kyldromy  wer 
Come  with  prisoners  that  they  had  tane, 
And  syne  to  the  kins  are  eane. 
And  for  to  comfort  him  they  tauld 
How  they  the  casteli  to  them  yauld ; 
And  how'  they  till  his  will  were  brought, 
To  do  off  that  whatever  he  thought ; 
And  ask'd  what  men  should  off  them  do. 
Then  look'd  he  angryly  them  to. 
He  said,  grinning, '  hangs  and  draws.' 
That  was  wonder  of  sic  saws. 
That  he,  that  to  the  death  was  near, 
Should  answer  upon  sic  maner, 
Forouten  moaning  and  mercy ; 
How  might  he  trust  on  him  to  cry. 
That  soolh-fastlv  dooms  all  thing 
To  have  mercy  for  his  crying. 


Off  him  that,  throw  his  felony. 
Into  sic  point  had  no  mercy  ?" 


There  was  much  truth  in  the  Leonine  couplet, 
with  which  Matthew  of  Westminster  con- 
cludes his  encomium  on  the  first  Edward  : — 

"  Scotos  Edwardus,  dum  vixit,  suppeditavit, 
Teuuit,  afflixit,  depressit,  dilaniavit." 


NOTE  2  A. 

While  I  the  blfssed  cross  advance, 

And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance. 

In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance. — P.  355. 

Bruce  uniformly  professed,  and  probably 
felt,  compunction  for  having  violated  the 
sanctuary  of  the  church  by  the  slaughter  of 
Comyn  ;  and  finally,  in  his  last  hours,  in  testi- 
mony of  his  faith,  penitence,  and  zeal,  he  re- 
quested James  Lord  Douglas  to  carry  his  heart 
to  Jerusalem,  to  be  there  deposited  in  the  Holy 
Sepulchre. 


NOTE  2  B. 

De  Bruce!  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 
To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head.— P.  355. 
So  soon  as  the  notice  of  Comyn's  slaughter 
reached  Rome,  Bruce  and  his  adherents  were 
excommunicated.  It  was  published  first  by 
the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  renewed  at  dif- 
ferent times,  particularly  by  Lamhyrton,  Bishop 
of  St.  Andrews,  in  1308;  but  it  does  not  appear 
to  have  answered  the  purpose  which  the  tug- 
\i*h  monarch  expected  Indeed,  for  reasons 
which  it  may  be  difficult  to  trace,  the  thunders 
of  Rome  descended  upon  the  Scottish  moun- 
tains with  less  effect  than  in  more  fertile 
countries.  Probably  the  comparative  poverty 
of  the  benefices  occasioned  that  fewer  foreign 
clergy  settled  in  Scotland;  and  the  interests 
of  the  native  churchmen  were  linked  with 


declared  for  Bruce,  while  he  was  yet  under 
the  ban  of  the  church,  although  he  afterwards 
again  changed  sides. 


NOTE  2  C. 

/  feel  within  mine  aytd  breast 

A  potcer  that  will  not  be  repress  d. — P.  355. 
Bruce,  like  other  heroes,  observed  omens, 
and  one  is  recorded  by  tradition.  After  he 
had  retreated  to  one  of  the  miserable  places 
of  shelter,  in  which  he  could  venture  to  take 
some  reiiose  after  his  disasters,  he  lay  stretch- 
ed upon  a  handful  of  straw,  and  abandoned 
himself  to  his  melancholy  meditations.  He 
had  now  been  defeated  four  times,  and  was 
upon  the  point  of  resolving  to  abandon  all 
hopes  of  further  opposition  to  his  fate,  and  to 
go  to  the  Holy  Laud  It  chanced,  his  eye. 
while  he  was  thus  pondering,  was  attracted 
by  the  exertions  of  a  spider,  who.  in  order  to 
fix  his  web.  endeavoured  to  swing  himself 
from  one  beam  to  another  above  Ins  head. 
Involuntarily  he  became  interested  in  the  per- 
tinacity with  which  the  insect  renewed  his 
exertions,  after  failing  six  tunes;  and  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  would  decide  his  own 
course  according  to  the  success  or  failure  of 
the  spider.  At  the  seventh  effort  the  insect 
gained  his  object;  and  Bruce,  in  like  manner, 
persevered  and  carried  his  own.  Hence  it  has 
been  held  unlucky  or  ungrateful,  or  both,  in 
one  of  the  name  of  Bruce  to  hill  a  spider 

The  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  instead  of 
the  abbot  of  this  tale,  introduces  an  Irish 
Pythoness,  who  not  only  predicted  his  good 
fortune  as  he  left  the  island  of  Kachnu.  but 
sent  her  two  sons  along  with  him,  to  ensure 
her  own  family  a  share  in  it. 

"  Then  in  schorl  time  men  mycht  thaim  se 
Schute  all  lhair  gaiayis  to  the  se. 
And  her  to  se  baiih  ayr  and  ster, 
And  othyr  thmgis  that  mystir  '  wer. 
And  as  the  king  anon  the  sand 
W'es  gangand  wp  and  iloun.  bidand2 
Till  that  his  nieuye  redy  war. 
His  ost  come  rycht  till  him  thar. 
And  quhen  that  scho  him  halyst  had. 
And  pnwe  spek  till  him  scho  made; 
And  said,  •Takis  gild  kep  till  my  saw: 
For  or  ye  pass  I  sail  yow  schaw', 
Off  your  foitoun  a  gret  party. 
Bot  our  all  speceally 
A  wyitring  her  1  sail  yow  ma, 
Quhat  end  that  your  purposs  sail  ta. 
For  in  this  land  is  nane  trewly 
Wale  tbiugis  to  cum  sa  weill  as  I. 
Ye  pass  now  furth  on  your  wiage, 
To  wenge  the  harme,  and  the  owtrag. 
That  Ingliss  men  has  10  yow  done; 
Bot  ye  wat  nocht  quhatkyne  forton 
Ye  rnnn  drey  in  your  werraying. 
Bot  wvt  ye  weili,  with  outyn  lesing. 
That  fra  ye  now  haiff  takyn  land. 
Nane  sa  mychty.  na  sa  strenth  thi  of  hand. 
Sail  per  yow  puss  owt.  of  your  cimntre 
Till  all  to  yow  abandown'yt  be. 

1  Abiding. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


397 


With  in  sdiort  tym«  ye  sail  he  king-, 
And  luiiff  the  land  at  your  liking, 
And  ourcum  your  I'ayis  all. 
But  lele  anoyis  thole  ye  sail, 
Ur  that  your  purpo^s  end  haiff  tane : 
Bur  ye  xdi  Ihaini  ourdryve  ilkane. 
And.  that  ye  trow  this  sekerly, 
My  twa  sonnys  wiih  yuw  sail  1 
St-nd  to  tak  part  of  your  trawaiH ; 
For  I  vvate  well!  thai  sail  nocht  faill 
To  be  rewardit  weill  at  rycht, 
Quhen  ye  ar  heyit  to  yovvr  inynht.'" 

Harbour's  Bruce,  Book  ui.,  V.  856. 


NOTE  2  D. 

A  hunted  warrior  on  the  wiU, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled. — P.  355. 

This  is  not  metaphorical.  The  echoes  of 
Scotland  did  actually 

"ring 

With  the  bloodhounds  that  bayed  for  her  fugi- 
tive king." 

A  very  curious  and  romantic  tale  is  told  by 
Harbour  upon  this  subject,  which  may  be 
abridged  »s  follows  : — 

When  Bruce  had  again  got  footing  in  Scot- 
laud  in  the  spring  of  1306.  he  continued  to  be 
in  a  very  weak  and  precarious  condition,  sain- 
ing, indeed,  occasional  advantages,  but  obliged 
to  fly  before  his  enemies  whenever  they  as- 
sembled in  force  Upon  one  occasion,  while 
he  was  lying  with  a  small  party  in  the  wilds 
of  Cumnock.  in  Ayrshire.  Aymer  de  Valence, 
Earl  of  Pembroke,  with  his  inveterate  foe 
John  of  Lorn,  came  agam>t  him  suddenly  with 
eight  hundred  Highlanders,  besides  a  large 
body  of  men-at-arms.  They  brought  with 
them  a  slough-dog,  or  bloodhound,  which, 
some  say.  had  been  once  a  favourite  with  the 
Bruce  himself,  and  therefore  was  least  likely 
to  lose  the  trace. 

Bruce,  whose  force  was  under  four  hundred 
men,  continued  to  make  head  against  the  ca- 
valry, till  the  men  of  Lorn  had  nearly  nut  off 
his  retreat.  Perceiving  the  danger  of  his  situ- 
ation, he  acted  as  the  celebrated  and  ill-re- 
quited Mm:i  is  said  to  have  done  in  similar 
circumstances.  He  divided  his  force  into 
three  parts,  appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous, 
and  commanded  them  to  retreat  by  different 
routes  But  when  John  of  Lorn  arrived  at 
the  spot  where  they  divided,  he  caused  the 
hound  to  be  put  upon  the  trace,  which  imme- 
diately directed  him  to  the  pursuit  of  that 
party  which  Bruce  headed.  This,  therefore. 
Lorn  pursued  with  his  whole  force,  payii.g  no 
attention  to  the  others  The  kins,  again  sub- 
divided his  small  body  into  three  purls,  and 
with  the  same  resuM,  for  the  pursuers  at- 
tached themselves  exclusively  to  that,  which 
he  led  in  person  He  then  caused  his  followers 
to  disperse,  and  retained  only  his  foster-bro- 
ther  in  his  company.  The  slough-dog  followed 
the  trace,  and,  nezlecria?  the  others,  attached 
himself  and  his  attendants  to  the  pursuit  of 
the  king  Lorn  became  convinced  that  his 
enemy  was  nearly  in  his  po.ver,  and  detached 
five  of  his  most  active  attendants  to  follow 
Kim,  and  iuierrupt  his  flight  They  did  so 
with  all  the  agility  of  mountaineer*.  "  Whai 
aid  wilt  thou  make  ?"  said  Bruce  to  his  single 

34 


attendant,  when  he  saw  the  five  men  gain 
ground  on  him.  "The  best  I  can,"  replied  his 
foster  brother.  "Then,"  said  Bruce,  "  here  1 
make  my  stand."  The  five  pursuers  came  up 
fast.  The  king  took  three  to  himself,  leaving 
the  other  two  to  his  foster-brother.  He  slew 
the  first  who  encountered  him;  but,  observing 
his  foster-brother  hard  pressed,  he  sprung  to 
his  assistance,  and  despatched  one  of  his  as- 
sailants Leaving  him  to  deal  with  the  sur- 
vivor, he  returned  upon  the  other  two.  both 
of  whom  he  slew  before  his  foster-brother 
had  despatched  his  single  antagonist.  When 
this  hard  encounter  was  over,  with  a  courtesy, 
which  in  the  whole  work  marks  Bruce's  cha- 
racter, he  thanked  his  foster-brother  for  his 
aid.  "  It  likes  you  to  say  so."  answered  his 
follower;  ''but  you  yourself  slew  four  of  the 
five." — "True/'said  the  king.  ••  but  only  be- 
cause I  had  better  opportunity  than  you. 
They  were  not  apprehensive  of  me  when  they 
saw  me  encounter  three,  so  I  had  a  moment's 
time  to  spring  to  thy  aid.  and  to  return  equally 
unexpected  upon  my  own  opponents." 

In  the  meanwhile  Lorn's  party  approached 
rapidly,  and  the  king  and  his  foster  brother 
betook  themselves  to  a  neighhouring  wood 
Here  they  sat  down,  for  Bruce  was  exhausted 
by  fatigue,  until  the  cry  of  the  slough-hound 
came  so  near,  that  his  foster  brother  entreated 
Bruce  to  provide  for  his  safety  by  retreating 
further.  ~  I  have  heard."  answered  the  king, 
"  that  whosoever  will  Wiide  a  how-shot  length 
down  a  running  stream, shall  make  the  slough- 
hound  lose  seen'  —Let  us  try  the  experiment, 
for  were  yon  devilish  hound  silenced,  I  should 
care  little  for  the  rest." 

Lorn  in  the  meanwhile  advanced,  and  found 
the  bodies  of  his  slain  vassals,  over  whom  he 
made  bis  moan,  and  threatened  the  most 
deadly  vengeance.  Then  he  followed  the 
hound  to  the  side  of  the  brook,  down  which 
the  king  had  waded  a  ereat  way.  Here  the 
hound  was  at  fault,  and  John  of  Lorn,  after 
long  attempting  in  vain  to  recover  Bruce's 
trace,  relinquished  the  pursuit. 

'•  Others."  says  Harbour,  "  affirm,  that  upon 
this  occasion  the  king's  life  was  saved  by  an 
excellent  archer  who  accompanied  him.  and 
who  perceiving  they  would  be  finally  taken 
by  means  of  the  blood-hound,  hid  himself  in 
a  thicket,  and  shot  him  with  an  arrow.  In 
which  way,"  adds  the  metrical  biographer. 
••  this  escape  happened  I  am  uncertain,  but 
at  that  brook  the  king  escaped  from  his  pur- 
suers." 

"  Quhen  the  ohnsseris  relyit  war. 
And  Jhon  of  Lorn  bad  met  tluim  thar, 
He  tauld  Sohyr  Aymer  all  the  cass 
How  that  the  king  eschapyt  wass  ; 
And  how  that  he  his  five  men  slew, 
And  syne  to  the  wode  him  drew. 
Quhen  Schvr  Aymer  herd  this,  in  hy 
He  sanyt  him  fo'r  the  ferly : 
And  said  ;  '  He  is  gretly  to  pryss ; 
For  I  knaw  nane  that  lilfand  is, 
That  at  myscheyff  gan  help  him  swa. 
I  trow  he  sold  be  hard  to  sla, 
And  he  war  bodyn  >  ewynly.' 
On  this  wiss  sp.ik  Schyr  Ayrnery." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  v  ,  v.  391. 


898 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  English  historians  agree  with  Barhour 
as  to  the  mode  in  which  the  English  pursued 
Bruce  and  his  followers,  and  the  dexterity 
with  which  he  evaded  them.  The  following 
•is  the  testimony  of  Harding,  a  great  enemy  to 
the  Scottish  nation : — 

"The  King  Edward  with  boost  hym  sought 

full  sore. 

But  ay  he  fled  into  woodes  and  strayte  forest, 
And  slewe  iiis  men  ai  staytes  and'dauugers 

thore. 

And  at  rnarreys  and  mires  was  ay  full  prest 
Euglyshmeu  to  kyll  withoutyn  any  rest; 
In  the  mountaynes  auJ  cragges  he  slew  ay 

where, 
And  in  the  nyghl  his  foes  he  frayed  full  sere : 

"The  King  Edward  with  homes  and  houndes 

him  Might, 
With  nii-iine  on  fote,  through  marris,  mosse, 

and  myre, 
Through  wiides  also,  and  mountens  (wher 

thei  foaght,) 
And  euer  the  Kyug  Edward  night  men  greate 

hyre, 

Hym  for  to  take  and  by  myght  conquere ; 
But  thei  might  hyiu  not  gelte  by  force  ue  by 

train, 
He  satte  by  tbe  fyre  when  thei  went  in  the 

rain." 

Hardany's  Chronicle,  p.  303-4. 

Peter  Langtoft  has  also  a  passage  concern- 
ing the  extremities  to  which  King  Robert  was 
reduced,  which  he  entitles 

De  Roberto  Brus  ct  fuga  cvrcum  circa  Jit. 

"And  wele  I  understode  that  the  KyngRohyn 

Has  drunken  of  that  blode  the  drink  oi*  Dau 

War/a. 

Dan  Waryii  he  les  tounes  that  he  held. 
With  wrong  he  mad  a  res.  and  misberyng  of 

sc.neld. 
Sithen  into  the  forest  he  yede  naked  and 

wmle. 

Als  a  wild  beast,  ete  of  the  gras  that  stode, 
Thus  of  Dan  Waryn  in  his  boke  men  rede, 
God  gyf  the  King  Hobyn,  that  alle  his  kyude 

so  spede. 

Sir  Robynet  the  Brus  he  durst  noure  abide, 
That  thei  mad  him  resi  us,  both  in  more  and 

wod-suie. 
To  while  he  mad  this  train,  and  did  urn  while 

outrage,"  <tc. 

Peter  LanglajCl  Chronicle,  vol.  ii.  p.  335, 
bvo,  London,  1810. 


NOTE  2E. 

For.  glni  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doit  — P.  356. 
A  sort  of  persons  common  in  the  isles,  as! 
may  be  easily  believed,  until  the  introduction  ' 
of  civil  polity  Witness  the  Dean  of  the  W<;»' 
account  of  Ronay.  "  At  the  north  end  of  | 
Kaarsay,  be  half  inyle  of  sea  frae  it,  layes  ane  ; 
lie  caliit  Ronay.  maire  then  a  myle  in  lengihe. 
full  o('  wood  and  heddir.  with  ane  havein  for 
heiland  galeys  in  the  middis  of  it,  and  the 
same  liavein  is  auid  for  fo-tenng  of  theives, 
rutjsairs.  and  reivairs,  till  a  nail,  upon  the 


peilling  and  spulzeing  of  poor  pepiil.  This  ile 
perteins  to  M'Giilychallan  of  Raarsayby  force, 
and  to  the  bishope  of  tlie  lies  be  hernaae." — 
Sir  Donald  Monro's  Dis'riptitm  of  Hie  Western 
Islands  of  Scotland.  Edmliuryh,  1805,  p.  22. 


NOTE  2F. 

"  Alas!  drar  youth,  the  unhappy  lime" 
Answer'd  the  Bruce.  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Since,  aui/tier  far  than  you, 
Even  T'—he  paused ;  for  Fa/fark's  woe* 
Upon  his  constious  soul  arose. — P.  3fl7. 
I  have  followed  the  vulgar  and  inaccurate 
tradition,  that  Bruce  fought  against  Wallace, 
and  ihe  array  of  Scotland,  at  the  fatal  baltle 
of  l-'alkirk.    The  story,  which  seems  to  have 
no  better  authority  than  that  of  Blind  Harry, 
bears,  thai  having  made  much  slaughter  dur- 
ing the  engagement,  he  sat  down  to  dine  with 
the   conquerors   without   washing  the  filthy 
witness  from  his  hands. 


"Then  rued  he  sore, for  reason  bad  be  known, 
That  blood  and  land  alike  should  be  his  own; 
With  them  he  long  was,  ere  he  got  away. 
But  contrair  Scots  he  fought  not  from  that 
day." 

The  account  given  by  most  of  our  historians, 
of  the  conversation  between  Bruce  and  Wal- 
lace over  the  Carron  river,  is  equally  apociy- 
phal.  There  is  full  evidence  thai  Bruce  was 
not  nt  that  'line  on  the  English  side,  nor  pre- 
sent at  the  battle  of  raikirk;  nay,  that  he 
acted  as  a  guardian  of  Scotland,  along  with 
John  Comyn,  in  the  name  of  Baiiol,  and  in 
opposition  to  the  English.  He  was  the  grand- 
son of  the  competitor,  with  whom  he  has  been 
sometimes  confounded.  Lord  Haiies  has  well 
described,  and  in  some  degree  apologized  for. 
the  earlier  part  of  Ins  life. — "  His  grandfather, 
the  competitor,  had  patiently  acquiesced  in 
the  award  of  Edward.  His  father,  yielding  to 
the  limes,  had  served  under  the  English  ban- 
ners. But  young  Bruce  had  more  ambition, 
and  a  more  restless  spirit.  In  his  earlier  years 
he  acted  upon  no  regular  plan.  By  turns  the 
partisan  of  Edward,  and  the  vicegerent  of 
Baiiol,  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  or  stifled 
his  pretensions  to  the  crown.  But  his  charac- 
ter developed  itself  by  degrees,  and  in  rna- 
turerage  became  firm  and  consistent."  —  An- 
nals of  Scotland,  p.  2U5,  quarto,  London,  17"  ii. 


NOTE  2  G. 

These  are  the  scmagr.  wi'ds  that  lie 
Nmlh  of  Stratnnardiil  and  Dunskyi—V.  357. 
The  extraordinary  piece  of  scenery  which  I 
have  here  altempted  to  describe,  is.  I  think, 
unparalleled  in  any  part  ot  Scotland,  at  least 
in  any  which  1  have  happened  to  visit.    It  lies 
just  upon   Ihe  frontier  of  the  Laird  of  Mac- 
Leod's country,  which  is  thereabouts  divided 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


399 


from  the  estate  of  Mr.  Nfaccalister  of  Stralh- 
Airtl,  called  Strathnard;!!  by  the  Dean  of  the 
Isles.  The  following  account  of  it  is  extracted 
from  my  journal  kept  during  a  lour  through 
Ihf  Scottish  islands  : — 

"The  western  coast  of  Sky  is  highly  roman- 
tic, and  at  the  same  time  displays  a  richness 
of  vegetation  in  ihe  lower  grounds  to  which 
we  have  hitherto  been  s1  rangers.  \Ve  passed 
three  salt-water  lochs,  or  deep  embayments, 
called  Loch  Bracada'e.  Loch  tinort.  and  Lm-h 

.  and  about  11  o'clock  opened  Loch  Slavig. 

We  were  now  under  the  western  termination 
of  the  high  ridge  of  mountains  called  Cuilleu. 
or  Quillm.  or  Coolin,  whose  weather-beaten 
and  serrated  peaks  we  had  admired  at  a  dis- 
tance from  Dnnvegau  Thev  sunk  liere  upon 
the  sea,  but  with  the  same  bold  and  peremp- 
tory aspect  which  their  distant  appearance 
indicated.  They  appeared  to  consis'  of  preci- 
pitous sheets  of  naked  rock,  down  which  the 
torrents  were  leaping  in  a  hundred  lines  of 
foam.  The  tops  of  the  ridge,  apparently  inac- 
cessible to  human  foot,  were  rent  and  split 
into  the  most  tremendous  pinnacles.  Towards 
the  base  of  these  hare  and  precipitous  crags, 
the  ground,  enriched  by  the  soil  washed  down 
from  them,  is  comparatively  verdant  and  pro- 
ductive Where  we  passed  within  the  small 
isle  of  Soa.  we  entered  Loch  Slavig,  under  the 
shoulder  of  one  of  these  grisly  mountains,  and 
observed  that  the  opposite  side  of  the  loch 
was  of  a  milder  characler,  the  mountains  be- 
ing softened  down  into  steep  ereeu  declivities. 
From  the  bottom  of  the  bay  advanced  a  head- 
land of  high  rocks,  which  divided  its  depih 
into  two  recesses,  from  each  of  which  a  brook 
issued.  Here  it  hail  been  intimated  to  us  we 
would  find  some  romantic  scenery  :  but  we 
were  uncertain  up  which  inlet  we  should 
proceed  in  search  of  it.  We  chose,  against 
our  betler  judgment,  the  southerly  dip  of  the 
hay,  where  we  saw  a  house  which  might 
afford  us  information.  We  found,  upon  in- 
gmry,  that  there  is  a  lake  adjoiniug  to  each 
branch  of  the  bay;  and  walked  a  couple  of 
miles  to  see  that  near  the  firm-house,  merely 
because  tne  honest  Highlander  seemed  jea 
lous  of  the  honour  of  his  own  loch,  though 
we  were  speedily  convinced  it  was  not  that 
which  we  were  recommended  to  examine. 
It  had  no  particular  merit,  excepting  from  its 
neighbourhood  to  a  very  high  cliff,  or  preci- 
pitous mountain,  otherwise  the  sheet  of  water 
had  nothing  differing  from  any  ordinary  low- 
country  lake.  We  returned  and  re-embarked 
in  our  boat,  for  our  guide  shook  his  head  at 
our  proposal  to  climb  over  the  peninsula,  or 
rocky  headland  which  divided  the  two  lakes. 
In  rowing  round  the  headland,  we  were  sur- 

Crised  at  the  infinite  number  of  sea-fowl,  then 
usy  apparently  with  a  shoal  of  fish. 
"  Arrived  at  the  depth  of  the  bay.  we  found 
that  the  discharge  from  this  second  lake  forms 
a  sort  of  waterfall,  or  rathei  a  rapid  stream, 
which  rushes  down  to  the  sea  with  great  fury 
and  precipitation.  Round  this  place  were  as- 
sembled hundreds  of  trouts  and  salmon,  strug- 
gling to  get  up  into  the  fresh  water :  with  a 
net  we  might  have  had  twenty  salmon  at  a 
haul;  and  a  sailor,  witli  no  belter  hook  than 
a  crooked  pin.  caught  a  dish  of  trouts  during 
our  absence.  Advancing  up  this  huddling 
and  riotous  brook,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 


most  extraordinary  scene  ;  we  lost  sight  of  the 
sea  almost  immediately  after  we  had  climbed 
over  a  low  ridge  of  crags,  and  were  surround- 
ed by  mountains  of  naked  ronk,  of  the  boldest 
and  most  precipitous  character.  The  ground 
on  winch  we  walked  was  the  margin  of  a 
lake,  which  seemed  to  have  sustained  the 
constant  ravage  of  torrents  from  these  rude 
neighbours  The  shores  consisted  of  huge1 
strata  of  naked  granite,  here  and  there  inter- 
mixed with  bogs,  and  heaps  of  gravel  and 
sand  piled  in  the  empty  water-courses.  Vege- 
tuiion  there  was  little  or  none ;  and  the  moun- 
tains rose  so  perpendicularly  from  the  water 
edge,  that  Borrowdale.  or  even  Glencoe,  is  a 
jest  to  them.  We  proceeded  a  mile  and  a 
half  up  this  deep,  dark,  and  solitary  lake, 
winch  was  about  two  miles  long,  half  a  nnie 
broad,  and  is.  as  we  learned,  of  extreme  depth. 
The  murky  vapours  winch  enveloped  the 
mountain  ridges,  obliged  us  by  assuming  a 
thousand  varied  shapes,  changing  their  dra- 
pery into  all  sorts  of  forms,  and  sometimes 
clearing  olf  all  together  It  is  true,  the  mist 
made  us  pay  Ihe  pen  .|ty  by  some  Heavy  and 
downright  showers,  from  the  frequency  of 
winch  a  Highland  boy,  whom  we  brought 
from  the  farm,  I  old  us  the  lake  was  popularly 
called  the  Water-kettle  The  proper  name  is 
Loch  Cornskin,  from  the  deep  come,  or  hol- 
low, in  the  mountains  of  Cuiiin,  which  affords 
the  basin  for  this  wonderful  sheet  of  water. 
It  is  as  exquisite  a  savage  scene  as  Loch  Ka- 
trine is  a  scene  of  romantic  beauty.  After 
having  penetrated  so  far  as  distinctly  to  ob- 
serve the  termination  of  ihe  lake  under  an 
immense  precipice,  which  rises  abruptly  from 
the  water,  we  returned,  and  often  stopped  to 
admire  the  ravages  which  storms  must  have 
made  in  these  recesses,  where  all  human 
witnesses  were  driven  to  places  of  more  shel- 
ter and  security.  Stones,  or  rather  large 
masses  and  fragments  of  rocks  of  a  composi  e 
kind,  perfectly  different  from  the  strata  of  the 
lake,  were  scattered  upon  the  bare  rocky 
beach,  in  the  strangest  and  most  precarious 
situations,  as  if  abandoned  by  the  torrents 
which  had  borne  them  down  from  above. 
Some  lay  loose  and  tottering  upon  ihe  ledges 
of  the  natural  rock,  with  so  little  security, 
that  the  slightest  push  moved  them,  though 
their  weight  might  exceed  many  tons.  These 
detached  rocks,  or  stones,  were  chiefly  what 
is  called  plum-pudding  stones.  The  bare 
rocks,  which  formed  the  shore  of  the  lakes, 
were  a  species  of  granite.  The  opposite  side 
of  the  lake  seemed  quite  pathless  and  inac- 
cessible, as  a  huge  mountain,  one  of  the  de- 
tached ridges  of  the  Cuilm  hills,  sinks  in  a 
profound  and  perpendicular  precipice  down  to 
the  water.  On  the  left-hand  side,  which  we 
traversed,  rose  a  higher  and  equally  inaccessi- 
ble mountain,  the  top  of  which  strongly  re- 
sembled the  shivered  crater  of  an  exhausted 
volcano.  1  never  saw  a  spot  in  which  ihere 
was  less  appearance  of  vegetation  of  any  kind. 
The  eye  rested  on  nothing  hut  barren  and 
naked  crags,  and  the  rocks  on  which  we 
walked  by  the  side  of  the  loch,  were  as  bare 
as  the  pavements  of  Cheapside.  There  are 
one  or  two  small  islets  m  the  loch,  which 
seem  to  bear  juniper,  or  some  surh  low  bushy 
shrub  Upon  the  whole,  though  1  have  seeii 
many  scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation,  [ 


400 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


never  witnessed  any  in  which  it  pressed  more 
deeply  upon  the  eye  and  the  heart  than  at 
Loch  Corriskin ;  at  the  same  time  that  its 
grandeur  elevated  and  redeemed  it  (rum  the 
wild  and  dreary  character  of  utter  barren- 


NOTE  2  H. 

Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Dourn-look'd,  unwilling  to  be  seen. — P.  358. 

The  siory  of  Brace's  meeting  the  banditti  is 
copied,  with  such  alterations  as  the  fictitious 
narrative  rendered  necessary,  from  a  striking 
incident  in  the  monarch's  history,  told  by  Har- 
bour, and  which  I  shall  give  in  the  words  of 
the  hero's  biographer.  It  is  the  sequel  to  the 
adventure  of  the  bloodhound,  narrated  in 
Note  2  D.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
narrative  broke  oB',  leaving  the  Bruce  escaped 
from  his  pursuers,  but  worn  out  with  faiigue, 
and  having  no  other  attendant  but  his  foster- 
brother. 

"And  the  gude  km?  held  forth  his  way, 
Betuiz  him  and  his  man,  qulnll  thai 
Passyt  owt  throw  the  forest  war ; 
Syne  in  the  more  thai  entryt  thar. 
ii  wes  bathe  hey,  and  tang,  and  braid ; 
And  or  thai  halff  it  passyt  had. 
Thai  saw  on  syd  Hire  men  cuminand, 
Lik  to  lycht  men  and  wanerand. 
Swerdis  thai  hud.  and  axys  als; 
Aim  ane  off  thuim.  apon  his  hals,i 
A  mekiil  boumlyn  wethir  bar. 
Thai  met  the  king,  and  hailst?  him  thar: 
And  the  king  thaim  thar  hailsmg  yauld ;  s 
And  askyt  thaim  quethn  thai  wauld. 
Thai  said,  Robert  the  Bruyss  thai  soucht ; 
For  mete  with  him  gift"  tuat  thai  moucut, 
Thar  duelling  wnh  him  wauld  thai  ma. < 
The  king  said, '  Giif  that  ye  will  swa, 
Haldys  turth  your  way  with  me. 
And  I  sail  ger  yow  sone  him  se.' 

"Thai  persawyt.  be  hisspeking, 
That  he  wes  the  seiwn  Kohert  king. 
And  chaiiutryt  concenance  and  late  ;5 
And  heid  noohi  111  the  first  state. 
For  thai  war  fajris  to  the  king; — 
And  thoucht  Co  cum  in  to  sculking. 
And  duell  with  him,  quhili  that  thai  saw 
Thar  poynt,  and  oryiig  him  than  off  daw.' 
Thai  grantyt  till  his  speK  forthi.' 
Bot  the  king,  vhat  wes  witty, 
Persawyt  weill,  i>y  tuar  uawing, 
That  thai  liiffyc  him  na  thing : 
And  said, '  Falowig,  ye  mon,  all  thre, 
Forthir  aqwent  till  that  we  be, 
All  be  your  selwyn  furth  gn ; 
And,  on  the  samyn  wyss,  we  twa 
Sail  folow  behind  weill  ner.' 
Quoth  thai, '  Schyr,  it  is  na  myster  * 
To  tn>w  in  ws  ony  ill.' — 
'  Nane  do  I,'  said  he ;  •  hot  I  will, 
That  yhe  ga  fourth  thus,  quhill  we 
Better  wnh  othyr  knawin  be.' — 
'  We  grant.'  thai  said,  'sen  ye  will  swa : 
And  furth  apon  thair  gate  gan  ga. 


2  Salmri.-3  Beturned  Ih 
or  manner.  —  8  Kill  hi 
o  need.  —  9  Husbandman 


"Thus  yeid  thai  till  the  nycht  wes  ner, 
And  than  the  formast  cummyn  wer 
Till  a  waist  housband  houses  and  thar 
Thai  slew  the  wethir  that  thai  bar: 
And  slew  fyr  for  to  rost  thar  mete ; 
And  askyt  the  kins;  giff  he  wald  ete, 
And  rest  him  till  the  mete  war  dycht. 
The  king,  that  hungry  was.  Ik  hycht, 
Assentyi  till  thair  spek  in  by. 
Bot  he  said,  he  wa!d  anerly  >o 
At  a  fyr;  and  thai  all  thre 
On  na  wyss  with  thaim  till  gyddre  be. 
In  the  end  off  the  ho:iss  thai  suld  ma 
Ane  othyr  fyr;  and  thai  did  swa. 
Thai  drew  thaim  in  the  houss  end, 
And  halff  the  wethir  till  him  send. 
And  thai  rostyt  in  hy  thair  mete  ; 
And  fell  rycht  freschly  for  till  ete. 
For  the  king  weill  lang  fastyt  had  ; 
And  had  rycht  mekiil  trawaill  mad: 
Thailor  he  eyt  full  egrely. 
And  quhen  he  had  etyn  hastily, 
He  had  to  slew  sa  mekiil  will, 
That  he  raoucht  set  ua  let  thar  till. 
For  quhen  the  wanys  n  fillyt  ar. 
Men  worthys12  hewy  eiiinnar; 
And  to  slepe  drawys  hewynes. 
The  king,  that  all  fortrawaillyt  13  wes, 
Saw  that  hym  worthyt  slep  nedwayis. 
Till  his  fostyr-brodyr  he  sayis; 
'  May  I  traisl  in  the.  nie  to  walk, 
Till  Ik  a  little  sloping  tak  V— 
'  Ya,  Schyr,'  he  said,  'till  I  may  drey.'  '* 
The  king  then  wynkyt  a  litiil  wey ; 
And  slenyl  nocht  full  encrely; 
Bol  gliffriyt  wp  oft  sodanly. 
Fur  he  had  dreid  off  thai  thre  men, 
That  at  the  tothyr  fyr  war  then. 
That  thai  his  fais  war  he  wyst ; 
Tharfor  he  slepyt  as  foule  on  twvst. '• 

"  The  king  siepvt  bot  a  litiil  than ; 
Quhen  sic  slep  fell  on  his  man, 
That  he  mycht  nocht  hald  wp  his  ey, 
But  fell  in  slep.  and  rowtyt  hey. 
Now  is  the  king  in  gret  perile  : 
For  slep  he  swa  a  litiil  quhile. 
He  sal  be  ded,  for  owtyn  dreid. 
For  the  thre  tratours  tuk  gild  heid, 
That  he  on  slep  wes,  and  his  man. 
In  full  gret  hy  thai  raiss  wp  than, 
And  drew  the  suerdis  hastily ; 
And  went  tmvart  the  king  in  hy, 
Quhen  that  thai  saw  him  sleip  swa, 
And  slepand  thoacht  thei  wald  him  sla. 
The  kmz  wp  bleukit  hastily. 
And  saw  his  man  slepand  him  hy ; 
And  saw  cummand  the  tothyr  thre. 
Deliuerly  on  fute  gat  he  ; 
And  drew  bis  suefd  owt,  and  thaim  mete. 
And,  as  he  yude,  his  fute  he  set 
Apon  his  man.  weill  hewyly. 
He  waknyt.  and  raiss  di-iiy  : 
For  the  slep  mai&tryt  hym  sway, 
That  or  he  gat  wp,  ane  off  thai, 
That  come  for  to  sla  the  king, 
Gaiff  hym  astrak  in  his  rysms, 
Swa  that  he  myrht  help  him  no  mar. 
The  kins  sa  stniitly  stad  16  wes  thar, 
That  he  wes  neiiir  yeyi  sa  s;  ad 
^e  war  the  arrayng  17  that  he  had, 


ir  .alute.—  i  Make.     10  Alone.-!  1  Bell;e».-12  become..  -13  Fatifw 
.  —  7  Therefore.—    d.ire.—  15  Bird  on  bough.—  16  So  dangerously 
s  house,  cottage.  —     17  Had  it  not  been  for  the  aimour  he  wore. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OP  THE  ISLES. 


401 


He  hnd  been  dede,  for  owtyn  wer. 
But  nucht  for  tin  '  on  sic  inancr 
Ke  helpyt  linn,  in  that  bargayne,* 
That  thai  thre  tratowris  lie  has  slim, 
Throw  Gtxldis  grace,  and  his  manheid. 
His  Ibslyr-hrothyr  thar  was  dude. 
Then  wes  lie  wondre  will  of  wayn,' 
Quhen  he  saw  him  left  aliane. 
His  fostyr-btodyr  inetiyt  he; 
And  waryit*  ail  the  tothyr  thre. 
And  syne  hys  way  Ink  him  nllune, 
And  rycut.  tbwart  his  tryst  *  is  gane." 

The  Bruce,  Book  V.,  V.  405. 


NOTE  21. 

And  mermaitCs  alabnsier  grot. 

Who  balli'S  htr  limhs  in  sunlrss  well 

Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.— P.  360. 

Imagination  cnn  hardly  conceive  any  thins 
more  beautiful  than  the  extraordinary  grotto 
discovered  not.  ma-  y  years  since  upon  the 
estate  of  Alexander  Mac-Allister,  Esq.,  of 
Strathaird.  It  has  since  been  much  and  de- 
servedly celebrated,  and  a  full  account  of  it-s 
beauties  has  been  published  by  Dr.  Mac  Leay 
of  Oban.  The  seneral  impression  may  per- 
haps be  gathered  from  the  following  extract 
from  a  journal,  which,  written  under  the  feel- 
ings of  the  moment,  is  likely  to  be  more  accu- 
rate than  any  attempt  to  recollect  the  impres- 
sions then  receved.—"  The  first  entrance  to 
this  celebrated  cave  is  rude  and  Dopromianjr; 
bat  the  light  of  the  torches,  with  which  we 
were  provided,  was  sixni  reflected  from  the 
roof,  floor,  and  walls  which  s  em  as  if  they 
were  sheeted  with  marble,  partly  smooth, 
partly  rough  with  frost-work  and  rustic  orna- 
ments, and  partly  seeming  to  be  wrought  into 
stai  nary .  The  floor  forms  a  steep  and  difficult 
ascent,  and  might  be  fancifully  compared  to  a 
sheet  of  water,  which,  while  it  rushed  whiten- 
in?  and  foaming  down  a  declivity,  had  been 
suddtnly  arrested  and  consolidated  by  the 
S[/ell  of  an  enchanter.  Upon  attaining  the 
summit  of  this  ascent,  the  cave  opens  into  a 
splendid  gallery',  adorned  with  the  most  daz- 
zling crystallizations,  and  finally  descends 
with  rapidity  to  the  brink  of  a  pool,  of  the 
most  limpid  water,  about  four  or  five  yards 
bro»\d.  There  opens  beyond  this  pool  a  portal 
arch,  formed  by  two  columns  of  white  spar, 
with  beautiful  chasing  upon  the  sides,  which 
promises  a  continuation  of  the  cave.  One  of 
our  sailors  swam  across,  for  there  is  no  other 
mode  of  passing,  and  informed  us  (as  indeed 
we  partly  saw  by  the  lisht  he  carried)  that  the 
enchantment  of  Mac  -All  ister's  cave  terminates 
with  this  portal,  a  little  beyond  which  there 
was  only  a  rude  cavern,  speedily  choked  with 
stones  and  earth.  But  the  pool,  on  the  brink 
of  which  we  stood,  surrounded  by  the  most 
fanciful  mouldings,  in  a  substance  resembling 
white  rr.arb!e,  and  distinguished  by  the  depth 
and  purity  of  its  waters,  might  have  been  the 
bathing  grotto  of  a  naiad.  The  groups  of 
combined  figures  projecting,  or  embossed,  by 
which  the  pool  is  surrounded,  are  exquisitely 


elegant  and  fanciful.  A  statuary  might  catch 
beautiftil  hints  from  the  singular  ami  romantic 
disposi'  ion  of  i  hose  stalactites.  There  is  scarce 
a  form,  or  group,  on  which  active  fancy  may  not 
trace  tisures  or  grotesque  ornaments,  which 
have  been  gradually  moulded  in  this  cavern 
by  the  dropping  of  the  calcareous  water  hard- 
ening into  petrifactions.  Many  of  those  fine 
groups  have  been  injured  by  the  senseless 
rage  of  appropriation  of  recent  tourists;  and 
the  grotto  has  lost,  (1  am  informed,)  through 
the  smoke  of  torches,  something  of  that  vivid 
silver  tint  which  was  originally  one  of  its 
chief  distinctions.  But  enoush  of  beauty  re- 
mains to  compensate  for  all  that  may  be 
lost."  — Mr.  -\lac-Alhster  of  Strathaird  has, 
with  great  propriety,  built  up  the  exterior  en- 
trance to  this  cave,  in  order  that  strangers 
may  enter  properly  attended  by  a  guide,  to 
prevent  any  repetition  of  the  wanton  and 
selfish  injury  which  this  singular  scene  has 
already  sustained. 


NOTE  2  K. 

Yel  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs, 
Bear  witness  with  me.  Heaven,  belongs 
My  joy  o'er  Edwards  bier.—  P.  362. 

The  generosity  which  does  justice  to  the 
character  of  an  enemy,  often  marks  Bruce's 
sentiments,  as  recorded  by  the  faithful  Bar- 
hour.  He  seldom  mentions  a  fallen  enemy 
without  praising  such  good  qualities  as  he 
might  possess.  I  shall  only  take  one  instance. 
Shortly  after  Bruce  landed  in  Carrick.  in  1306, 
Sir  Ingram  Bell,  the  English  governor  of  Ayr, 
engaged  a  wealthy  yeoman,  who  had  hitherto 
been  a  follower  of  Bruce,  to  undertake  the 
task  of  assassinating  him  The  King  learned 
tins  treachery,  as  he  is  said  to  have  done  other 
secrets  of  the  enemy,  by  means  of  a  female 
with  whom  he  had  an  intrigue.  Shortly  after 
he  was  possessed  of  this  information.  Bruce, 
resorting  to  a  small  thicket  at  a  distance  from 
Ins  men.  with  only  a  single  page  to  attend 
him,  met  the  traitor,  accompanied  by  two  of 
his  sons.  They  approached  him  with  their 
wonted  familiarity,  but  Bruce,  taking  his 
page's  bow  and  arrow,  commanded  them  to 
keep  at  a  distance.  As  they  still  pressed  for- 
ward with  professions  of  zeal  for  his  person 
and  service,  he,  after  a  second  warning,  shot 
the  father  with  the  arrow  :  and  being  assault- 
ed successively  by  the  two  sons,  despatched 
first  one,  who  was  armed  with  an  axe,  then 
as  the  otiier  charged  him  with  a  spear,  avoided 
the  thrust,  struck  the  head  from  the  spear, 
and  cleft  the  skull  of  the  assassin  with  a  blow 
of  his  two-handed  sword. 

"  He  rushed  down  of  blood  all  red. 
And  when  the  king  saw  they  were  dead, 
All  three  lying,  he  wiped  his  brand. 
With  that  his  boy  came  fast  running. 
And  said,  'Uur  lord  might  lowyl'  be. 
That  granted  you  misdit  and  poweste  1 
To  fell  the  felony  and  the  pride, 
Of  three  in  so  little  tide.' 


r  diBpuU 


appointed  (or  hit  wldie 


~2A~ 


402 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  king  said.  •  So  our  lord  me  see, 
They  have  been  worthy  men  all  three. 
Had  they  not  been  lull  of  treason  ; 
Bui  that  made  llieir  confusion  '  " 

Harbour's  Bruce,  b.  v.  p.  152. 


NOTE  2  L. 

Sach  hate  was  his  on  Solioay's  strand. 
When  vtngeance  clench 'd  his  pa/sit  d  hand. 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land.— P.  362. 

To  establish  his  dominion  in  Scotland  had 
been  a  favuunte  object  of  Edward's  ambition, 
and  nothing  could  exceed  the  pertinacity  with 
which  he  pursued  it,  unless  his  inveterate  re- 
sentment -.igainst  the  insurgents,  who  so  fre- 
quently broke  the  English  yoke  when  he 
deemed  it  most  firmly  riveted.  After  the  bat- 
tles of  Falkirk  and  Methven.  and  the  dreadful 
examples  which  he  had  made  of  Wallace  and 
other  champions  of  national  independence,  he 
probably  concluded  every  chance  of  insurrec- 
tion was  completely  annihilated.  This  was  in 
1306.  when  Bruce,  as  we  have  seen,  was  utterly 
expelled  from  Scotland  :  yet.  in  the  conclusion 
of  the  Kiine  year,  Bruce  was  again  in  arms 
and  formidable;  and  in  1307.  Edward,  though 
exhausted  by  a  long  and  wasting  malady,  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  army  destined  to 
destroy  him  utterly.  This  was.  perhaps,  partly 
in  consequence  of  a  row  which  he  had  taken 
upon  him,  with  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry,  upon 
the  day  in  which  he  dubbed  his  son  a  Knight, 
fur  which  see  a  subsequent  note.  But  even 
his  spirit  of  vengeance  was  unable  to  restore 
his  exhausted  strength.  He  reached  Burgh- 
upon-bands,  a  petty  village  of  Cumberland,  on 
the  shores  of  the  Solway  Firth,  and  there.  6lh 
July,  1307,  expired  in  sight  of  the  detested  and 
devoted  country  of  Scotland.  His  dying  in- 
junctions to  his  son  required  him  to  continue 
the  Scottish  war.  and  never  to  recall  Gaveston. 
Edward  II  disobeyed  both  charges.  Yet. 
more  to  mark  his  animosity,  the  dying  monarch 
ordered  his  bones  to  be  carried  with  the  in- 
vading army.  Froissart,  who  probably  had 
the  authority  of  eye-witnesses,  has  given  us 
the  following  account  of  this  remarkable 
charge : — 

"  In  the  said  forest,  the  old  King  Robert  of 
Scotland  dyd  kepe  hymselfe.  whan  King  Ed- 
ward the  Fyrst  conquered  nygh  all  Scotland : 
for  he  was  so  often  chased,  that  none  durst 
loge  him  in  castell,  uor  fortresse,  for  feare  of 
the  said  Kyng. 

"And  ever  whan  the  King  was  returned  into 
Insland,  th;m  he  would  gather  together  agayn 
his  people,  and  conqnere  townes,  castells.  and 
foriresses,  luste  to  Berwick,  some  by  battle, 
and  some  by  fair  speer.ii  and  love  :  and  when 
the  said  King  Edward  heard  thereof,  than 
would  he  assemble  his  power,  and  wyn  the 
realme  of  Scotland  again;  thus  the  chance 
went  between  these  two  foresail!  Kings  It 
was  shewed  me.  how  (hat  this  King  Robert 
wan  and  lust  his  realme  v.  times.  So  ihi- 
coutiuued  till  thr  said  King  Edward  di<;d  at 
Berwick  :  and  when  lie  saw  that  he  should 
die.  he  called  before  him  his  eldest  son.  who 
was  King  after  him.  and  there,  before  all  Ihe 
barones.  he  caused  him  to  swear,  that  as  soon 


as  he  were  dead,  that  he  should  take  his  body, 
and  hoyle  it  in  a  cauldron,  till  the  flesh  de- 
parted dean  from  the  bones,  and  than  to  bury 
Ihe  flesh,  and  keep  s'lli  the  hones;  arid  that 
as  oflen  as  the  Scotts  should  rehHl  agamst 
him,  he  siiouid  assemble  the  people  against 
them,  and  carry  with  him  the  bones  of  his 
father;  lor  he  believed  verilv.  thai  11  itiey  h:;d 
his  bones  with  them,  that  the  Scot  Is  should 
never  attain  any  victory  against  them  The 
which  thing  was  not  accomplished,  for  when 
the  King  died  his  son  carried  him  to  London  ' 
— Bernrrs'  t'ruissard  Chronicle,  London,  1812, 
pp.  39,  40. 

Edward's  commands  were  not  obeyed,  for 
he  was  interred  in  Westminster  Abbey,  wiih 
the  appropriate  inscription  : — 

"  Edicardus  Primus  Scntorum  malleus  hie  est. 
factum  Seri-a." 

Yet  some  steps  seem  to  have  been  taken  to- 
wards rendering  his  body  Capable  (if  occasional 
transportation,  for  it  was  exqu.silely  embalm- 
ed, as  was  ascertained  when  his  tomb  was 
opened  some  years  ago.  Edward  II.  judged 
wisely  in  not  carrying  the  dead  body  of  his 
fa! her  into  Scotland,  since  he  would  not  obey 
his  living  counsels. 

It  ought  to  be  observed,  that  though  the 
order  of  the  incidents  is  reven-ed  in  the  poem, 
yet.  in  point  of  historical  accuracy,  Bruce  had 
landed  in  Scotland,  and  obtained  some  suc- 
cesses of  consequence,  before  the  deutti  of 
Edward  I. 


Canna's  totcer,  that,  sterp  and  grey, 

lake  jalcon-ntst  o'erhangs  the  bay. — P.  362. 

The  little  island  of  Canna,  or  Cannay,  adjoins 
to  those  of  Hum  and  Muick,  wi  h  which  it 
forms  one  parish.  In  a  pretty  bay  opening  to- 
wards the  east,  there  is  a  lofty  and  sit  nder 
rock  detached  from  the  shore.  Upon  the 
summit  are  the  ruins  of  a  very  small  tower, 
scarcely  accessible  by  a  steep  and  precipitous 
path.  Here,  it  is  said,  one  of  the  kinti.  or 
Lords  (vf  the  Isles,  confined  a  beautiful  lady. 
of  whom  he  was  jealous.  The  rums  are  of 
course  haunted  by  her  restless  spirit,  and  many 
romantic  stories  are  told  by  the  aged  people 
of  the  island  concerning  her  fate  in  life,  and 
her  appearances  after  death. 


NOTE  2  N. 

And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  ham  snit. 
Thar  hunters  to  the  shore.— P.  363. 

Ronin  (popularly  called  Rum.  a  name  which 
a  poet  may  be  pardoned  for  avoiding  if  possi- 
ble) is  a  very  rough  and  mountainous  i.-iai.d. 
adjacent  10  those  of  Eigg  and  ( 'annay.  There 
is  almost  no  arable  ground  upon  it.  so  that, 
except  in  the  plenty  of  the  de<-r,  which  of 
course  are  now  nearly  extirpated,  it  stiil  de- 
serves the  description  bestowed  by  the  arch- 
dean  of  the  Isles,  "Ron.n.  sixteen  niyle 
north-wast  from  the  ile  of  Coll.  lyes  ane  ile 
calht  Ronin  He,  of  sixteen  myle  long,  and  six 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


403 


in  bredthe  in  the  narrowest,  ane  direst  (if 
heich  mountains,  and  abundance  »f  little  deir 
in  it,  qnlulk  deir  will  never  be  slaue  douue- 
wilh,  hilt  Uie  principal  saittis  man  be  in  I  lie 
height  of  the  hill,  because  ihe  deir  will  Ite 
callit  upwart  ay  be  the  tamchell.  or  without 
tynchel  they  will  pass  upwart  perforce.  In 
tins  lie  will 'be  gotten  aliout  Britane  als  many 
wild  nests  upon  the  plane  inure  as  men  pleasis 
to  gadder,  and  yet  by  resson  the  fowis  lies  lew 
to  start  tliem  except  deir.  This  lie  lyes  from 
the  west  to  the  eist.  iu  lenth,  and  pertains  to 
M'Kenabrey  of  Colja.  Many  solan  geese  are 
in  this  lie." — Manro'a  Description  of  tlu;  Western 
hies,  p.  18. 


NOTE  20. 

O*  Scoorrigg  next  a  warning  light 
Summon'd  her  warriors  to  the  fyht ; 
A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  Mncleod 
O'er  ttieir  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode. 

P.  363. 

These,  and  the  following  lines  of  the  stanza, 
refer  to  a  dreadful  tale  of  feudal  vengeance, 
of  which  Unfortunately  there  are  relics  that 
still  attest  the  truth.  Scoor-Eigg  is  a  high 
peak  in  the  centre  of  the  small  Isle  of  Eigg, 
or  Egg.  It  is  well  known  to  mineralogists,  as 
affording  many  interesting  specimens,  and  to 
others  whom  chance  or  curiosity  may  lead  to 
the  island,  for  the  astonishing  view  of  the 
mainland  and  neighbouring  isles,  which  it 
commands.  I  shall  again  avail  myself  of  the 
journal  I  have  quoted.1 

"ZfilhAuyust,  1814.— At  seven  this  morning 
we  were  in  the  Sound  which  divides  the  Isle 
of  Rum  from  that  of  Eigg  The  latter,  al- 
though hilly  and  rocky,  and  traversed  by  a 
remarkably  high  and  barren  ridge,  called 
Scoor-Risg,  has,  in  point  of  soil,  a  much  more 
promising  appearance.  Southward  of  both 
ties  the  Isle  of  Muich,  or  Muck,  a  l»w  and 
fertile  island,  and  though  the  least,  yet  proba- 
bly the  most  valuable  of  the  three.  We 
manned  the  boat,  and  rowed  along  the  shore 
of  Egg  in  quest  of  a  cavern,  winch  had  been 
the  memorable  scene  of  a  horrid  feudal  ven- 
geance. We  had  rounded  more  than  half  the 
island,  admiring  the  entrance  of  many  a  bold 
natural  cave,  which  its  rocks  exhibited,  with- 
out finding  that  which  we  sought,  until  we 
procured  a  guide.  Nor.  indeed,  was  it  sur- 
prising that,  it  should  have  escaped  the  search 
of  strangers,  as  there  are  no  outward  indica- 
tions more  than  might  distinguish  the  entrance 
of  a  fin-earth.  This  noted  cave  has  a  very 
narrow  opening,  through  which  one  can  hardly 
creep  on  his  knees  ahd  hands.  It  rises  steep 
and  lofty  within,  anil  runs  into  the  bow, 'Is  of 
the  rock  to  the  depth  of  255  measured  feet; 
the  height  at  the  eutrance  may  be  about  three 
feet,  but  rises  within  to  eighteen  or  tw-nty, 
and  the  breadth  may  vary  in  the  same  propor- 
tion. The  rude  and  stony  bottom  of  this  cave 
is  strewed  with  the  bones  of  men,  women, 
and  children,  the  sad  relics  of  the  ancient  in- 
habitants of  the  island,  200  in  number,  who 
were  slain  on  the  following  occasion:  —  The 
Mac-Donalds  of  the  Isle  of  Egg,  a  people  de- 
pendent on  Clan-Ranald,  hud  done  some  in- 


jury to  the  Laird  of  Mac-I-eod.  The  tradition 
of  the  isle  says,  that  it  was  by  a  personal  at- 
tack 011  the  chieftain,  in  which  his  back  was 
broken  But  thai  of  the  other  isles  bears, 
more  probably,  that  the  injury  was  offered  to 
two  or  three  of  the  Mac  l.eods.  who  landing 
upon  Eigg,  and  using  some  freedom  with  the 
young  women,  were  seized  by  the  islanders, 
hound  hand  and  foot,  and  turned  adrift  in  a 
boat,  which  the  winds  and  waves  safely  con- 
ducted to  Skye  To  avenge  the  offence  given, 
Mac-Leod  sailed  with  such  a  body  of  men,  as 
rendered  resistance  hopeless.  The  natives, 
fearing  his  vengeance,  concealed  themselves 
in  this  cavern,  and,  after  a  strict  search,  the 
Mac- Leods  went  on  board  their  galleys,  alter 
doing  what  mischief  they  could,  concluding 
the  inhabitants  had  left  the  isle,  and  betaken 
themselves  to  the  Long  Island,  or  some  of 
Clan-Ranald's  other  possessions.  But  next 
morning  they  espied  from  I  he  vessels  a  man 
U|ion  the  island,  and  immediately  landing 
again,  they  traced  his  retreat  by  the  marks  of 
his  footsteps,  a  light  snow  being  unhappily  on 
the  ground.  Mac-Leod  then  surrounded  the 
cavern,  summoned.llie  subterranean  garrison, 
]  and  demanded  that  the  individuals  who  had 
1  offended  him  should  be  delivered  up  to  him. 
This  was  peremptorily  refused.  The  chieftain 
]  then  caused  Ins  people  to  divert  the  course  of 
j  a  rill  of  water,  which,  falling  over  the  entrance 
1  of  the  cave,  would  have  prevented  his  pur- 
j  posed  vengeance.  He  then  kinuled  at  Uie 
entrance  of  the  cavern  a  huge  fire,  composed 
•ol  turf  and  fern,  and  maintained  it  with  uiire- 
I  lenting  assiduity,  until  all  within  were  de- 
'stroyed  by  suliocalion.  The  ditto  of  this 
dreadful  deed  must  have  been  recent,  if  one 
t  may  judge  from  the  fresh  appearance  of  those 
relics.  I  brought  off,  in  spite  of  the  prejudice 
|  of  our  sailors,  a  skull  from  among  the  nunier- 
i  ous  specimens  of  mortality  which  the  cavern 
afforded.  Before  re-embarking  we  visited  an- 
other cave,  opening  to  the  sea,  but  of  a  cha- 
I  racier  entirely  different,  being  a  large  o|>en 
vault,  as  high  as  that  of  a  cathedral,  and  run- 
ning hack  a  great  way  into  the  rock  at  the 
same  height.  The  height  and  width  of  the 
opening  gives  ample  light  to  the  whole  Here, 
after  1745,  when  the  Catholic  priests  were 
scarcely  tolerated,  the  priest  of  Eigg  used  to 
perform  i  he  Roman  Catholic  service,  most  of 
the  islanders  being  ol  that  persuasion.  A 
huge  ledge  of  rocks  rising  about  half-way  up 
one  side  of  the  vault,  served  for  altar  and 
pulpit;  and  the  appearance  of  a  priest  and 
Highland  congregation  in  such  an  extraordi- 
nary place  of  worship,  might  have  engaged 
tne  pencil  oi  Salvator." 


Note  t  O.,  p.  957,  mat. 


NOTE  2  P. 

thnt  wondrous  dome. 

Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 
B<i  skill  of  cm  tidy  a/chitect. 
Nature  hersrtj.  it  stan'it,  wouM  raise 
A  Minster  to  tier  Maker's  praise .'— P  363. 
It   would   be   unpardonable   to  detain  the 
reader  upon  a  wonder  so  often  described,  and 
yet  so  incapable  of  being  understood  by  de- 
scription.   This  palace  of  Neptune  is  even 
grander  upon  a  second  than  the  first  view 


404 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  stupendous  columns  which  form  the  sides 
of  the  cave,  the  depth  and  strength  of  tlie  title 
which  rolls  its  deep  and  heavy  swell  up  to  the 
extremity  of  the  vault  —  the  variety  of  the 
tints  formed  hy  white,  crimson,  anil  yellow 
stalactites,  or  petrifactions,  which  i>ccupy  the 
vacancies  between  the  base  of  the  broken 
pillars  which  form  the  roof,  and  intersect 
them  with  a  rich,  curious,  and  variegated 
chasing,  occupying  each  interstice  —  the  cor- 
responding variety  below  water,  where  the 
ocean  rolls  over  a  dark-red  or  violet-coloured 
rock,  from  which,  as  from  a  base,  the  basaltic 
columns  arise  —  the  tremendous  noise  of  the 
swelling  tide,  mingling  with  the  deep-toned 
echoes  of  the  vault, — are  circumstances  else- 
where unparalleled. 

.Nolhms:  can  he  more  interesting  than  the 
varied  appearance  of  the  little  archipelago  of 
islets,  of  which  Staffa  is  the  most  remarkable. 
This  group,  called  in  Gaelic  Tresharmsh, 
affords  a  thousand  varied  views  to  I  he  voyager, 
as  they  appear  in  different  positions  with  re- 
ference to  his  course.  The  variety  of  their 
shape  contributes  much  to  the  beauty  of  these 
effects. 


NOTE  2Q. 

Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  mart 

V.  363. 

The  ballad,  entitled  •'Maophail  of  Colonsay, 
and  the  .Mermaid  of  Cornevrekin,"  [see 
Border  .Minstrelsy,  vol.  iv.  p.  285.]  was  corn- 
posed  by  John  Leyden,  from  a  tradition  which 
he  found  while  making  a  tour  through  the 
Hebrides  about  1801.  soon  he  fore  his  fatal  de- 
parture for  India,  where,  after  having  made 
farther  progress  in  Oriental  literature  than 
any  man  of  letters  who  had  embraced  those 
studies,  he  died  a  martyr  to  his  zeal  for  know- 
ledge, in  the  island  of  Java,  immediately  after 
the  landing  of  our  forces  near  Batavia,  in  Au- 
gust 1811. 


NOTE  2R. 

Up  Tarbnt's  western  lake  they  bore, 

Tlien  drags' d  their  bark  the.  isthmus  o'er. 

P.  363. 

The  peninsula  of  Cantire  is  joined  to  South 
Knapdale  by  a  very  narrow  isthmus,  formed 
by  the  western  and  eastern  Loch  of  Tarbat. 
These  two  saltwater  lakes,  or  bays,  encroach 
so  far  upon  the  land,  and  the  extremities  come 
so  near  to  each  other,  that  there  is  not  above 
a  mile  of  land  to  divide  them. 

"  It  is  not  long."  says  Pennant, "  since  vessels 
of  nine  or  ten  tons  were  drawn  by  horses  out 
of  the  west  loch  .into  that  of  'he  east,  to  avoid 
the  ilansrersof  the  Mull  of  Cantyre.  so  dreaded 
and  so  little  known  was  the  navigation  rumd 
that  promontory.  It  is  the  opinion  of  many, 
that  these  little  "isthniuses,  so  frequently  styled 
Tarhat  in  North  Britain,  Unik  their  name  from 
the  above  circumstance;  Tarrumg.  signifying 
to  draw,  and  Bata,  a  boat.  This  too  might  he 
called,  by  way  of  pre-eminence,  the  Turbai, 


From  a  very  singular  circumstance  related  by 
TorftEus.  When  Magnus,  the  barefooted  king 
if  Norway,  obtained  from  Donald-bane  of 
Scotland  the  cession  of  the  Western  Isies,  or 
ail  those  places  that  could  he  surrounded  in  a 
boat,  he  added  to  them  tiie  peninsula  of  Can- 
tyre  by  this  fraud  :  he  placed  himself  in  the 
stern  of  a  boat,  held  the  rudder,  was  drawn 
over  this  narrow  track,  and  by  this  species  of 
navigation  wrested  the  country  from  his  bro- 
ther monarch." — Pennant's  Scotland,  London, 
1790.  p.  190. 

But  that  Bruce  also  made  this  passage,  al- 
though at  a  period  two  or  three  years  later 
than  in  the  poem,  appears  from  the  evidence 
of  Barbour,  who  mentions  also  the  effect  pro- 
duced upon  the  minds  of  the  Highlanders, 
from  the  prophecies  current  amongst  them  ; — 

"  Bot  to  King  Robert  will  we  gang, 
That,  we  naff  left  wnspokyn  of  lang. 
Quhen  he  had  conwoyit  to  the  se 
His  brodyr  Eduuard.  and  his  menye, 
And  othyr  men  off  gret  noblay. 
To  Tarbart  thai  held  thair  way, 
In  galayis  ordanyl  lor  thair  far. 
Bot  th'aim  worthy! '  draw  thair  schippi* 

thar: 

And  a  myle  wes  betuix  the  seys ; 
Bot  that  wes  lompnyt2  all  wi;h  treis. 
The  King  his  schippis  thar  gert  '  draw. 
And  fur  the  wynd  couth 4  stoutly  blaw 
Apou  lhair  bak.  as  thai  wald  ga. 
He  gert  men  rapys  and  mast  is  ta. 
And  set  thaini  in  the  sclnppis  hey, 
And  saylhs  to  the  topfiis  ley ; 
And  gert  men  gang  thar  hy  drawand. 
The  wynd  thaim  helpyt.  that  was  biawand  ; 
Swa  that,  in  a  li:ill  space, 
Thair  flote  all  our  drawin  was. 

"And  qnhen  thai,  that  in  the  His  war. 
Hard  tell  how  the  gud  Kins:  had  thar 
Gert  hys  schippis  with  sailiis  ga 
Owt  our  betuix  [the]  Tarbart  [is]  twa. 
Thai  war  abaysit  5  sa  wtrely. 
For  thai  wyst,  throw  auld  prophecy, 
That  he  suld  ger"  schippis  suu 
Betuix  thai  seis  with  sailiis  ga, 
Suld  wyne  the  Ilissua  till  hand. 
That  nane  with  streuth  suld  him  withstand. 
Tharfor  they  come  all  to  the  King. 
Wes  nane  withsiud  his  bidding, 
Owtakyn7  Jhone  of  Lome  ailayne. 
Bot  weil!  sone  eftre  wes  he  tayne ; 
And  present  rycht  to  the  King. 
And  thai  that  war  of  his  Icdiusr, 
That  till  the  King  had  brokvn  fay,  8 
War  all  dede,  and  destroyit  awav." 

Harbour's  Bruce,  Book  x.,  v.  821. 


NOTE  2  S. 

The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 

Sen-  Ghoil.  "  the  Mountain  ot  the  Wind," 

Gave  his  yrim  peaks  a  yrer.ling  kind. 

And  bade  Loch  Kama  smile.— P.  364. 
Lnch  Ranza  is  a  beautiful  )>ay.  on  the  north- 
ern extremity  of  Arrau,  opening  towards  Kust 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


405 


Tarhat  Loch.  It  is  welt  described  by  Pen- 
nant: —  "The  approach  was  magnificent;  a 
fine  hay  in  front,  about  a  mile  deep.  having  a 
ruined "cas  le  near  the  lower  end.  mi  a  low  far- 
projecting  neck  or  land.  I  hat  forms  another 
harbour,  with  a  narrow  passage;  but  within 
has  three  fathom  of  water,  even  at  ttie  lowest 
ebl).  Beyond  is  a  little  plain  watered  by  a 
stream,  anil  inhabited  by  the  people  of  a  small 
viilage.  The  whole  is  environed  with  a  theatre 
of  mountains ;  and  in  the  background  the 
serrated  crags  of  Grianan-Alhol  soar  above." 
—Pennant's  Tour  to  the  Western  Isles,  p.  191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil. -'Hie  mountain  of  the  winds,"  is 
generally  known  by  its  English,  and  less  poeti- 
cal name,  of  Goattield. 


NOTE  2  T. 


Each  to  I/x:h  Rama's  margin  spring ; 
That  blast  was  winded  by  the  King! 

P.  365. 

he  passage  in  Barhpur.  describiiiir  the  land- 
ing of  Bruce,  and  his  being  recognised  by 
Douglas  anil  those  of  his  followers  who  had 
preceded  him.  by  the  sound  of  his  horn,  is  in 
the  original  singularly  simple  and  affecting — 
The  king  arrived  in  Arran  with  thirty-three 
small  row-boats.  He  interrogated  a  female 
if  there  had  arrived  any  warlike  men  of  late 
in  that  country.  "Surely,  sir."  she  replied.  "  I 
can  tell  you  of  many  who  lately  came  hither, 
discomfited  the  English  governor,  and  block- 
aded his  castle  of  Brodick.  They  maintain 
themselves  in  a  wood  at  no  great  distance." 
The  king,  truly  conceiving  that  this  must  be 
Douglas  and  his  followers,  who  had  la/ely  set 
forth  to  try  their  fortune  in  Arran.  desired  the 
woman  to  conduct  him  to  the  wood.  She 
obeyed. 

"  The  king  then  blew  his  horn  on  high  ; 
And  gert  his  men  that,  were  him  by, 
Hold  them  still,  and  all  privy: 
And  syne  again  his  home  blew  he. 
James  of  Dowglas  he.ird  him  blow. 
And  at  the  last  alone  gan  know. 
And  said,  •  Soothly  yon  is  the  king ; 
I  know  long  while  since  his  blowing.' 
The  third  lime  therewithal!  he  blew. 
And  then  Sir  Robert  Bold  it  knew; 
And  said,  'Yon  is  the  king,  but  dread, 
Go  we  forth  till  him.  better  sneed.' 
Then  went  they  till  the  king  in  hye. 
And  him  inclined  courteously. 
And  blithly  welcomed  them  the  king, 
And  was  joyful  of  their  meeting. 
And  kissed  them;  and  speared  '  syne 
How  they  had  fared  in  huniing? 
And  they  him  told  all.  but  lesmg :  » 
Syne  laud  they  God  of  their  meeting. 
Syne  with  the  king  till  his  harbourye 
Went  bothjoyfif  and  jolly." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  v.. 
p.  115, 116. 


NOTE  2U. 

-  his  brother  blamed, 


But  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed, 
With  hawjhty  lauyh  Ms  head  he  turn'd, 
And  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn d. — P.  365. 

The  kind,  and  yet  fiery  character  of  Edward 
Bruce,  is  well  painted  by  Barhoiir.  in  the  ac- 
count of  his  behaviour  after  the  battle  of  Ban- 
nockhurn.  Sir  Walter  Koss.  one  of  the  very 
few  Scottish  nobles  who  fell  in  that  battle, 
was  M>  dearly  beloved  by  Edward,  that  he 
wished  the  victory  had  been  lost,  so  Ross  had 
lived. 

"Out-taken  him,  men  has  not  seen 
Where  he  for  any  men  made  moaning." 

And  here  the  venerable  Archdeacon  intimates 
a  piece  of  scandal.  Sir  Edward  Bruce,  it 
seems,  loved  Koss's  sister,  par  amours,  to  the 
neglect  of  his  own  lady,  sister  to  David  de 
Strathlxigie,  Earl  of  Athole.  This  criminal 
passion  had  evil  consequences;  for,  in  resent- 
ment to  the  affront  done  to  his  sister.  At  hole 
attacked  the  guard  which  Bruce  had  left  at 
Cambnskennet  h.  during  the  bat  tie  of  Bairn  ock- 
hurn,  to  protect  his  magazine  of  provisions, 
and  slew  Sir  William  Keith,  the  commander. 
For  which  treason  he  was  forfeited. 

In  like  manner,  when  in  a  sally  from  Car- 
rick  fergus.  Neil  Fleming,  ami  the  guards  whom 
he  commanded,  had  fallen,  after  the  protract- 
ed resistance  which  saved  the  rest  of  Edward 
Bruce's  army,  he  made  such  moan  as  surprised 
his  followers : 

"  Sic  moan  he  made  men  had  ferly,' 
ror  he  was  not  customahly 
Wont  for  to  moan  men  any  thing. 
Nor  would  not  hear  men  make  moaning." 

Such  are  the  nice  traits  of  character  so  often 
lost  in  general  history. 


NOTE  2V. 

Thou  heard'st  a  wretched  female  plain 
In  agony  of  travail-pain. 
And  thou  didst  hid  thy  little  band 
Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 
A  nd  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do. 
Rather  than.  like,  a  kmjht  untrue. 
Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 
A  woman  in  her  last  distress. — P.  366. 
This  incident,  which  illustrates  so  happily 
the  chivalrous  generosity  of  Bmce's  charac- 
ter, is  one  of  the  many  simple  and  natural 
traits  recorded  by  Barnour.     It  occurred  dur- 
ing the  expedition  which  Bruce  made  to  Ire- 
land, to  support  the  pretensions  of  his  brother 
Edward  to  the  throne  of  that  kingdom.  Bruce 
was  about  to  retreat,  and  his  host  was  arrayed 
for  moving. 

"  The  king  has  heard  a  woman  cry, 
He  asked  what  that  was  in  hy.4 
'It  is  the  layndar.5  sir,'  sai  ane. 
'That  her  chilil -ill  6  right  now  has  ta'en 


406 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  must  leave  now  behind  us  here. 
Therefore  she  makes  an  evil  cheer.' l 
The  king  said,  'Certes.2  it  were  pity 
That  she  in  that  poml  left  should  be. 
For  certes  1  trow  there  is  no  man 
That  he  DO  will  rue  3  a  woman  than.' 
His  hosts  all  there  arested  he. 
And  gert  <  a  tent  soon  stinted  &  be, 
And  pert  her  gang  in  hastily. 
And  other  women  to  he  her  by. 
While  she  was  delivered  lie  bade; 
And  syne  forth  on  his  ways  rade. 
And  how  she  forth  should  carried  be, 
Or  he  forth  fure.o  ordained  he. 
This  was  a  full  great  courtesy, 
That  swilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 
Gert  his  men  dwell  on  this  manner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender  " 

Harbour's  Bruce,  Book  xvi.  pp.  39,  40. 


NOTE  2W. 

O'er  chasms  he  pass'ii,  where  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride. — P.  368. 
The  interior  of  the  island  of  Arran  abounds 
with  beautiful  Highland  scenery.  The  hills, 
being  very  rocky  and  precipitous,  afford  some 
cataracts  of  great  height,  though  of  inconsi- 
derable breadth.  There  is  one  pass  over  the 
river  Mac.hrai,  renowned  for  the  dilemma  of  a 
poor  woman,  who.  being;  tempted  by  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  ravine  lo  step  across,  succeed- 
ed in  making  the  first  movement,  hut  took 
fright  when  it  became  necessary  to  move  the 
other  foot,  and  remained  in  a  poetan  equally 
ludicrous  and  dangerous,  until  some  chance 
passenger  assisted  her  to  extricate  herself.  It 
is  said  she  remained  there  some  hours. 


NOTE  2X. 

He  cross'd  his  brow  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  riclims  groan ; 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild, 
O'er  many  a  heathtn  hero  piled.— P.  368. 

The  isle  of  Arran.  like  those  of  Man  and 
Anglesea,  abounds  with  many  relics  of  hea- 
then, and  probably  DruidiCrfl.  superstition. 
There  are  high  erect  columns  of  unhewn 
stone,  the  must  early  of  all  monuments,  the 
circles  of  rude  stones,  commonly  entitled 
Druidical.  and  the  cairns,  or  sepulchral  piles, 
within  which  are  usually  found  urns  enclosing 
ashes.  Much  doubt  necessarily  rests  upon  the 
history  of  such  monuments,  nor  is  it  possible 
to  consider  them  as  exclusively  Celtic  or 
Druidical.  By  much  the  finest  circles  of 
standing  stones,  excepting  Stonehese,  are 
those  of  Stenhouse,  at  Stennis.  in  the  island 
of  Pomona,  the  principal  isle  of  the  Orcades 
These,  of  course,  are  neither  Celtic  nor  Druidi- 
cal ;  and  we  are  assured  that  many  circles 
of  the  kind  occur  both  in  Sweden  and  Nor 
way. 


NOTE  2Y. 

Old  Brotlirk's  ootfiic  towers  were  Sffn  j 
From  Hns/ings.  lit-  tin  ir  Emjlish  Lord, 
Dtnujlas  had  won  them  by  the  sword  —P.  368. 

Brodiok  or  Brathwick  Castle,  in  the  Isle  of 
Arran,  is  an  ancient  fortress,  near  an  open 
roadstead  called  Brodick-Bay.  and  nut  far 
distant  from  a  tolerable  harbour,  closed  in  by 
the  Island  of  Lam  lash.  This  important  place 
hail  been  assailed  a  short  time  before  Bruce's 
arrival  in  the  island.  James  lx>rd  Douglas, 
who  accompanied  Bruce  to  his  retreat  in 
Rachrine.  seems,  in  the  spring  of  1306,  to  have 
tired  of  his  akxle  there,  and  set  out  accord- 
ingly, in  the  phrase  of  the  times,  to  see  what 
adventure  God  would  send  him.  Sir  Robert 
Boyd  accompanied  him ;  and  his  knowledge 
of  the  localities  of  Arran  appears  to  have 
directed  his  course  thither.  They  landed  in 
the  island  privately,  and  appear  to  have  laid 
an  ambush  lor  Sir  John  Hastings,  the  English 
governor  of  Brodick,  and  surprised  a  consi- 
derable supply  of  arms  and  provisions,  and 
nearly  took  the  castle  itself.  Indeed,  that  t  hey 
actually  did  so,  has  been  generally  averred  by 
historians,  although  it  does  not  appear  from 
the  narrative  of  Burbour.  On  the  contrary,  it 
would  seem  that  they  took  shelter  within  a 
fortincanon  of  the  ancient  inhabitants,  a  ram- 
part called  Tor  on  Schian.  When  they  were 
joined  by  Bruce,  it  seems  probable  that  they 
had  gained  Brodick  Castle.  At  least  tradition 
says,  that  from  the  battlements  of  the  lower 
he  saw  the  supposed  signal-fire  on  Turnberry- 
nook.  .  .  .  The  castle  is  now  much  modernized, 
but  has  a  dignified  appearance,  being  sur- 
rounded by  flourishing  plantations. 


NOTE  2Z. 

Oft.  too,  with  iinaccvstom'd  ears, 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears.— P.  368. 

Barunnr,  with  great  simplicity,  gives  an  an- 
ecdote, from  which  it  would  seem  that  the 
vice  of  profane  swearing,  afterwards  too  ge- 
neral among  the  Scottish  nation,  was,  at  this 
time,  confined  to  military  men      As  Douglas, 
after  Bruce's  return  lo  Scotland,  was  roving 
about  the  mountainous  country  of  Tweeddale, 
near  the  water  of  Line,  he  chanced   to  hear 
some  persons  in  a  farm-house  say  "Me  devil." 
Concluding,  from  this  hardy  expression,  that 
the  house  contained  warlike  guests,  he  imme- 
diately assailed  it.  and  had  the  gcxxl  fortune 
to  make  prisoners  Thomas  Randolph,  after- 
1  wanls  the  famous  Earl  of  Murray,  and  Alex- 
i  anderSiuart,  Lord  Bonkle.     Both  were  then 
I  in  the  English  interest,  and  had  come  into  j 
'  that  countrv  with  the  purpose  of  driving  out 
i  Douglas.     They    afterwards    ranked    among 
I  Bruce's  most  zealous  adherents. 


i  Pitched. 


6MoT«L 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


407 


NOTE  3  A. 

For,  see !  the  ruddy  signal  motif, 
Tltat  Clifford,  with  his  mtrry-men  all. 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall.— P.  369. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  by  which 
Bruce  was  induced  to  enter  Scotland,  under 
the  false  idea  that  a  signal-fire  was  lighted 
upon  the  shore  near  his  maternal  caslle  of 
Turnberry — the  disappointment  which  he  met 
with,  and  the  train  of  success  which  arose  out 
of  that  very  disappointment,  are  too  curious 
to  be  passed  over  unnoticed.  The  following 
is  the  narrative  of  Barbour.  The  introduction 
is  a  favourable  specimen  of  his  style,  which 
seems  to  be  in  some  degree  the  model  for  that 
ofGawain  Douglas: — 

"  This  wes  in  ver.1  qnhen  wynter  tid, 
With  his  blastis  hidwvss  to  bid. 
Was  our  drywvn  :  and  byrdis  smale, 
As  turtnns  and  tne  nychfyngale. 
Begouth  2  rycht  sariely  3  to  syng ; 
And  for  to  mak  in  thair  singyng 
Swete  niitis.  and  sownys  ser,* 
And  melmlys  ulesand  to  her. 
And  tlie  treis  begouth  to  ma  5 
Burgeans.G  and  brvcht  blomys  alsua. 
To  wyn  the  helyng?  off  thair  hewid. 
That  wykkyt  wyntir  had  thaim  rewid.* 
And  all  gressvs  heguth  to  sprvng. 
In  to  that  ivnie  the  nobill  king. 
With  his  dole,  and  a  few  menye.9 
Thre  hundyr  1 1  row  thai  mycht  be, 
Is  to  the  se,  owte  off  Arane 
A  litill  forouth,10  ewyn  gane. 

"  Thai  rowit  fast,  with  all  thair  mycht 
Till  that  apon  thaim  fell  the  nycht. 
That  wou.x  myrk  ' '  apon  gret  maner, 
Swa  that  thai  wyst  nocht  quhar  thai  wer. 
For  thai  na  nedill  had.  na  stane; 
Bot  rowyt  alwayis  in  till  ane. 
Sterand  all  tvnie  apon  the  fyr. 
That  thai  saw  brynnand  lycht  and  schyr." 
It  wes  hot  auentur  '3  thaim  led  : 
And  they  in  schorl  tyme  sa  in:nin  sped, 
That  at  the  fyr  arywyt  thai ; 
And  went  to  land  hot  mar  delay. 
And  Cuthbert,  that  has  sene  the  fyr, 
Was  full  off  angyr,  and  off  ire  : 
For  he  durst  nocht  do  it  away; 
And  wes  alsua  dowtand  ay 
That  his  lord  suld  pass  to  se. 
Tharfor  thair  cuminyn  waytit  he ; 
And  met  them  at  thair  arywing. 
He  wes  wele  sone  broucht  to  the  King, 
That  speryt  at  him  how  he  had  done. 
And  he  with  sar  hart  tauld  him  sone, 
How  that  he  fand  nane  weill  luffand; 
Bot  all  war  fayis,  that  he  fand : 
And  that  the  lord  the  Persy, 
With  ner  thre  hundre  in  cumpany, 
Was  in  the  castell  thar  besid, 
Fullfillyt  off  dispyt  and  prid. 
Hot  ma  than  twa  partis  off  his  rowt 
War  herheryt  in  the  tonne  without ; 
'  And  dyspytyt  yow  mar,  Schir  King, 
Than  men  may  dispyt  ony  thing.' 


Than  said  the  King,  in  full  gret  ire; 

'T:-aioiir,  qnhy  maid  thow  than  the  fyr?'- 

'  A !  Schyr,'  said  he,  'sa  God  me  se  ! 

The  fyr  wes  newyr  maid  for  me. 

Na,  or  the  nycht.  I  wyst  it  nocht; 

Bot  fra  I  wyst  it,  weill  I  thocht 

That  ye.  and  haly  your  menye. 

In  hy  '*  suld  put  yow  to  the  se. 

For  thi  I  cum  to  mete  yow  her, 

To  tell  perellys  that  may  aper." 

"  The  King  wes  off  his  spek  angry. 
And  askyt  his  prywfi  men.  in  liy, 
Quhat  at  thaim  thoucht  wes  best  to  do. 
Schyr  Edward  fryst  answert  thar  to, 
Hys  brodyr  that  wes  swa  hardy, 
And  said  :  'I  saw  yow  sekyrly 
Thar  sail  na  perell.  that  may  be, 
Dryve  me  eftsonys  15  to  the  se. 
Myne  auentur  her  tak  will  f, 
Quhethir  it  be  esfull  or  angry.' — 
'  Brothyr."  he  said,  'sen  thou  will  sua, 
It  is  gude  that  we  saniyn  ta 
Dissese  or  ese,  or  payne  or  play, 
Eftyr  as  God  will  ws  purway  " 
And  sen  men  sayis  that  the  Persy 
Myn  heretage  will  occupy; 
And  his  menye  sa  ner  ws  lyis. 
That  ws  dispytis  mony  wyss; 
Ga  we  and  wense  "  sum  off  the  dispyte 
And  that  may  we  haiff  done  alss  tite :  '* 
For  lhai  ly  traistly.is  hut  dreding 
Off  ws,  or  off  our  her  cummyng. 
And  thoiiclit  we  slepand  slew  thaim  all, 
Repruff  tharof  na  man  sail. 
For  werrayour  na  fonss  suld  ma, 
Quhethir  he  mycht  ourcom  his  fa 
Throw  strenth,  or  throw  sutelte ; 
Bot  that  gud  faith  ay  haldyn  be.' " 

Barbvur's  Bruce,  Book  iv.,  v.  1. 


NOTE  3B. 

Now  ask  you  whence  that  wonlrmts  light. 
Whose  fairy  glow  beifliilrd  their  sight  ? — 
It  ne'er  was  known.— P.  370. 
The  following  are  the  words  of  an  ingenious 
correspondent,  to  whom  I  am  obliged  for  much 
information     respecting   Turnberry    and    its 
eighbourhood.    "The  only  tradition  now  re- 
membered of  the  landing  of  Robert  the  Bruce 
in  Carrick,  relates  to  the  fire  seen  by  him  from 
the  Isle  of  Arran      It  is  still  generally  report- 
ed, and  religiously  believed  by  many,  that  this 
fire   was    really   the   work    of  supernatural 
power,  unassisted  by  the  hand  of  any  mortal 
Deing ;  and  it  is  said,  that,  for  several  cetitu- 
ies.  the  flame  rose  yearly  on  the  same  hour 
f  the  same  night  of  the  year,  on  which  the 
ting  first  saw  it  from  the  turrets  of  Brodick 
Castle;  and  some  go  so  far  as  to  say.  that  if 
the  exact  time  were  known,  it  would  be  still 
seen.    That  this  superstitious  notion  is  very 
ancient,  is  evident  from  the  place  where  the 
ire  is  saiil  to  have  appeared,  being  called  the 
Bugles'   Brae,  beyond   the   remembrance  of 
man.     In  support  of  this  curious  belief,  it  is 
•said  that  the  practice  of  burning  heath  for 

1  Sprint-— 3  B--;an.— 3  Ixiflily  —4  Several.— 5  Make  —    after  —16  Prepare.— 17  Arenge.— 18  Quickly.— 19  Confl- 
6  Bud«.-7  C^verin-.-S  Ifcreavrd.— 9  Men.— 10  Before.—    denllf. 
— 11  Clear.-M  A'ivenuire..— 14  Haste  —IS,  Sot 


408 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  improvement  of  land  was  then  unknown  ; 
that  a  sponkie  (Jack  o'lanthorn)  could  not 
have  been  seen  across  the  breadth  of  tin: 
Forth  of  Clyde,  between  Ayrshire  anil  Arran  ; 
and  that  the  courier  of  Bruce  was  liis  kins- 
man, and  never  suspected  of  treachery." — 
Letter  from  Mr.  Joseph  Train,  of  Newton 
Stuart,  author  of  an  ingenious  Collection  of 
Poems,  illustralive  of  many  ancient  Traditions 
in  Galloway  and  Ayrshire.  Edinburgh.  IMI. 
(Mr.  Train  made  a  journey  into  Ayrshire  at 
Sir  Waller  Smut's  request,  on  purpose  to  col- 
lect accurate  information  for  the  Notes  to  this 
poem  :  and  the  reader  will  find  more  of  tlie 
fruits  of  Ins  labours  in  Note  3  D.  This  is  the 
same  gentleman  whose  friendly  assistance  is 
so  often  acknowledged  in  the  Notes  and  In- 
troductions of  the  Waverley  .Novels.] 


NOTE  3C. 

They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  Castle's  silvan  reigti.—f.  371. 

The  Castle  of  Turnberry,  on  the  coast  of 
Ayrshire,  was  the  property  of  Robert  Bruce, 
in  right  of  his  mother.  Lord  Hailes  mentions 
the  following  remarkable  circumstance  con- 
cerning the  mode  in  which  lie  became  pro- 
prietor of  it: — "  Martha,  Countess  of  Carnck 
in  her  own  right,  the  wife  of  Robert  Bruce. 
Lord  of  Annandale.  bare  him  a  son.  after- 
wards Robert  1.  (11th  July.  1274.)  The  cir- 
cumstances of  her  marriage  were  singular: 
happening  to  meet  Robert  Bruce  in  her  do- 
mains, she  became  enamoured  of  him,  and 
wit  h  some  violence  led  him  to  her  castle  of 
Turnberry.  A  few  days  after  she  married 
him,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  relations 
of  either  party,  arid  without  the  requisite 
consent  of  the  king.  The  king  instantly 
seized  her  castle  and  whole  estates:  She 
afterwards  atoned  by  a  fine  for  her  feudal 
delinquency.  Little  did  Alexander  foresee, 
that,  from  this  union,  the  reslornr  of  the  Scot- 
tish monarchy  was  to  arise."— Annals  of  Scol- 
laml,  vol.  ii.  p.  180.  The  same  obliging  corre- 
spondent, whom  I  have  quoted  in  the  pre- 
ceding note,  gives  me  the  following  account 
of  the  present  state  of  the  rums  of  Turn- 
berry  : — "  Turnberry  Point  is  a  rock  projecting 
into  the  sea;  the  top  of  it  is  about  eighteen 
feet  above  high-water  mark.  Upon  this  rock 
was  built  the  castle.  There  is  about  twenty- 
five  feet  high  of  the  wall  next  to  the  sea  yet 
standing.  Upon  the  land-side  the  wail  is  only 
about  four  feet  high:  the  length  has  been 
sixty,  feet,  and  the  breadth  forty-five  :  It  was 
surrounded  by  a  ditch,  but  that  is  now  nearly 
filled  up.  The  top  of  the  ruin,  rising  between 
forty  nnd  fifty  feet  above  the  water,  has  a 
majestic  appearance  from  the  sea.  There  is 
not  much  local  tradition  in  the  vicinity  con- 
nected wii.h  Bruce  or  his  history.  In  front, 
however,  of  the  rock,  upon  which  stands 
Culzean  Castle,  is  the  mouth  of  a  romantic 
cavern,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean,  in  which  it 
is  said  Bruce  and  his  followers  concealed 
themselves  immediately  after  landing,  till 
they  arranged  matters  for  their  farther  enter- 
prises. I  urns  mentions  it  in  the  poem  of 
Hallowe'en.  The  only  place  to  the  south  of 


Turnberry  worth  mentioning,  with  reference 
to  Bruce's  history,  is  the  \\  eary  Nuik.  a  little 
romainc  green  hill,  where  he'and  Ins  party 
are  said  to  have  rested,  after  assaulting  the 
castle." 

Around  the  Castle  of  Turnberry  was  a  level 
plain  of  about  two  miles  in  extent,  form  ins; 
tlie  castle  park.  There  rouiil  be  nothing,  I 
am  informed,  more  beautiful  than  the  oopse- 
woud  and  verdure  of  this  extensive  meadow, 
before  it  was  invaded  by  the  ploughshare. 


NOTE  3  D. 

The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall. 

P.  373. 

1  have  followed  the  flattering  »nd  pleasing 
tradition,  that  the  Bruce,  after  his  descent 
upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  actually  gained 
possession  of  his  maternal  castle.  But  the 
tradition  is  not  accurate.  The  fact  is.  that  he 
was  only  strong  enough  to  alarm  and  drive  in 
the  ouipos's  of  the  English  garrison,  then 
commanded,  not  try  ChlTord.  as  assumed  in 
the  text,  but  by  Percy.  Neither  was  Clifford 
slain  upon  this  occasion,  though  he  had  se- 
veral skirmishes  with  Bruce.  He  fell  after- 
wards in  the  battle  of  Bannonkbuin.  Bruce, 
after  alarming  the  castle  of  Tnrnberry.  and 
surprising  some  part  of  the  garrison,  who 
were  quartered  without  the  walls  of  the  for- 
tress, retreated  into  the  mountainous  part  of 
Carnck,  and  there  made  himself  so  strong, 
that  the  English  were  obliged  to  evacuate 
Turnberry.  and  at  length  the  Castle  of  Ayr. 
Many  of  his  benefactions  and  royal  gifts  attest 
his  attachment  to  the  hereditary  followers  of 
his  house,  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

It  is  generally  known  that  Bruce,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  distresses  after  the  battle  of 
Methven.was  affected  by  a  scorbutic  disorder, 
which  was  then  called  a  leprosy.  It  is  said 
he  experienced  benefit  from  the  use  of  a 
medicinal  spring,  about,  a  mile  north  of  the 
town  of  Ayr,  called  from  that  circumstance 
King's  Case.  The  following  is  the  tradition 
of  the  country,  collected  by  Mr.  Train:  — 
"  After  Robert  ascended  the  throne,  he  found- 
ed the  priory  of  Dominican  monks,  every  one 
of  whom  was  under  the  obligation  of  putting 
up  to  Heaven  a  prayer  once  every  week-day, 
and  twice  in  holydays.  for  the  recovery  of  the 
king;  and.  after "his'dealh.  these  masses  were 
continued  for  the  saving  of  his  soul.  The 
rums  of  this  old  monastery  are  now  nearly 
level  with  the  ground.  Robert  likewise 
caused  houses  to  be  built  round  the  well  of 
Kings  Case,  for  eight  lepers,  and  allowed 
eight  bolls  of  oatmeal,  and  28/.  Scotch  money, 
per  annum,  to  each  person  These  donations 
were  laid  upon  the  lands  of  Fullarton,  and 
are  now  payable  by  the  Duke  of  Portland. 
The  farm  of  Shiels.  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Ayr,  has  to  give,  if  required,  a  certain  quantity 
of  straw  for  the  lepers'  beds,  and  so  mnch  to 
thatch  their  houses  annually.  Eaoh  leprous 
person  had  a  drinking-horn  provided  him  by 
the  king,  which  continued  to  be  hereditary 
in  the  house  to  which  it  was  first  granted. 
One  of  those  identical  horns,  of  very  curious 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


409 


workmanship,  was  in  the  possession  of  the 
late  Colonel  Fulhirton  of  that  UK." 

My  correspondent  proceeds  to  mention  some 
curious  remnants  of  antiquity  respecting  this 
founda'ion  "In  compliment  to  Sir  William 
Wallace,  the  areat  delive  er  of  his  country, 
King  Robert  Bruce  invested  the  descendants 
of  that  hero  with  the  right  of  placing  all  the 
lepers  upon  the  establishment  of  King's  Case. 
'I  Ins  patronage  continued  in  the  family  of 
l.'raisie.  till  it  was  sold  along  with  the  lands 
of  the  late  Sir  Thomas  Wallace.  The  burgh 
of  Ayr  then  purchased  the  right  of  applying 
the  donations  of  King's  Case  to  the  sui.port 
of  the  poor-house  of  Ayr.  The  lepers'  char- 
ter-stone was  a  basaltic  block,  exactly  the 
shape  of  a  sheep's  kidney,  and  weighing  an 
Ayrshire  b.ll  of  meal,  'the  surface  of  this 
stone  beinp  as  smoo'h  as  glass,  there  was  not 
any  other  way  of  lifting  it  than  hy  turning  the 
hollow  to  the  ground,  there  extending  the 


arms  along  each  side  of  the 
ins  the  hands  in  the  cavity. 


ine.  and  clasp- 
Young  lads  were 


NOTE  3E. 

"  Briny  litre,"  hr  said,  "  I/it  mazers  four. 

My  noble  f afters  loved  of  yore.'' — P.  373. 
These  mazers  were  large  drinking  cups,  or 
goblets.     Mention  of  them  occurs  iu  a  curious 
nventory  of  t  he  treasure  and  jewels  of  James 
ill.,  which  will  be  published,  with  other  cu- 


always  considered  as  deserving  to  be  ranked 
among  men,  when  they  could  lift  the  blue 
stone  of  King's  Case.  It  always  lay  beside 
the  well,  t.ll  a  few  years  ago,  when  some 
English  dragoons  encamped  at  that  place 
wantonly  broke  it.  since  which  the  fragments 
have  been  kepi  by  the  freemen  of  Prestwick 
iu  a  place  of  security.  There  is  one  of  these 
Charter  stones  at  the  village  of  Old  Daily,  in 
Carrick.  which  has  become  more  celebrated 
hy  the  following  event,  which  happened  only 
a  few  years  ago:  —  The  village  of  New  Daily 
being  now  larger  than  the  old  place  of  the 
same  name,  the  inhabitants  insisted  that  the 
charter-stone  should  he  removed  from  the 
old  town  to  the  new,  but  the  people  of  Old 
Daily  were  unwilling  to  part  with  their  an- 
cient right.  Demands  and  remonstrances 
were  made  on  each  side  without  effect,  till  at 
last,  man,  woman,  and  child,  of  both  villages, 
marched  out,  and  by  one  desperate  engage- 
ment put  an  end  to  a  war.  the  commencement 
of  which  no  person  then  living  remembered. 
Justice  and  victory,  in  this  instance,  being  of 
the  same  party,  the  villagers  of  the  old  town 
of  Daily  now  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  keeping 
the  Mue-stane  unmolested.  Ideal  privileges 
are  ofien  attached  to  some  of  these  stones. 
In  Girvan,  if  a  man  can  set  his  hark  against 
one  of  the  above  description,  he  is  supposed 
not  liable  to  be  arrested  for  debt,  nor  c 
cattle,  it  is  imagined,  be  poinded  as  long 
they  are  fastened  to  the  same  stone.  That 
stones  were  often  used  as  symbols  to  denote 
the  right  of  possessing  land",  before  the  use 
of  written  documents  became  general  11 
Scotland,  is,  I  think,  exceedingly  probable. 
The  charter-stone  of  Inverness  is  still  kept 
with,  great  care,  set  in  a  frame,  and  hooped 
with  iron,  at  the  market  place  of  that  town. 
It  is  called  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  district 
Clack  ua  Couddin.  I  think  it  is  very  likely 
that  Carey  has  mentioned  this  stone  in  Ins 


rmus  docunii 

Mr.  Thn 


if  an  i.jiniy,  by  my  friend, 
Thomson.   D    Kegisler  of  Scot- 


land, under  the  title  of  "  A  Collection  of  In- 


and   o;her   Kerords 
Wardiobe,   Jewel- House.1'   <fcc 


if  tne    Koyal 
I  copy  the 


xissage  in  which  mention  is  made  of  the 
nazei  s.  ami  also  of  a  habiliment,  called  "  King 
Robert  Bruce's  serk,"  i  e.  shirt,  meaning,  per- 
laps,  his  shirt  of  mail;  although  no  other 
)rms  are  mentioned  m  the  inventory.  It 
night  have  lieun  a  rel;c  of  more  sanctiried  de- 
scription, a  penance  shirt  perhaps. 

Extract  from  ''  Inventare  of  one  Parte  of  the 
Gold  and  Silver  conyeit  and  tinconyttt,  Joia- 
el/is.  anil  ulhtr  Stuff  pertiimny  to  Umquhile 
oure  tioverniie  Louts  Fader,  that  he  had  in 
Depots  Ihf.  Tyme  oj  his  Deceis,  and  that  come 
to  the  Hatn/is  of  oure  Siiverane  Lord  that 
now  is,  M.CCCC  LXXXVIH." 

"Memorandum  fundin  in  a  bandit  kist  like 
a  gardeviant,'  in  the  fyrst  the  grete  chenye" 
of  gold,  conteuand  sevin  score  sex  liukis. 

Item,  thre  platis  of  silver. 

Item,  tuelf  salfa'  is.s 

Item,  fyftene  discheis  4  ouregilt. 

Item,  a  grete  gilt  plate. 

Item,  twa  grete  bassmgis  s  ouregilt. 

Item,  four   Misans,  called    King  Robert    the 

Brocis,  with  a  cover 
Item,  a  grete  cok  maid  of  silver. 
Item,  the  hede  of  silver  of  aue  of  the  coveris 

of  musar. 

Item,  a  fare  dialle.8 
Item,  twa  kasis  of  kriyffis.T 
Hem,  a  pare  of  auid  kniffis. 
linn,  takin   be   the  smyth   that  opinnit  the 

lokkis,  in  gold  fourty  demyis. 
Item,  in  Inglys  grotis  » xxiiii.  li.  and 

the  said  silver  given  again  to  the  lakaiis  of 

hym. 
Item,  ressavit  in  the  clossat  of  Davidis  tour, 

ane  haly  water-fat  of  silver,  twa  boxis,  a 

cageaf  tume,  a  glas  with  rois-waier,  a  do- 

soune  of  lorchis,  King  Hubert  Brucis  Ser/t." 

The  real  use  of  the  antiquarian's  studies  is 
to  biing  the  minute  information  which  he 
collects  to  hear  upon  pom  s  of  history  For 
example,  in  the  inventory  I  have  just  quoted, 
there  is  given  the  contents  of  the  black  kist, 
or  chest,  belonging  to  James  III ,  which  was 
his  strong  box.  and  contained  a  quantity  of 
treasure,  in  money  and  jewels,  surpassing 
what  might  have  been  at  the  period  expec.  ed 


poem  of  Craig  Phaderick.  This  is  only  a  con-  of  "poor  Scotland's  gear."  Th.s  illustrates 
jecture,  as  I  have  never  seen  that  work.  [  and  authenticates  a  sinking  passage,  in  the 
While  the  famous  marble  chair  was  allowed  ',  history  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  by  Hume  of 
to  remain  at  Scoori,  it  was  considered  as  the  ;  Godscroft.  The  last  Karl  of  Dougla^  (of  the 
charter-stone  of  the  kingdom  of  Scotland."  elder  branch)  had  been  reduced  to  monastic 


tly  the  abject  of  1 


8  English  groat* 


410 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


seclusion  in  tlie  Abbey  of  Lindores,  by  James 
II.  Jumes  III.,  in  his  distresses,  would  wil- 
linsly  have  recalled  linn  In  puhlic  life,  and 
made  him  his  lieutenant.  ••  Bui  he."  says 
Gcidscroft,  "  laden  with  \  ears  and  old  age,  and 
weary  of  troubles,  refused,  sayins.  Sir,  you 
have  keept  niee,  and  your  black  differ  in  Ster- 
line.  too  long,  neither'of  us  can  doe  you  any 
good :  I.  l>ecause  my  friends  have  forsaken 
me.  and  my  followers  and  depeiiders  are 
fallen  from  me.  betaking  themselves  to  other 
masters;  and  your  black  trunk  is  too  farre 
from  you,  and  your  enemies  are  between  you 
and  it:  or  (as  oiliers  say)  because  there  was 
in  it  a  sort  of  blank  coyne,  that  the  king  had 
caused  to  be  coyned  bv  the  advice  of  his  cour- 
tiers; which  nioneyes  (saith  he)  sir,  if  you 
had  put  out  at  the  first,  the  people  would 
have  taken  it;  anil  if  you  had  employed  mee 
in  due  time  I  might  have  done  you  service. 
But  now  there  is  none  that  will  take  notice  of 
me.  nor  meddle  wi'.h  your  money."  —  Hume's 
History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  fol.  Kdm. 
1&«,  p.  206. 


NOTE  3F. 

Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new. 

P.  373. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Kyle,  says  an- 
cient tradition,  that  Robert  Bruce  had  landed 
in  Carrick.  with  the  intention  of  recovering 
the  crown  of  Scotland,  the  Laird  of  Craigie. 
and  forty  eisht  men  in  his  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood, declared  in  favour  of  their  legiti- 
mate prince.  Bruce  granted  them  a  tract  of 
land,  still  retained  by  the  freemen  of  Newton 
to  this  day.  The  original  charter  was  lost 
when  the  pestilence  was  raging  at  Ayr;  but 
it  was  renewed  by  one  of  the  Jameses,  -and  is 
dated  at  Faulkland.  The  freemen  of  Newion 
were  formerly  officers  by  rotation.  The  Pro- 
vost of  Ayr  at  one  time  was  a  freeman  of 
Newton,  and  it  happened  to  lie  his  turn,  while 
provost  in  Avr,  to  be  officer  in  Newton,  both 
of  which  offices  he  discharged  at  the  same 
time. 

The  forest  of  Selkirk,  or  Ettrick,  at  thi 
penod.  occupied  all  the  district  which  retain: 
that  denomination,  and  embraced  the  neigh- 
bouring dales  of  Tweeddale.  and  at  least  ihe 
Upper  Ward  of  Clydesdale.  All  that  tract  was 
probahly  as  waste  as  it  is  mountainous,  and 
covered  with  the  remains  of  the  ancient  Cale- 
donian forest,  which  is  supposed  to  have 
stretched  from  Cheviot  Hills  as  far  as  Hamil- 
ton, and  to  have  comprehended  even  a  part 
of  Ayrshire.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk. 
Sir  John  Stewart  of  Bonkill,  brother  to  the 
Sieward  of  Scotland,  commanded  the  archers 
of  Selkirk  Forest,  who  fell  around  the  dead 
body  of  their  leader.  The  Enclish  historians 
have  commemorated  the  tall  and  stately  per- 
sons, as  well  as  the  unswerving  (aith,  of  tli 
foresters.  Nor  has  their  interesting  fall 
escaped  the  notice  of  an  elegant  modern 
poetess,  vi  hose  subject  led  her  to  treat  of  that 
calamitous  engagement. 

"The  glance  of  the  morn  had  sparkled  bright 
Cn  their  plumage  green  and  their  actons 
light; 


The  bugle  was  strung  at  each  hunter's  side, 
As  they  had  been  bound  to  the  chase  to 

ride; 
But  the  bugle  is  mute,  and  the  shafts  are 

spent. 

The  arm  unnerved  and  the  bow  unbent, 
And  the  tired  forester  is  laid 
Far.  far  from    the    clustering    greenwood 

shade  ! 

Sore  have  they  toil'd — they  are  fallen  asleep. 
And  their  slumber  is  heavy,  and  dull,  and 

deep ! 

When  over  their  bones  the  grass  shall  wave. 
When  the  wild  winds  over  their  tombs  shall 

rave. 

Memory  shall  lean  on  their  graves,  and  tell 
How   Selkirk's    hunters    bold    around  old 

Stewart  fell !" 

Wallace,  or  the  Fight  of  Fnlkirk, 
[by  Miss  HolfordJ  Loud.  4to, 
18(19,  pp.  170-1. 


NOTE  3G. 

When  Bnice's  banner  had  victorious  flou'd. 
O'er  Loiulouris  mountain,  and  in  Uru's  vale. 

P.  373. 

The  first  important  advantaee  gained  by 
Bruce,  after  landing  bt  Turnberry.  was  over 
Aymer  de  Valence,  t'arl  of  Pembroke,  the 
same  by  whom  he  had  been  defeated  near 
Met  liven.  They  met.  as  has  been  said,  by 
appointment,  at  Loudonhill,  in  the  west  of 
Scotland.  Pembroke  sustained  a  defeat ;  and 
from  that  time  Bruce  was  at  the  head  of  a 
considerable  flying  army.  Vet  he  was  subse- 
quently obliged  to  retreat  into  Aberdeenshire, 
and  was  there  assailed  by  Coniyu,  Karl  of 
Buchan,  desirous  to  avenge  the  death  of  his 
relative,  the  Red  Comyn.  and  supported  by  a 
body  of  Enslish  troops  under  Philip  de  Mou- 
hray.  Bruce  was  ill  at  the  time  of  a  scrofulous 
disorder,  but  took  horse  to  meet  his  enemies, 
although  obliged  to  be  supported  on  either 
side,  lie  was  victorious,  and  it  is  said  that 
the  agitation  of  his  spirits  restored  his  health. 

NOTE  3  H. 

When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale. 

P.  373. 

The  "good  Ixird  James  of  Douglas."  during 
these  commotions,  often  took  from  the  Eng- 
lish his  own  castle  of  Douglas,  but  being  un- 
able to  garrison  it,  contented  himself  with 
destroying  the  fortifications,  and  retiring  into 
the  mountains.  Asa  reward  to  his  patriotism, 
it  is  said  to  have  been  prophesied,  that  how 
often  soever  Douglas  Castle  should  be  de- 
stroyed, it  should  always  again  arise  more 
magnificent  from  its  ruins.  Upon  one  of  these 
occasions  he  used  fearful  cruelty,  causing  all 
the  store  of  provisions,  which  the  English  had 
laid  up  in  his  castle,  to  be  heaped  together. 
bursting  the  wine  and  beer  casks  among  the 
wheat  and  flour,  slaughtering  the  cattle  upon 
the  same  spot,  and  upon  the  top  of  the  whole 
cutting  the  throats  of  the  English  prisoners. 
This  pleasantry  of  the  "good  Lord  James''  is 
commemorated  under  the  name  of  the  Doug- 
las's Larder.  A  more  pleasing  !ale  of  chivalry 
is  recorded  by  Godscroft.  —  -'By  this  means, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


411  ! 


and  such  other  exploits,  he  so  affrighted  the 
enemy,  that  it  was  counted  a  matter  of  grc.nl 
jeopardie  to  keep  this  castle,  which  began  to 
he  called  the  udvtntujous  (or  hazardous)  Cas- 
tk  of  Douglas;  whereupon  Sir  Jnhu  Walton 
i  f  im  in  suit  of  an  Kimnsh  ludy.  she  wrote  to 
him  that  when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous 
Castle  of  Douglas  seven  years,  then  he  might 
tiiink  himself  worthy  to  he  a  suitor  to  her. 
Upon  i his  occasion  Walton  took  upon  him  the 
keeping  of  It,  and  succeeded  to  Thruswall, 
hut  he  ran  the  same  fortune  with  the  rest  that 
wore  liefore  him.  For  Sir  James,  having  first 
dressed  an  ambuscade  near  unto  the  place, 
he  made  fourteen  of  his  men  take  so  many 
sacks,  and  fill  them  with  grass,  as  though  it 
had  heen  com.  which  they  carried  in  the  way 
10  Lanark,  the  chief  market  town  in  that 
county  :  so  hoping  to  draw  forth  the  captain 
hy  that  hail,  and  either  10  take  him  or  the 
castle,  or  hoth.  Neither  was  this  expectation 
frustrated,  for  the  captain  did  bite,  and  came 
forth  to  have  taken  this  victual  (as  he  sup- 
posed). But  ere  he  could  reach  these  car- 
riers. Sir  James,  with  his  company,  had  gotten 
between  the  castle  and  him;  and  these  dis- 
guised carriers,  seeing  the  captain  following 
after  them,  did  quickly  cast  off  their  sacks, 
mounted  themselves  on  horseback,  and  met 
the  cap  am  with  a  sharp  enruuirer,  beir\£  so 
much  the  more  amazed,  as  it  was  unlooxed 
for  :  wherefore,  when  he  saw  these  carriers 
metamorphosed  into  warriors,  and  ready  to 
assault  him.  fearing  that  which  was,  that 
there  was  some  train  laid  for  them,  he  turned 
about,  to  have  retired  to  his  cas  le.  but  there 
he  also  met  with  his  enemies;  between  which 
two  companies  he  and  his  whole  followers 
were  slam,  so  that  none  escaped  :  the  captain 
afterwards  being  searched,  they  found  (as  it 
is  reported)  his  mistress's  letter  about  him  " 
—Hume's  History  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  fol. 
pp.  29,  30. 


NOTE  31. 

And  fifry  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John. 

P.  373. 

"John  de  St.  John,  with  15.000  horsemen, 
had  advanced  to  oppose  the  inroad  of  the 
Scots.  By  a  forced  march  he  endeavoured  to 
surprise  them,  hut  intelligence  of  his  motions 
was  timeously  received.  The  courage  of  Kd- 
ward  Bruce,'  approaching  to  temerity,  fre- 
quently enabled  him  to  achieve  what  men  of 
more  judicious  valour  would  never  have  at- 
tempted He  ordered  the  infantry,  and  the 
neaner  sort  of  his  army,  to  intrench  them- 
selves in  strong  narrow  ground.  He  himself, 
with  fifty  horsemen  well  harnessed,  issued 
forth  under  cover  of  a  thick  mist,  surprised 
the  English  on  their  march,  attacked  and  dis- 
persed them."—  Dtilri/mple's  Annals  of  Scot- 
land, quarto,  Edinburgh,  1779,  p.  25. 


NOTE  3K. 

When  Randolph's  tear-cry  swell'd  the  southern 

gale.  P.  373. 

Thomas  Randolph,  Brnce's  sister's  son,  n 
renowned  Scottish  chief,  was  in  the  early  part 


of  his  life  not  more  remarkable  for  consistency 
than  Bruce  himself  He  espoused  his  uncle's 
party  when  Bruce  first  assumed  the  crown, 
and  was  made  prisoner  at  the  fatal  battle  of 
Methven.  in  winch  his  relative's  hopes  ap- 
peared to  be  ruined.  Randolph  accordingly 
not  only  submitted  to  the  English,  hut  took 
an  active  part  against  Bruce;  appeared  in 
arms  against  him;  and.  in  the  skirmish  where 
he  was  so  closely  pursued  by  the  bloodhound, 
it  is  said  his  nephew  lotk  Ins  standard  with 
his  own  hand.  But  Randolph  was  afterwards 
made  prisoner  by  Douglas  in  Tweeddale.  and 
brought  before  King  Robert.  Some  harsli 
language  was  exchanged  between  the  uncle 
and  nephew,  and  the  latter  was  committed 
for  a  time  to  close  custody.  Afterwards,  how- 
ever, they  were  reconciled,  and  Randolph  was 
created  Earl  of  .Moray  about  1312.  After  this 
period  he  eminently  distinguished  himself, 
first  by  the  surprise  of  Edinburgh  Castle,  and 
afterw'ards  by  many  similar  enterprises,  con- 
ducted with  equal  courage  and  ability. 


NOTE  3L. 

Stirling's  tovxrs, 

Beleagner'd  b\/  Kiiui  Robi  rt's  powers ; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce.— P.  374. 
When  a  long  train  of  success,  actively  im- 
proved hy  Rol>ert  Bruce,  had  made  him  master 
of  almost  all  Scotland,  Stirling  Castle  con- 
tinued to  hold  out.  The  care  of  the  blockade 
was  committed  bv  the  king  to  his  brother 
Edward,  who  concluded  a  treaty  with  Sir 
Philip  Mowbray,  the  governor,  that  he  should 
surrender  the  fortress,  if  it  were  not  succour- 
ed by  the  King  of  England  before  St.  John 
the  Baptist's  day.  The  King  severely  blamed 
his  brother  for  the  impolicy  of  a  treaiy,  winch 
gave  time  to  the  King  of  England  to  advance 
to  the  relief  of  the  castle  with  all  his  assem- 
bled forces,  and  obliged  himself  either  to  meet 
them  in  battle  with  an  inferior  force,  or  to 
retreat  with  dishonour  "Let  all  England 
come."  answered  the  reckless  Edward  ;  ••  we 
will  fight  them  were  they  more."  The  con- 
sequence was,  of  course,  that  each  kingdom 
mustered  its  strength  for  the  expected  battle ; 
and  as  the  space  agreed  upon  reached  from 
Lent  to  Midsummer,  full  time  was  allowed  for 
that  purpose. 


NOTE  3M. 

To  summon  prince  and  peer, 
At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  Liege. 

P.  374. 

There  is  printed  in  Rymer's  Fcedera  the 
summons  issued  upon  this  occasion  to  the 
sheriff  of  York  :  and  he  mentions  eighteen 
other  persons  to  whom  similar  ordinances 
were  issued  It  seems  to  respect  the  infantry 
alone,  for  it  is  entitled.  Of  petiititus  ad  recus- 
stim  Castri  de  Slryvelin  a  Scotis  obsessi,  pro- 
perare  focieniiis.  This  circumstance  is  also 
clear  from  the  reasoning  of  the  writ,  which 
states  :  ••  We  have  understood  that  our  Scot- 
tish enemies  and  rebels  are  endeavouring  to 
collect  as  strong  a  force  as  possible  of  infantry, 


412 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


in  stron?  and  marshy  grounds,  where  the  ap- 
proacli  of  cavalry  would  he  difficult,  between 
us  and  the  castle  of  Stirling."  — It  then  sets 
forth  Mowbray's  agreement  to  surrender  the 
castle,  if  not  relieved  before  St  John  the 
Baptist's  day,  and  the  king's  determination, 
with  divine  grace,  to  raise  the  siege.  "  There- 
fore." the  summons  further  bears,  "to  remove 
our  said  enemies  and  rebels  from  such  places 
as  above  mentioned,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to 
have  a  strong  force  of  infantry  fit  for  arms." 
And  accordingly  the  sheriff  of  York  is  com- 
manded to  equip  and  send  forth  a  body  of 
lour  thousand  infantry,  to  be  assembled  at 
Werk.  upon  the  tenth  day  of  June  first,  under 
pain  of  the  royal  displeasure,  <kc. 


NOTE  3N. 

A  nd  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued. 
Sent  /or/A  her  mountain-multitude. 

P.  374. 

Edward  the  First,  with  the  usual  policy  of 
a  conqueror,  employed  the  Welsh,  whom  he 
had  subdued,  to  assist  him  in  his  Scottish 
wars,  for  which  their  habits,  as  mountaineer*. 
particularly  fined  them.  But  llns  policy  was 
not  without  its  risks.  Previous  to  the  battle 
of  Falkirk.  the  Welsh  quarrelled  with  the 
English  men-at-arms,  and  after  bloodshed  on 
both  parts,  separated  themselves  from  his 
army,  and  the  feud  between  them,  at  so  dan- 
gerous and  critical  a  juncture,  was  reconciled 
with  difficulty  Edward  II.  followed  his 
father's  example  in  this  particular,  and  with 
no  better  success.  They  could  not  be  brought 
to  exert  themselves  in  the  cause  of  their  con- 
querors. Bat  they  had  an  indifferent  reward 
for  their  forbearance.  Without  arms,  and 
clad  only  in  scanty  dresses  of  linen  cloth, 
they  appeared  nake'd  in  the  eyes  even  of  the 
Scottish  peasantry;  and  alter  the  rout  of 
Bannockburn,  were  massacred  by  them  in 
great  numbers,  as  they  retired  in  confusion 
towards  their  own  country.  They  were  under 
command  of  Sir  Maurice  de  Berkeley. 


NOTE  30. 

And  Connooht  pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  htmired  tribrs.  whose  sa-plre  rude 
Dark  Eth  0  Connor  sicay'd. 

P.  374. 

There  is  injhe  Foedera  an  invitation  to  Eth 
O'Connor,  chief  of  the  ln>h  of  Counausbt, 
setting  forth  that  the  king  was  about  to  more 
against  his  Scottish  rebels,  and  therefore  re- 
questing the  attendance  of  all  the  force  lie 
could  muster,  either  commanded  by  himself 
in  person,  or  by  some  nobleman  of  his  race. 
These  auxiliaries  were  to  be  commanded  by 
Richard  de  Burah.  Earl  of  Ulster.  Similar 
liquidates  were  issued  to  the  following  Irish 
chiefs,  whose  names  may  astonish  the  un- 
learned, and  amuse  the  antiquary. 


"  Eth  0  Donnuld,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Ty- 

conil ; 
Demod   0   Kahan,  Duc.i   Hibernicorum  de 

rernetrew  ; 
Doneval   O   Neel,   Duci   Hibernicorum    de 

Tryow  yn ; 
Neel  Macbreen,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Kyn- 

allewan  ; 

Eth.  Offyn.  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Turtery; 
Admely  Mac  Anegus,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de 

Onehagh ; 
Seel  0  Hanlan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Er- 

there; 
Bien  Mac  Mahun,   Duci  Hibernicorum  de 

Ur^el ; 
Lauercash  Mac  Wyr,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de 

Longhe.rin; 
GillysO  Railly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Bres- 

feny ; 
Geffrey  O  Fergy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Mon- 

tiragwil'; 
Felyn  0  Houughur,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de 

Connach ; 
Donethntli  O  Bien,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de 

Tolhmund; 
Dermod  Mac  Arthy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de 

Dessemouud; 
Denenol  Carbraefa  ; 
Maur.  Keiienash  Mac  Murgh; 
Muishugh  O  Bryn; 
David  OTolhvil'l; 
DernKKl  O  Tonoghur,  Doffaly; 
Fyn  0  Dymsy; 

Souushuth  Mac  Gil'.ephatrick; 
Lyssagh  O  Morth ; 
Gilbert  us    Ekelly,  Duci   Hibernicorum    de 

Omanv; 
Mac  Elhelau; 
Omalau  Helyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  Midie. " 

Rymer's  Feeders,  vol.  ni.,  pp.  47B,  477. 


NOTE  3  P. 

Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis.—P.  375. 
Fitz-Louis,  or  Mac-Louis,  otherwise  called 
Fullarton.  is  a  family  of  ancient  descent  in 
the  Isle  of  Arran.  They  are  said  to  be  of 
French  origin,  as  the  name  intimates.  They 
attached  themselves  to  Bruce  upon  his  first 
landing;  and  Fergus  Mac-Louis,  or  Fullarton. 
received  from  the  erateful  monarch  a  charter, 
dated  26th  V>veml>er.  in  the  second  year  of 
his  reign  (1307).  for  the  lands  of  Kil'michel, 
ami  others,  which  still  remain  in  this  very 
ancient  aod  respectable  family. 


NOTE  3Q. 

In  tallies  four  beneath  thrir  eyr, 

The  forcfs  of  King  Robert  tie  —  P.  375. 

The  arrangements  adopted  by  King  Robert 
for  the  decisive  battle  of  Bannockhurn.  are 
given  very  distinctly  hv  Harbour,  and  form  an 
edifying  lesson  to  tacticians.  Yet,  till  com- 
mented upon  by  Lord  Hailes,  this  important 
passage  of  history  has  been  generally  and 
strangely  misunderstood  by  historians.  I  will 
here  emieavour  to  detail  it  fully. 

Two  days  before  the  battle,  Bruce  selected 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


413 


the  field  of  action,  and  took  post  there  with  | 
his  army,  consisting  of  ahuu'  30,01)0  disciplined 
men.  ;nid  about  hall' the  number  of  disorderly 
attendants  upon  the  camp  The  ground  was 
called  the  New  Park  of  Stirling;  it  was  partly 
open,  and  partly  broken  by  copses  of  wood 
and  marshy  ground.  He  divided  his  regular 
forces  into  four  divisions  Three  of  these 
occupied  a  front,  line,  separated  from  each 
other,  yet  sufficiently  near  for  the  purpose  of 
communication.  The  fourth  division  formed 
a  reserve.  The  line  extended  in  a  north- 
easterly direction  from  the  hrook  nf  Bannock, 
which  was  so  ruined  and  broken  as  to  cover 
the  nalil.  flank  effectually,  to  the  village  of 
Saint  Niniaus.  probably  in  the  line  of  the  pre- 
sent road  from  Stirling  to  Kilsyth.  Edward 
Bruce  commanded  the  right  wing,  which  was 
strengthened  by  a  strong  body  of  cavalry  under 
Keith,  the  Mareschal  of  Scotland,  to  whom 
was  committed  the  important  charge  of  at- 
tacking; the  English  arcners:  Douglas,  and  the 
young  Steward  of  Scotland,  led  the  central 
wins;  and  Thomas  Randolph,  Earl  of  Moray, 
the  left  wing.  The  Kim;  himself  commanded 
ttie  fourth  division  which  lay  in  reserve  be- 
hind the  others.  The  royal  standard  was 
pitched,  according  to  tradition,  in  a  stone, 
having  a  round  hole  for  its  reception,  and 
thence  called  the  Bore-stone.  It  is  still  shown 
on  the  top  of  a  small  eminence,  called  Brock's- 
brae,  to  the  south-west  of  Saint  Ninians.  His 
main  body  thus  disposed,  King  Robert  sent 
the  followers  of  the  camp,  fifteen  thousand 
and  upwards  in  number,  to  the  eminence  in 
rear  of  his  army,  called  from  that  circum- 
stance the  Gillies'  (i.  e.  the  servants')  Hill 

The  military  advantages  of  this  position 
were  obvious.  The  Scottish  left  flank,  pro- 
tected by  the  brook  of  Bannock.  Could  not  be 
turned;  or,  if  thai,  attempt  were  made,  a 
movement  by  the  reserve  might  have  covered 
it.  Again,  the  English  could  not  pass  the 
Scottish  army,  and  move  towards  Stirling, 
without  exposing  their  flank  to  be  attacked 
while  in  march. 

If.  on  the  other  hand,  the  Scottish  line  had 
been  drawn  up  east  and  west,  and  facing  to 
the  southward,  as  affirmed  by  Buchanan,  and 
adopted  by  Mr.  Nimino,  the  author  of  the 
History  of  Stirlingshire,  there  appears  no- 
thing to  have  prevented  the  English  approach- 
ing upon  the  carse,  or  level  ground,  from 
Falkirk,  either  from  turning  the  Scottish  left 
Mank,  or  from  passing  their  position,  if  they 
preferred  it,  without  coming  to  an  action,  and 
moving  on  to  the  relief  of  Stirling.  And  the 
Gillies'  Hill,  if  this  less  probable  hypothesis 
he  adopted,  would  be  situated,  not  in  the 
rear,  as  allowed  by  all  the  historians,  but 
upon  the  left  flank  of  Bruce's  army.  The 
only  objection  to  the  hypothesis  above  laid 
down,  is,  that  the  left  flank  of  Bruce's  army 
was  thereby  exposed  to  a  sally  from  the  gar- 
rison of  Stirling.  But,  1st.  the  garrison  were 
bound  to  neutrality  by  terms  of  Mowbray's 
treaty;  and  Harbour  even  seems  to  censure, 
as  a  breach  of  faith,  some  secret  assistance 
which  they  rendered  their  countrymen  upon 
the  eve  of  battle,  in  placing  temporary  bridges 


•endrred,  had  I 


p  which  (by  the  way)  could 
t  ihe  English  approached  frc 


of  doors  and  spars  over  the  pools  of  water  in 
the  carse,  to  enable  them  to  advance  to  the 
charge. '  2<lly.  Had  this  not  been  the  case, 
the  strength  of  the  garrison  was  probahly  not 
sufficient  to  excite  apprehension.  3dlv,  The 
adverse  hypothesis  leaves  the  rear  of  the 
Scofish  army  as  much  exposed  to  the  Stirling 
garrison,  as  the  left  flank  would  be  in  the  case 
supposed 

It  only  remains  to  notice  the  nature  of  the 
ground  in  front  of  Bruce's  line  of  battle.  He- 
ing  part  of  a  park,  or  chase,  it  was  considera- 
bly interrupted  with  trees;  and  an  extensive 
marsh,  still  visible,  in  some  places  rendered  it 
inaccessible,  and  in  all  of  difficult  approach. 
More  to  the  northward,  where  the  natural 
impediments  were  fewer,  Bruce  fortified  his 
posii ion  against  cavalry,  by  digging  a  number 
of  pits  so  close  together,  says  Barbour,  as  to 
resemble  the  cells  in  a  honey  comb.  They 
were  a  foot  in  breadth,  and  between  two  and 
three  feet  deep,  many  rows  of  them  being 
placed  one  behind  the  other.  They  were 
slightly  covered  with  brushwood  am!  green 
soils,  so  as  not  to  be  obvious  to  an  impetuous 
enemy. 

All  the  Scottish  army  were  on  foot,  except- 
ing a  select  body  of  cavalry  stationed  with 
Edward  Bruce  on  the  right  wing,  under  the 
immediate  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith,  the 
.Marshal  of  Scotland,  who  were  destined  for 
the  important  service  of  charging;  and  dis- 
persing the  Enslish  archers. 

Thus  judiciously  posted,  in  a  situation  forti- 
fied both  by  art  and  nature,  Bruce  awaited 
the  attack  of  the  English. 


NOTE  3R. 

Beyond,  thf  Sonthfm  host  appears. — P.  375. 

Upon  the  23d  June,  1314,  the  alarm  reached 
the  Scottish  army  of  the  approach  of  the 
enemy.  Douglas  and  the  Marshal  were  sent 
to  reconnoitre  with  a  body  of  cavalry  : 

"  And  soon  the  great  host  have  they  seen, 
Where  shields  shining  were  so  sheen, 
And  basmeis  burnished  bright. 
That  gave  against  the  sun  great  light. 
They  saw  so  fele^  brawdyne'  baners, 
Standards  and  pennons  and  spears, 
And  so  fe!e  knights  upon  steeds, 
All  flaming  in  their  weeds, 
And  so  fele  bataills.  and  so  broad. 
And  too  so  great  room  as  they  rode. 
That  the  maist  host,  and  the  stoutest 
Of  Christendom,  and  the  greatest, 
Should  be  abaysit  for  to  see 
Their  foes  into  such  quantity." 

The  Bruce,  vol.  ii.,  p.  111. 

Tl;e  two  Scottish  commanders  were  cau- 
tions in  the  account  which  they  brought  hack 
to  their  camp.  To  the  king  in  private  they 
told  the  formidable  state  of  the  enemy;  hut 
in  public  reported  that  the  English  were  in- 
deed a  numerous  bust,  but  ill  commanded, 
and  worse  disciplined. 

Scotti»h  army  must  have  been  betwet'D  them  and  the  ear- 


414                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  copy  of  this  curious  document  was 

NOTE  3  S. 

supplied  by  my  friend.  Mr.  Thomson.  Deputy 

Register  of  Scot  hind,  whose  researches  into 

Witt  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 

our  ancient  records  are  daily  throwing  new 

BeneaJk  their  chiefluitts  rank'd  ttirir  files. 
P.  375. 

and  important  light  upon  the  history  of  the 
country. 

The  men  of  Argyle,  the  islanders,  and  the 

Highlanders  in  general,  were  ranked  in  the 

rear.    They  must  have  been  numerous,  for 

Bruce  had  reconciled  himself  with  almost  all 

NOTE  3  T. 

their  chieftains,  excepting  the  obnoxious  Mac- 

Dongals  of  Lorn.     The  following  deed,  con- 

The Monarch  rode  along  the  van.  —  P.  376. 

taining  the  submission  of  the  potent  Karl  of 
Ross  to  the  King,  was  never  before  published. 
It  is  dated  in  the  third  year  of  Ruben's  reign. 

The  English  vanguard,  commanded  by  the 
Earls  of  Gloucester  and   Hereford,  came  in 
sight  of  the  Scottish  army  upon  the  evening 

that  is,  1309. 

nf  the  23d  of  June     Bruce  was  then  riding 

"  Obligacio  Comilis  Rossensis  per  Humagium 
Pidtltlalem  el  Scriplum. 

upon  a  little  palfrey,  in  front  of  his  foremost 
line,  putting  his  host  in  order.    It  was  then 
that  the  personal  encounter  took  place  be- 

" Universis  christi  fklelihus  ad  quorum  no- 
ticiam  presentes  litere  peruenermt  Wilhelmns 

twixt  him  and  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun.  a  gallant 
English  knight,  the  issue  of  which  had  a  great 

Comes  de  Kuss  salutem  in  domino  semuiter- 

effect  upon  the  spirits  of  both  armies.    It  is 

nain.    Quia  maguificus  pnnceps  Dominus  Ro- 

thus  recorded  by  Harbour:  — 

bertus  del  gracia    Rex  Scottoruin   Dominus 

nieus  ex  innata   sibi    bonitate.   in.-pirataque 

"  And  qtihen  Glosvster  and  Herfurd  war 

clemencia.  et  gracia  speciali    rermsit   michi 

With  thair  bataill.  approchand  ner. 

pure  runcorem  aninii  sut.  et  relaxauit  ac  cmi- 

Befor  thaim  all  thar  come  rydand, 

donauit  michi  onmiinodas  transgressiones  sen 

With  helm  on  heid.  and  sper  in  hand. 

offe.nsas  contra  ipsiim  et  suos  per  me  et  me»s 
vsque  ad  coiifeccionem  literarum  presencium 
pe.-petratas  :    Et   terras   meas   et   tenenienta 

Schyr  Henry  the  Boune,  the  worthi. 
That  wes  a  wycht  knycht.  and  a  hardy; 
And  to  the  Erie  off  Herfurd  cusyne, 

mea  omtiia  graciose  concessil.    Et  me  nicbilo- 

Armyt  in  armys  gnd  and  fyne  ; 

iniiiiis  de   terra  de    Dingwal   et   ferncroskry 

dime  on  a  ste.d.  a  bow  schote  ner, 

infra  comitatum   de  Suthyrland  de  hemgna 

Befor  all  othyr  that  thar  wer  : 

liheraiitate  sua  heriditane  mfeodare  carauit. 

And  knew  the  King,  for  that  he  saw 

Ego  taiitam  principis  beneunlenciani  efficaci- 

Him  swa  rang  his  men  on  raw; 

ter  altendens,  et  pro  tot  gracns  michi  fact  is. 

And  by  the  crotine.  that  wes  set 

vicem  sibi  gratitudmis   ineis   pro  viribus  de 

Alsua  apon  his  hassynet. 

cetero  digue  vite  cupiens  exhi- 

And  towart  him  he  went  in  hy. 

bere.  suhicio  et  obligo  me  et  heredes  meos  et 

And  [qtihen]  the  King  sua  apertly 

homines  meos  VIUUITSOS  dicto  Dtmiinu  meo 

Saw  him  cum.  forouth  all  his  fens.i 

In  hv  ^  till  him  the  hors  he  steris. 

regiam  dignitatem,  quod   erimns   de    cetero 

And'qiihen  Schyr  Henry  saw  the  King 

fideles  sibi   et   heredibus  sins  et   fidele  sibi 

Cum  on.  for  owlyn  abnyiing.l 

seruicium  anxilium  et  concilium  

Till  him  he  raid  in  full  gret  hy. 

contra  omnes  homines  et  feminas  qui 

He  thoucht  that  he  suld  weill  lychtly 

vivere  poteriut  aut  mori,  et  super  h  -  -  -  Ego 

Wyn  him,  and  haf  him  at  his  will. 
Sen  he  him  horsvt  saw  sa  ill. 

meis  vniuersis  dicto  domino  meo  Regi  

Sprent  *  thai  samyn  in  till  a  ling  s 
Schvr  Henry  mvssit  the  noble  King. 

super  dei   ewangelia    sacrament  um    presliti 

And  he,  that  in  his  sterapys  stud. 

With  the  ax  that  wes  hard  and  gud. 

inoniuin  sigillum   meum.  et   sigilla   Hugonis 

With  sa  gret  mayne'  racht  him  a  dynt. 

rilii  et  heredis  et  Johannis  rilii  raei  vna  cum 

That  nothyr  hat,  na  helm,  mvcht  stvnt 

sigillis     veiierabihnm     patrum     Donnnoriim 

The  hewy"'  duscheS  that  he  him  gave, 

Dauid  et  Thome  Moraviensis  et  Rossensis  dei 

That  ner  the  heid  till  the  harynys  clave. 

gracia  episcoporum   presentibus   literis  stint 

The  hand  ax  schaft  frnschit'  in  twa: 

appensa.     Acts  scripta  et  data  npiiil  Aldern 

And  he  doiine  to  the  enl  gan  ga 

in  Morauia  vltimo  die  inensis  Octobns.  Anno 

All  flatlvms.10  for  him  fai.lvt  mvcht. 

Kegni  dicti  domini  nosiri  Regis  lioberti  Ter- 

This  wes  the  fryst  sirak  off  the'fycbt." 

tio     Testibns  venerabilibus   patrihus  supra- 

Harbour's  Bruce,  Book  viii.,  v.  684. 

dic'is.   Domino    Bernardo   Canctllano   Regis, 

Dominis    Willielmo    de    Haya,    Johanne    de 

The  Scottish  leaders  remonstrated  with  the 

Strmelyn.  Willielmo   \\ysman.    Johanne    de 

King  upon  his  temerity.     He  only  answered. 

Ffenton,  Dauid  de   Berkeley,  et  Walte.ro  de 

"I  have  broken  my  good  battle-axe."  —The 

Berkeley  militibus,  magistro  Waltero  Heroc. 

Eng  ish  vjineiiHrd  retreated  after  witnessing 

Decano  ecclesie  Morauie.  magistro  Wjlliehnn 

this  single  combat.     Probably  their  geneials 

de  Creswel  eiusilem   ecclesie   precentore  et 

did  not  think  it  advisable  to  hazard  an  attack 

multis  ahis  nobilibus  clericis  et  iaicis  dictis 

while  its  unfavourable  issue  remained  upon 

die  et  loco  congregatis." 

their  minds. 

1  Comrade,.—  2  Ha.te.-S  Without  .hrmkiuj.—  1  Spur- 

6 Strength,  or  force.—  7  Heavy.—  8  Clash.—  »  Broke.— 

red.—  6  Line. 

10  Flat. 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


415 


NOTE  3U. 

What  train  of  dint,  with  trumpet  sound, 
A  nil  glimmering  s/irnrs.  is  \chctling  round 
Our  leftward  flank  ?— P.  377. 

While  the  van  of  the  English  army  advanced, 
a  detached  body  attempted  to  relieve  Stirling. 
Lird  Hailes  gives  the  following  account  of 
this  manoeuvre  and  the  result,  which  is  ac- 
companied by  circumstances  highly  charac- 
teristic of  the  chivalrous  manners  of  the  age, 
and  displays  that  generosity  which  reconciles 
us  even  to  their  ferocity  upon  other  occasions. 

Bruce  had  enjoined  Randolph,  who  com- 
manded the  left  wing  of  Ins  army,  to  be  vigi- 
lant in  preventing  any  advanced  parties  of  the 
English  from  throwing  succours  into  the  castle 
of  Stirling. 

"Eight  hundred  horsemen,  commanded  hy 
Sir  Hobert  Clifford,  were  detached  from  the 
English  army  ;  they  made  a  circuit  hy  the  low 
grounds  to  the  east,  and  approached  the  cas- 
tle The  King  perceived  i  heir  motions,  and, 
coming  up  to  Randolph,  angrily  exclaimed, 
'Thoughtless  man!  you  h  ive  suffered  the 
enemy  to  pass."  Randolph  hasted  to  repair  his 
fiiult,  or  perish.  As  he  advanced,  the  English 
cavalry  wheeled  to  attack  him.  Randolph 
drew  up  his-  troops  in  a  circular  form,  with 
their  spears  resting  on  the  ground,  and  pro 
tected  on  every  side.  At  the  first  onset,  Sir 
William  Daynecourt,  an  English  commander 
of  distinguished  note,  was  slain.  The  enemy, 
far  superior  in  numbers  to  Randolph,  environ- 
ed him,  and  pressed  hard  on  hi-  little  band. 
Douglas  saw  his  jeopardy,  and  requested  the 
King's  permission  to  go  and  succour  him. 
'You  shall  not  move  from  your  ground,'  cried 
the  King;  'let  Randolph  extricate  himself  as 
he  best  may.  I  will  not  alter  my  order  of 
battle,  and  lose  the  advantage  of  my  position.' 
—'In  truth,'  replied  Douglas,  'I  cannot  stand 
by  and  see  Randolph  perish;  and,  therefore, 
with  vour  leave.  I  must  aid  him.'  Tne  King 
unwillingly  consented,  and  Douglas  flew  to 
the  assislance  of  his  inend.  While  appioach- 
ing,  he  perceived  that  the  English  were  falling 
into  disorder,  and  that  the  perseverance  of 
Randolph  had  prevailed  over  their  impetuous 
courage.  'Halt.' cried  Douglas,  •  those  brave 
men  have  repulsed  the  enemy;  let  us  not 
dimmish  their  glory  by  sharing  it.'  "—Dalrym- 
ple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  4to,  Edinburgh,  1779, 
pp.  44.  45. 

Two  large  stones  erected  at  the  north  end 
of  the  village  of  Newhouse,  aliou'  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  south  part  of  Stirling,  as- 
certain the  place  of  this  memorable  skirmish. 
The  circumstance  tends,  were  confirmation 
necessary,  to  support  the  opinion  of  Lord 
Hailes,  that  the  Scottish  line  had  Stirling  on 
its  left  flank.  It  will  be  remembered,  that 
Randolph  commanded  infantry,  Daynecourt 
cavalry.  Supposing,  therefore,  according  to 
the  vulgar  hypothesis,  that  the  Scottish  line 
was  drawn  up.  facing  to  the  south,  in  the  line 
of  the  brook  of  Bannock,  and  consequent!? 
that  Randolph  was  stationed  with  his  left 


i  expressly,  they  avoided  Ihe  Xew  Park, 
army  lay,)  and  hekl  •'  well  neath  tlie 
i  only  mean  St.  Niniani. 


flank  resting  upon  Milntown  bog.  it  is  morally 
impossible  that  his  infantry,  moving  from  that 
position,  with  whatever  crieri'y,  could  cut 
off  from  Stirling  a  body  of  cavalry  who  had 
already  passed  St.  Ninians.i  or.  in  other  words, 
were  already  between  them  and  ihe  town. 
Whereas,  supposing  Randolph's  left  to  have 
approached  St  Xtnians.  the  short  movement 
to  .\ewhouse  could  easily  be  executed,  so  as 
to  intercept  the  English  in  the  manner  de- 
scribed. 


NOTE  3V. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 
Pipe-dany  and  lugle-souml  were  toss'd. 

P.  377. 

There  is  an  old  tradition,  that  the  well- 
known  Scottish  tune  of  "  Hey,  tutti  taitti," 
was  Bruce's  march  at  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn.  The  late  Mr.  Kitson.  no  granler  of 
propositions,  doubts  whether  the  Scots  had 
any  martial  music,  quotes  Froissart's  account 
of  each  soldier  in  the  host  bearing  a  little 
horn,  en  which,  at  the  onset,  they  would  make 
such  a  horrible  noise,  as  if  all  the  devils  of 
hell  had  been  among  them.  He  observes, 
that  these  horns  are  the  only  music  mentioned 
by  Barbour.  and  concludes,  that  it  must  re- 
main a  moot  point  whether  Bruce's  army 
were  cheered  by  the  sound  even  of  a  .solitary 
bagpipe. — Historical  Essay  prefixed  to  Rilsou's 
&oltis/i  Sinnis  — It  may  be  observed  in  pass- 
ing, that  the  Scottish  of  this  period  certainly 
observed  some  musical  cadence,  even  in  wind- 
ing their  horns,  since  Bruce  was  at  once  re- 
cognized hy  his  followers  from  his  mode  of 
lowing.  See  Note  2  T.  on  canto  iv.  But  the 
tradition,  true  or  false,  has  been  the  means 
>(  securing  to  Scotland  one  of  the  finest  lyrics 
n  the  language,  the  celebrated  war-song  of 
Burns, — '•  Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled." 


NOTE  3W. 

Now  omoard.  and  in  open  view. 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew. 

P.  377. 

Upon  the  24th  of  June,  the  English  army 
advanced  to  the  attack.  The  narrowness  of 
the  Scottish  front,  and  the  nature  of  the 
ground,  did  not  permit  them  to  have  the  full 
advantage  of  their  numbers,  nor  is  it  very 
easy  to  find  out  what  was  their  proposed  order 
of  battle.  The  vanguard,  however,  appeared 
a  distinct  body,  consisting  of  archers  and 
spearsmen  on  foot,  and  commanded,  as  already 
said,  by  the  Earls  of  Gloucester  and  Hereford. 
Uartjour.  m  one  place,  mentions  that  they 
formed  nine  lniiil.it  or  divisions ;  but  from  the 
following  passage,  it  appears  that  Ihere  was 
no  room  or  space  for  them  to  extend  them- 
selves, so  that,  except  the  vanguard,  the  whole 
army  appeared  to  form  one  solid  and  compact 
body : — 

"  The  English  men,  on  either  party, 
That  as  angels  shone  brightly, 


410 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Were  not  array'd  on  such  manner : 

For  nil  tlicir  battles  samyn  '  were 

In  a  schiltrtim.2     But  whether  if  v.  as 

Through  the  great  straitness  of  the  place 

That  they  were  HI,  to  bide  righting; 

Or  that  it  was  for  abnysin?:  3 

I  wcte  not.     But  in  u  sc-hiKrnin 

It  seemed  they  were  nil  and  s,.me; 

Out  ta'en  ilie  vaward  ain-riy.* 

'Ilia:  right  with  a  great  company, 

Be  them  selwyn,  arrayed  were. 

Who  had  been  by,  might  have  seen  there 

That  folk  ourtake  a  mekill  feild 

On  breadth,  where  many  a  shining  shield, 

And  many  a  burnished  bright  armour, 

And  many  a  man  of  great  valour, 

.Mil-lit  in  that  great  schiltrum  be  seen. 

And  many  a  bright  banner  and  sheen." 

Harbour's  Bruce,  vol.  ii.  p.  137. 


NOTE  3X. 

See  where  yon  barefoot  Abbot  stands. 
And  blesses  than  with  lifted  hands    . 

P.  377. 

"  Maurice,  abbot  of  Tnchaffray.  placing  him- 
self on  an  eminence,  celebrated  mass  iii  sight 
of  the  Scottish  army.  He  I  hen  passed  along 
the  front  bare-footed,  and  bearing  a  crucifix 
in  his  hands,  and  exhorting  the  Scots,  in  few 
ami  forcible  words,  to  combat  for  their  rights 
and  their  liberty.  The  Scuts  kneeled  down. 
'They  yield.'  cried  Edward  ;  'see.  they  im- 
plore mercy.' — '  They  do,'  answered  Ineelram 
de  Umfraville.  'but  not  ours.  On  tha  field 
they  will  be  victorious,  or  die.' "  —  Annals  of 
Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  47. 


NOTE  3  Y. 

Forth,  Marshal,  on  the  peasant  foe  ! 

We'll  tanv.  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 

And  cut  the  bout-string  loose ! 

P.  378. 

The  English  archers  commenced  the  attack 
with  their  usual  bravery  and  dexterity.  But 
against  a  force,  whose  importance  he  had 
learned  by  fatal  experience,  Bruce  was  pro- 
vided. A  small  but  select  body  of  cavalry 
were  detached  from  the  right,  under  com- 
mand of  Sir  Robert  Keith.  Thev  rounded,  as 
I  conceive,  the  marsh  called  Milntown  bog. 
and,  keeping  the  firm  ground,  charged  the 
left  flank  and  rear  of  the  English  archers 
As  the  bowmen  had  no  spears  nor  long  wea- 
pons fit  to  defend  themselves  against  horse, 
they  were  instantly  thrown  into  disorder,  and 

1  Together. 

2  Sdiiltrvm.  —  Th'«  word  has  been  variou-ly  limited  or 
extended  in  its  signification.    In  general,  it  seems  to  imply 
a  large  body  of  men  drawn  ap  very  closely  together     Bet 
it  has  bee.,  limited  to  imply  a  round  or  circular  body  of 

talion  in  the  present  case-  The  schiltrnm  of  the  Scottish 
army  at  Falkirk  was  undoubtedly  of  a  circular  form,  in 
order  lo  res, .-I  the  attacks  of  the  Engl  «h  cavalry,  on  what- 

pear  how,  or  why,  the  English,  advancing  to  the  attack  at 


spread  through  the  whole  English  army  a 
confusion  from  which  they  never  fairly  reco- 
vered. 

"  The  Inglis  archeris  schot  sa  fast. 
That  myrht  thair  schot  half  uny  last, 
It  had  bene  hard  to  Scotlis  men. 
Hot  King  Hubert,  that  wele  gan  ken  5 
That  thair  archeris  war  peralonss. 
Ami  thair  schot  rvcht  hard  and  grewouss, 
Ordanyt,  foronth  «  the  assemble." 
Hys  marschell  with  a  gret  menye, 
Fyve  hundre  armyt  m  to  stele. 
That  on  lycht  horss  war  horsyt  welle. 
For  tn  p:yk  *  amang  the  nrrheris; 
And  swa  assaile  thuini  wuh  I  hair  speris, 
That  thai  na  layser  haiff  to  schtite. 
This  marschell'that  Ik  of  miite.s 
That  Schyr  Robert  of  Keyth  was  cauld, 
As  Ik  l*for  her  has  yow  tauld, 
Qnhen  he  saw  the  hataillis  sua 
Assembill.  and  to  gidder  ga. 
And  saw  the  archeris  schoyt  stonily  ; 
With  all  thaim  off  his  cumpany. 
In  hy  apon  thaim  gan  he  rid  ; 
And  our  tuk  tha  in  at  a  sid  :  • 
And  nischyt  amang  thaim  sa  rudly, 
Stekand  thaim  sa  dispitous!y. 
And  in  sic  fusnnn  '"  herand  doun. 
And  slayand  thaim,  for  owtyn  ransoun;  » 
That  thai  thaim  scalyt  '"  puirirknne." 
And  fra  that  tyme  fnrth  thar  wes  nane 
That  assembly!  schot  to  ma.x 
Quhen  Scoitis  archeris  saw  that  thai  sua 
War  rehutyt.i*  thai  woux  hardy. 
And  with  all  thair  mycht  schot  egrely 
Amang  the  horss  men.  that  thar  raid  ; 
And  wotn  dis  wid  to  thaim  thai  maid ; 
And  slew  of  thaim  a  full  gret  dele." 

Harbour's  Bruce,  Book  ix.,  v.  223. 

Although  the  success  of  this  manoeuvre  was 
evident,  it  is  very  remarkable  that  the  Scottish 
generals  do  nut  appear  to  have  profited  by  the 
lesson.  Almost  every  subsequent  battle  which 
they  lost  against  England,  was  decided  by  the 
archers,  to  whom  the  close  and  compact  array 
of  the  Scottish  phalanx  afforded  an  exposed 
and  unresisting  mark.  The  bloody  battle  of 
Halidoun-hill.  fought  scarce  twenty  years 
afterwards,  was  so  completely  gained  by  Ihe 
archers,  that  the  English  are  said  to  have  lost 
only  one  knight,  one  esquire,  and  a  few  foot- 
soldiers.  At  the  batile  of  Neville's  Cross,  in 
1346,  where  David  II.  was  defeated  and  made 
prisoner,  John  de  Graham,  observing  the  loss 
which  the  Sco's  sustained  from  the  English 
bowmen,  offered  to  charge  and  disperse  them, 
if  a  hundred  men-at-arms  were  put  under  his 
command.  *  But.  to  confess  the  truth."  says 
Fordun,  "  he  could  not  procure  a  single  horse- 
man for  the  service  proposed."  Of  such  In  tie 
use  is  experience  in  war,  where  its  results  are 
opposed  by  habit  or  prejudice. 

B.iijnockburn,  should  have  arrayed  themselves  in  a  circular 

form      It  seems  mere  probable,  thai,  by  Sc'iltrum  ill  the 

present  rase.  Barbour  mean*  to  expre**  an  irregular  mass 

v  was  lomprts-r- '.  by  the  un- 

wteldines*  of  it*  numbers,  aud  the  carelessness  or  iguo- 
ranr-r.f  its  leaders. 

ii  Fnebtening.—  4  Alone.— 5  Kt;ow.— 6  Disjoined  from 
the  maiu  body.— 7  Spur.—  e  That  I  «|eak  or— 0  Set  upon 
their  Bank.— 10  -Numbers.— 11  Rausora.— U  Dispersed. — 
13  Every  oue.-U  Make.— U  Driven  back. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


417 


NOTE  3Z. 

Each  brrmgart  churl  roiM  bans!  bfforf, 

Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore ! 

P.  378. 

Roger  Ascham  quotes  a  similar  Scottish 
proverb.  "  whereby  tliey  give  the  whole  praise 
of  shooting  honestly  to  Englishmen,  saying 
thus,  'that  every  English  archer  beareth  un- 
der his  girdle  twenty-four  Scottes.'  Indeed 
Toxophilus  says  before,  and  truly  of  the  Scot- 
tish nation,  'The  Scottes  surely  he  Rood  men 
of  warre  in  theyfe  owne  feates  as  can  be ;  but 
as  for  shootinae,  they  can  neither  use  it  to  anv 
profile,  nor  yet  challenge  it  for  any  praise.'" 
—  Works  of  Ascham,  edited  by  Bennel,  4to,  p. 
110. 

It  is  said,  I  trust  incorrectly,  by  an  ancient 
English  historian,  that  the  "(rood"  Lord  James 
of  Douglas"  dreaded  the  superiority  of  the 
English  archers  so  much,  that  when  he  made 
any  of  them  prisoner,  he  gave  him  the  option 
of  losing  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand,  or 
his  right  eye,  either  species  of  mutilation  ren- 
dering him  incapable  to  use  the  bow.  1  have 
mislaid  the  reference  to  this  singular  passage. 


NOTE  4  A. 

Down !  down !  in  headlong  overthrow, 
horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  ao. 

P.  378. 

It  is  generally  alleged  by  historians,  that  the 
English  men-at-arms  fell  into  the  hidden  snare 
which  Bruce  had  prepared  for  them.  Barbonr 
does  not  mention  the  circumstance.  Ac- 
cording tn  his  account,  Randolph,  seeing  the 
slaughter  made  by  the  cavalry  on  the  right 
wing  among  the  archers,  advanced  courage- 
ously against  the  mam  body  of  the  L'nslish, 
and  entered  into  close  combat  with  them. 
Douglas  and  Stuart,  who  commanded  the 
Scottish  centre,  led  their  division  also  to  the 
charge,  and  the  battle  becoming  general  along 
the  whole  line,  was  obstinately  maintained  on 
both  sides  for  a  long  space  of  time ;  the  Scot- 
tish archers  doing  great  execution  among  the 
English  men-at-arms,  after  the  bowmen  of 
England  were  dispersed. 


NOTE  4  B. 

And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony  — P.  378. 

I  have  been  told  that  this  line  requires  an 
explanatory  note;  and,  indeed,  those  who 
witness  the  silent  patience  with  which  horses 
submit  to  the  most  cruel  usage,  may  be  per- 
mitted to  doubt,  that,  in  moments  of  sudden, 
and  intolerable  anguish,  they  utter  a  most 
melancholy  cry.  Lord  Erskine,  in  a  speech 
made  in  the  House  of  Lords,  upon  a  bill  for 
enforcing  humanity  towards  animals,  noticed 
this  remarkable  fact,  in  language  which  I  will 
not  mutilate  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  It 
was  my  fortune,  upon  one  occasion,  to  hear  a 
horse,  in  a  moment  of  agony,  utter  a  thrilling 
scream,  which  I  still  consider  the  most  melan- 
choly sound  I  ever  heard. 


NOTE  4  C. 

Lord  of  the  Islrs,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Atlsa  Rock ; 
Rush  on  wilh  Hiy/iland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with,  my  Carrick  spearmen  charye. 

P.  379. 

When  the  engagement  between  the  main 
bodies  had  lasted  some  time,  Bruce  made  a 
decisive  movement,  by  bringing  up  the  Scot- 
tish reserve.  It  is  traditionally  said,  that  at 
this  crisis,  he  addressed  the  Lord  of  the  Isles 
in  a  phrase  used  as  a  motto  by  some  of  his 
descendants,  ••  My  trust  is  constant  in  thee." 
Barbour  intimates,  that  the  reserve  "assem- 
bled on  one  field."  that  is,  on  the  same  line 
with  the  Scottish  forces  already  engaged: 
which  leads  Lord  Hailes  to  conjecture  that 
the  Scottish  ranks  must  hav«  been  much 
thinned  by  slaughter,  since,  in  that  circum- 
scrdwd  ground,  there  was  room  for  the  reserve 
to  fall  into  the  line.  But  the  advance  of  the 
Scottish  cavalry  must  have  contributed  a  good 
deal  to  form  the  vacancy  occupied  by  the  re- 
serve. 


NOTE  4  D. 

To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  chtt,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear. 

P.  379. 

The  followers  of  the  Scottish  camp  ob- 
served, from  the  Gillies'  Hill  in  the  rear,  the 
impression  produced  upon  the  English  army 
by  the  bringing  up  of  the  Scottish  reserve, 
and.  prompted  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  mo- 
ment, or  the  desire  of  plunder,  assumed,  in  a 
tumultuary  manner,  such  arms  as  they  found 
nearest,  fastened  sheets  to  tent-poles  and 
lances,  and  showed  themselves  like  a  new 
army  advancing  to  battle. 

"Yomen,  and  swanys,1  and  pitaill.* 
That  in  the  Park  yemyt  wictaill,3 
War  left ;  quhen  thai  wyst  hut  lesing,* 
That  lhair  lordis,  with  fell  fechtyng, 
On  thair  fayis  assemhlyt  wer; 
Ane  offthaim  selwyus  that  war  thar 
Capitaue  of  thaim  all  thai  maid. 
And  schetis,  that  war  snmedeleB  brad, 
Thai  festnyt  in  sleid  off  baneris, 
Apon  lang  treys  and  sperjs: 
And  said  that  thai  wald  se  the  fycht ; 
And  help  thair  lordis  at  thair  invent. 
Quhen  her  till  all  assentyt  wer. 
In  a  rout  assemblit  er;  7 
Fyftene  thnwsaiid  thai  war.  or  ma. 
And  than  in  gret  hy  gan  thai  ga, 
Wilh  thair  baneris.  all  in  a  rout, 
As  thai  had  men  bene  styth  8  and  stout. 
Thai  come,  with  all  that  assemble, 
Rycht  qnhill  thai  mycht  the.  hataill  se; 
Than  all  at  anys  thai  save  a  cry, 
'Sla!  sla!  Apon  Ihaiiii  hastily  !'" 

Harbour's  Bruce,  Book  ix.,  v.  410. 

The  unexpected  apparition,  of  what  seemed 
a  new  army,  completed  the  confusion  which 
already  prevailed  among  the  English,  who  fled 


Tl 


418 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


in  every  direction,  and  were  pursued  witli  im- 
mense slaughter.  The  brook  of  Bannock, 
according  to  Barbonr,  was  so  choked  with  the 
bodies  of  men  and  horses,  that  it  might  have 
been  passed  dry-shod.  The  followers  of  the 
Scottish  camp  fell  upon  the  disheartened 
fugitives,  and  added  to  the  confusion  and 
slaughter.  Many  were  driven  into  the  Forth, 
and  perished  there,  which,  liy  the  way,  could 
hardly  have  happened,  had  the  armies  been 
drawn  op  east  and  west ;  since,  in  that  case, 
to  get  at  the  river,  the  English  fugitives  must 
have  fled  through  the  victorious  army.  About 
a  short  mile  from  the  field  of  battle  is  a  place 
called  the  Bloody  Folds.  Here  the  Earl  of 
Gloucester  is  said  to  have  made  a  stand,  and 
died  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his  own  military 
tenants  and  vassals.  He  was  much  regretted 
hv  both  sides ;  and  it  is  said  the  Scottish  would 
gladly  have  saved  his  life,  but.  neglecting  to 
wear  his  surtout  with  armorial  bearings  over 
his  armour,  he  fell  unknown,  after  his  horse 
had  been  stabbed  with  spears. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Twenge,  an  English  knight, 
contrived  to  conceal  himself  during  the  fury 
of  the  pursuit,  and  when  it  was  somewhat 
slackened,  approached  King  Robert.  "Whose 
prisonerareyou.SirMarmaduke  ?"said  Bruce, 
to  whom  he  was  personally  known.  "  Yours, 
sir,"  answered  the  knight.  "I  receive  you," 
answered  the  king,  and,  treating  him  with  the 
utmost  courtesy,  loaded  him  with  gifts,  and 
dismissed  him  without  ransom.  The  other 
prisoners  were  all  well  treated.  There  might 
be  policy  in  this,  as  Bruce  would  naturally 
wish  to  acquire  the  good  opinion  of  the  Eng- 
lish barons,  who  were  at  this  time  at  great 
variance  with  their  king.  But  it  also  well 
accords  with  his  high  chivalrous  character. 


NOTE  4E. 

O!  give  t!ieir  Itapless  prince  his  due. 

P.  379. 

Edward  IT.,  according  to  the  best  authori- 
ties, showed,  in  the  fatal  field  of  Bannock- 
burn,  personal  gallantry  not  unworthy  of  his 
great  s-ire  and  greater  son.  He  remained  on 
the  field  till  forced  away  hy  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, when  all  was  lost.  He  then  rode  to 
the  Castle  of  Stirling,  and  demanded  admit- 
tance ;  but  the  governor,  remonstrating  upon 
the  imprudence  of  shutting  himself  up  in  that 
fortress,  which  must  so  soon  surrender,  he 
assembled  around  his  person  five  hundred 
men-at-arms,  and,  avoiding  the  field  of  battle 
and  the  victorious  army,  fled  towards  Linlith- 
gow,  pursued  by  Douglas  with  about  sixty 
horse.  They  were  augmented  by  Sir  Lawrence 
Abernethy  with  twenty  more,  whom  Douglas 
met  in  the  Ten-wood  upon  their  way  to  join 
the  English  army,  and  whom  he  easily  per- 
suaded to  desert  the  defeated  monarch,  and 
to  iissist  in  the  pursuit.  They  hung  upon  Ed- 
ward's flight  as  far  as  Dunhar,  too  few  in 
number  to  assail  him  with  effect,  but  enough 
to  harass  his  retreat  so  constantly,  that  who- 
ever fell  an  instant  behind,  was  instantly  slain 
or  made  prisoner.  Edward's  ignominious 
flight  terminated  at  Dunhar,  where  the  Earl 
of  March,  who  still  professed  allegiance  to 
him, "  received  him  full  gently."  From  thence, 


the  monarch  of  so  great  an  empire,  and  the 
late  commander  of  so  gallant  and  numerous 
an  army,  escaped  to  Bamborougli  in  a  fishing 
vessel. 

Bruce,  as  will  appear  from  the  following 
document,  lost  no  time  in  directing  the  thun- 
ders of  Parliamentary  censure  against  such 
part  of  his  subjects  as  did  not  return  to  their 
natural  allegiance  after  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn. 

APUD  MoxASTERirM  BE  CAMBUSKESSETH, 

VI   DIE   NOVEJTBRI8,   M,CCC,XIV. 

Judicnm  Redttitm  apud  Kambuskinrt  contra 
omnes  illos  qui  tune  fuerunt  contra  fidem  et 
pacem  Domini  Rtgis. 

Anno  gracie  millesimo  tricentisimo  quarto 
decimo  sexto  die  Novembris  tenente  parlia- 
nienlum  sunm  Excel  lentissimo  principe  D<t- 
mino  Roberto  Dei  gracia  Kege  Soottorum 
lllustri  in  monasterio  de  Camhnskyneth  con- 
cordatum  fait  finaliter  Judicatum  [ac  super) 
hoc  statutum  de  Coiicilio  et  Assensu  Episco- 
porum  et  ceterorum  Prelatorom  Comitnm 
Baronam  et  aliorum  nobilium  regni  Scooie 
nee  non  et  tocius  comninnitatis  reirni  predict! 
quod  omnes  qui  contra  fidem  et  pacem  dicti 
domini  regis  in  belio  seu  alibi  mortm  sunt 
[vel  qui  die]  to  die  ad  pacem  ejus  et  fidem 
non  veneraut  licet  sepius  vocati  et  legitime 
expeetati  fuissent  de  terns  et  tenenientis  et 
omui  alio  statu  infra  regiium  Scocie  perpetuo 
sint  exheredati  et  habeanliir  de  cetero  tan- 
quam  inimici  Regis  et  Regni  ah  mum  vendi- 
cacione  juris  hereditarii  vel  juris  alienus 
cujuscunque  in  posterum  pro  se  et  heredibns 
suis  in  perpetunm  pnriiti  Ad  perpetuam  igitur 
rei  memoriain  et  evidentem  probacioneiii 
hujus  Judicii  et  Statuti  sigilla  Episcoporum 
et  aliorum  Prelatorum  nee  non  et  comiium 
Baronum  ac  ceterorum  nobilium  dicti  Regni 
present!  ordiuacioui  Judicio  et  statuto  sunt 
appensa. 

Sigillum  Domini  Regis 
Sigiilum  vVillelnii  Episeopi  Sancti  Andree 
Sigillum  Roherti  Episeopi  Glascuensis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episeopi  Dunkeldensis 

.     .    Episeopi 

.     .     .    Episeopi 

.     .     .    Episnopi 

Sigillum  Alani  Episeopi  Sodorensis 
Sigillum  Johannis  Episeopi  Brechynensis 
Sigillum  Andree  Episeopi  Ergadiensis 
Sigillum  Frechardi  Episeopi  Cathanensis 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Seona 
Sigilium  Alibatjs  de  Calco 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Abirbrothok 
Sigillum  Ahhatis  de  Sancta  Cruce 
Sieillum  Abbatis  de  Londoris 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Newbotill 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Cupro 
Sigillum  Abhatis  de  Paslet 
Sjgillum  Abbatis  de  Dnnfermelyn 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Lincluden 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Insula  .Missarum 
Siaillum  Abbatis  de  Saucto  Coluroba 
Sigillum  Abbalisde  Deer 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dulce  Corde 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Coldinghame 
Sigillom  Prioris  de  Rostynot 
Sigillum  Prioris  Sancte  Andree 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Pitlinwem 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.            419 

Sigillum  Prioris  de  Insula  de  Lochlevin 
Sizillum  Senescalh  Scocie 
Sigillum  W  illeluii  Comitis  de  Ros 

The  following  list  of  the  slain  at  Bannock- 
burn,  extracted  from  the  continual  nr  of  Tri- 
vet's Annals,  will  show  the  client  of  the  na- 
tional calamity. 

LIST  OF  THE  SLAIN. 
KniflHi  and  Knigku  Bm-       Simon  Ward, 

Gilbert  de    Clare.    Earl   of      Michael  Poyniug', 
Gloucester,                                 Kdmuiid  Muullry. 
Robert  de  Clifford, 
IMv.ui  Tybeloi.                                             Kitightl. 
William  1..-  Mare»chaJ,              Henry  de  Bonn, 

William  de  Vencejr,                    Job.,  Je  KblDffeklr, 

NU.-hol.wde  H.i»trleigh,             Waller  de  Hlknlul, 
William  Dayncourt,                  Philip  Af  Conrlenajr, 
.V.julm*  de.  Aritenleyne,            Hugo  de  Scales, 
EdinonU  Comyn,                        R^tdulph  de  Bcauchamp, 

Sigillum  Gill>erti  de  la  Haya  Constahularii 
Scocie 
Sigillum  Robert!  de  Keth  Mariscalli  Scocie 
Si-i'iluni  Hugonisde  Ros 
Sigillum  Jacohi  de  Duglas 
Sigilium  Joliannis  de  Sancto  Claro 
Sigillum  Thome  de  Ros 
Sieillum  Alexandn  de  Settone 
Sigillum  Walteri  Halihurtone 
Sigillum  Davidisde  Bulfnnr 
Sigillum  Duncani  de  Wallays 
Sigillum  Thome  de  Dischingtone 
Sigillum  Andree  de  Moravia 
Siuiilum  Arclnliiil.il  de  Betun 
SiL'illiiin  Ranul|ihi  de  l.yill 
Si-ilium  Malcomi  de  Ball'our 
Sigillum  Nurmanni  de  Lesley 
Sigillum  Nigelli  de  Cainpo  hello 
Sigiilum  Morni  de  Musco  Cainpo 

Eilmund  de  Hastynge,                Wiili  33  other*  or  the  same 
Milo  de  SUplelou,                           r.mk,  not  turned. 

PRISONERS. 

BrtTimi  end  Burundi*.            Annelm  de  Maretwhat, 
Henry  de    Buuu,    Earl  of        Oili-s  ite  Beauc-hamp, 
Herefnrd,                                   Johiide  i:;frewant, 
I.nr.l  John  Gilford,                       John  Bluwet, 
William  de  I.utirner,                    KbSBr  Corbel. 

NOTE  4  F. 

Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone. 

Ingelram  tie  tlmrraville,             Bartholomew  de  Enefeld, 

J  'tin  de  WyMone,                      Il-t  !ii!|,h  and  Tlioman  Botte- 
Ribert  de  Ma'ilee,                              (ort, 
Henrv  Kit»-Hn;;li.                       John  and  Nicholas  de  Kiug- 
Thoman  de  Gray,                            stonu.  (hrotlura,) 
Waller  de  B.-auchamp,               William  L^vel, 
Richard  de  Charon,                     Henr»  de  Wileton. 
John  de  Wevclmlon,                  Baldwin  de  Frrvill, 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone. 
P.  380. 

The  remarkable   circumstances    attending 
the  death  of  De  Argentine  have  been  already 
noticed   (Note  L.)     Besides    this    renowned 
warrior,  there  fell  niiinv  representatives  of 
the  noblest  houses  in  England,  which  never 
sustained  a  more  bloody  and  disastrous  de- 
feat.    Barbour  savs  that  two  hundred   pairs 
of  gilded  spurs  were  taken  from  the  fielil  of 
.battle;   and  that  some  were  left  the  author 
can  bear  witness,  who  lias  in  his  possession  a 
curious  antique  spur,  dug  up  in  the  morass, 
not  long  since. 

"  It  wes  forsuth  a  fret  ferly, 
To  se  samyn  '  sn  fele  <rede  lie. 
Twa  hundre  payr  of  spuris  reid." 
War  tane  of  knichtis  that  war  deid." 

I  am  now  to  take  my  leave  of  Barbour,  not 
without  a  sincere  wish  that  the  public  may 
encourage  the  undertaking  of  my  friend  Dr 
Janiieson,  who  has  issued  proposals  for  pub- 
lishing an  accurate  edition  of  his  poem,  and 
of   blind    Harry's   Wallace.    The   only   KINK! 
edilion  of  The  Bruce  was  published  "by  Mr. 
Pinkerton.  in  3  vols..  in  1790  ;  and.  the  learned 
editor  having  had  no  personal  access  to  con- 
sult the  manuscript,  it  is  not  without  errors: 
and  it  has  besides  become  scarce.    Of  Wal- 
lace there  is  no  tolerable  edition;  yet  these 
two  poems  do  no  small  honour  to  the  early 
state  of  Scottish  poetry,  and  The   Bruce  is 
justly  regarded  as  containing;  authentic  his- 
torical facts. 

Oilherl  Peeche.                            John  cle  Merewode, 

Antony  de  Lucy,                          Thomas  and  Odo  Lele  Erce- 
Radulph  de  Camys.                        dekene, 
John  de  Kvrre,                           Robert  Beaupel.  (the  ion,) 
Andrew  de  Abremtiyn.               John  Mantravrn,  (lhe»on.) 
William  an  1  William  Ciif. 
KttifMt.                           f,.id.  and  34  other  kni  jlils, 
Thomas  de  Beikeler.                    not  named  by  the  uiito- 
The  son  of  Roger  Tyrrel,              rian. 

And  in  sum  there  were  slain,  along  with  the 
Karl  of  Gloucester,  forty-two  barons  and  ban- 
nerets.    The   number  of  earls,   barons,  and 
bannerets  made  captive,  was  twenty-two,  and 
sixty-eight  knights.    Many  clerks  and  esquires 
were   also  there   slain  or  taken.     Roger  de 
Northburge,    keeper   of    the    king's    signet, 
(Cuslos  Tarince  Domini  Regis.)  was  made  pri- 
soner with  his  two  clerks,  Roger  de  Waken- 
felde  and  Thomas  de  -Switon,  upon  which  the 
king  caused  a  seal  to  be  made,  and  entitled  it 
his  privy  seal,  to  distinguish  the  same  from  the 
signet   so  lost.    The   Earl   of  Hereford   was 
exchanged  against   Bruce's  queen,  who  had 
l>een  detained  in  captivity  ever  since  the  year 
1316.     The  Targia.  or  signet,  was  restored  to 
England  through  the  intercession  of  Ralph  de 
Monthermer.  ancestor  of  Lord  Moira,  who  is 
said  to  have  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Scottish   king  —  Cimtmiiat?on  ot  Tried'!  An- 
nals, HaWsedit     Oxloril.  i?12.  vol.  ii..  p   14. 
Such  were  the  immediate  consequences  of 
the  field  of  Bannockhurn     Its  more  remote 
effects,  in  completely  establishing  the  national 
independence  of  Scotland,  afford  a  boundless 
field  for  speculation. 

1  Together.                           2  Red.  or  gilded. 

3  Supposed  Clinton.                     4  Matlle. 

420 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


/nlft  nf 

A  POEM. 


"Though  Valois  braved  young  Edward's  gentle  hand, 
And  Albert  rush'd  on  Henry's  way-worn  band, 
With  Europe's  chosen  sons,  in  arms  renown'd. 
Yet  not  on  Vere's  bold  archers  long  they  look'd. 
Nor  Audley's  squires  nor  Mowbray's  yeomen  brook'd. — 
They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  monarch  bound." 

Akenside. 


HER    GRACE 

THE 

DUCHESS   OF   WELLINGTON, 
PRINCESS   OF   WATERLOO, 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

THE    FOLLOWING    VERSES 

ARE    MOST    RESPECTFULLY     INSCRIBED 
BT 

THE    AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

//  may  be  some  apology  for  the  imperfections  of  this  poem,  that  it  teas  composed  hastily,  ant 
during  a  short  tour  upun  the  Continent,  when  the  Author'!  labours  were  liable  to  frequent  inter- 
ruption ;  but  its  best  apology  is,  that  it  was  written  or  the  purpose  of  assisting  the  Waterloo  Sub- 
scription. 

ABBOTSFORD,  1815. 


No  opening  glade  dawns  on  our  way, 
No  streamlet,  glancing  to  the  ray. 

Our  woodland  path  has  c'-oss'd; 
And  the  straight  causeway  wnich  we  tread, 
Prolongs  a  line  of  dull  arcade. 
Unvarying  through  the  unvaried  shade 

Until  in  distal  :e  lost. 

IT. 

A  brighter,  livelier  scene  succeeds  ; 
In  groups  the  scattering  wood  recedes. 
Hedge-rows,  and  huts,  and  sunny  meads, 

And  corn-fields,  gl;ince  between  ; 
The  peasant,  at  his  labour  blithe. 
Plies  the  hook'd  staffand  shorten'il  scythe  : 

But  when  these  ears  were  green. 
Placed  close  within  destruction's  scope, 
Full  little  was  that  rustic's  hope 

Their  ripening  to  have  seen ! 


I. 

Fair  Brussels,  thou  art  far  behind, 
Though,  lingering  on  the  morning  wind. 

We  yet  may  hear  the  hour 
Peal'd  over  orchard  and  canal. 
With  voice  prolong'd  anil  measured  fall, 

From  proud  St  Michael's  tower; 
Thy  wood,  dark  Soignies.  holds  us  now 
Where  the  tall  beeches'  glossy  bough 

For  many  a  league  around. 
With  birch  and  darksome  oak  between, 
Spreads  deep  and  far  a  pathless  screen, 

Of  tangled  forest  ground 
Stems  planted  close  by  stems  defy 
The  adventurous  foot — the  curious  eye 

For  access  seeks  in  vain ; 
And  tue  brown  tapestry  of  leaves. 
Strew  'd  on  the  blighted  ground,  receives 

Nor  sun,  nor  air,  nor  rain. 


1  See  ArptDdix,  No 


THE    FIELD    OF    WATERLOO.                  421 

And,  lo,  a  hamlet  and  its  fane  :  — 

So  often  lost  and  won  ; 

Let  not  the  gazer  with  disdain 

And  close  beside  the  harden'd  mud 

Their  architecture  view  : 

Still  shows  where,  feilock-deep  in  blood. 

For  yonder  rude  ungraceful  shrine, 

The  lierce  dragoon,  through  battle's  flood, 

And  disproportion^!  spire,  are  thine, 

Dash'd  the  hot  war-horse  on. 

Immortal  Waterloo  ! 

These  spots  of  excavation  tell 

The  ravage  of  the  bursting  shell  — 

III. 

And  feel'st  Ihou  not  the  tainted  steam, 

Fear  not  the  hent,  though  full  and  high 

That  reeks  against  the  sultry  beam, 

The  sun  has  scurch'd  the  autumn  sky, 

From  yonder  trenched  mound  ? 

And  scarce  a  forest  straggler  now 

The  pestilential  fumes  declare 

To  shade  ns  spreads  a  greenwood  bough  ; 

That  Carnage  has  replenish  'd  there 

These  fields  have  seen  a  ho'terday 

Her  garner-house  profound. 

Than  e'er  was  fired  by  sunny  ray. 

Yet  one  mile  on  —  yon  shatter'd  hedge 

VII. 

Crests  the  soft  hill  whose  long  smooth  ridge 
Looks  on  the  lield  below, 
Ant1,  sinks  so  gently  on  the  dale, 
That  not  the  folds  of  Beauty's  veil 
In  easier  curves  can  flow. 
Brief  space  from  thence,  the  ground  again 
Ascending  slowly  from  the  plain, 

Far  other  harvest-home  and  feast, 
Than  claims  the  boor  from  scythe  released, 
On  these  scorch'd  fields  were  known  1 
Death  hover'd  o'er  the  maddening  rout, 
And,  in  the  thrilling  batile-shout, 
Sent  for  the  bloody  banquet  out 
A  summons  of  his  own. 

Forms  an  opposing  screen, 
Which,  with  its  crest  of  upland  ground, 
Shuts  the  horizon  all  around. 
The  soften'd  vale  between 
Slopes  smooth  and  fair  for  courser's  tread  ; 
Not  the  most  timid  maid  need  dread 
To  give  her  snow-white  palfrey  head 
On  that  wide  stubble-ground  ; 
Nor  wood,  nor  tree,  nor  bush,  are  there, 

Through  rolling  smoke  the  Demon's  eye 
Could  well  each  destined  guest  espy, 
Well  could  his  ear  in  ecstasy 
Distinguish  every  tone 
That  fill'd  the  chorus  of  the  fray— 
From  cannon-roar  and  trumpet-bray, 
From  charging  squadrons'  wild  hurra. 
From  the  wild  clang  that  mark'd  their  way,  — 
Down  to  the  dying  groan, 

Her  course  to  intercept  or  scare, 
Nor  fosse  nor  fence  are  found. 
Save  where,  from  out  her  shatter'd  bowers, 

And  the  last  sob  of  life's  decay. 
When  breath  was  all  but  flown. 

Kise  Hougomont's  dismantled  towers. 

vm. 

IV. 

Feast  on,  stern  foe  of  mortal  life, 

Now,  see'st  thou  aught  in  this  lone  scene 
Can  tell  of  that  which  late  hath  been?— 
A  stranger  might  reply, 
"  The  bare  extent  of  stubble-plain 
Seems  lately  lighten'd  of  its  gram  ; 
And  yonder  sable  tracks  remain 
Marks  of  the  peasant's  ponderous  wain, 
When  harvest-home  was  nigh. 
On  these  broad  spots  of  trampled  ground, 
Perchance  the  rustics  danced  such  round 
As  Tenters  loved  to  draw; 
And  where  the  earth  seems  scorch'd  by  flame, 
To  dress  the  homely  feast  they  came, 
And  toil'd  the  kerchief  'd  village  dame 
Around  her  fire  of  straw." 

Feast  on  !  —  but  think  not  that  a  strife, 
With  such  promiscuous  carnage  rife, 
Protracted  space  may  last; 
The  deadly  tug  of  war  at  length 
Musi  limits  find  in  human  strength. 
And  cease  when  these  are  past. 
Vain  hope  !—  that  morn's  o'erclouded  sun 
Heard  the  wild  shout  of  fight  begun 
Ere  he  attain'd  his  height, 
And  through  the  war-smoke,  volumed  high, 
Still  peals  that  unremitted  cry. 
Though  now  he  stoops  to  night. 
For  ten  long  hours  of  doubt  and  dread. 
Fresh  succours  from  the  extended  head 
Of  either  hill  the  contest  fed  ; 
Still  down  the  slope  ihey  drew. 

V. 

The  charge  of  columns  paused  not. 

So  deem'st  thou—  so  each  mortal  deems. 

Nor  ceased  the  storm  of  shell  and  shot 
For  all  that  war  could  do 

Of  that  which  is  from  that  which  seems:— 

Of  skill  and  force  was  proved  that  day, 

But  other  harvest  here. 
Than  that  which  peasant's  scythe  demands, 

And  turn'd  not  yet  the  doubtful  fray 
On  bloody  Waterloo. 

Was  galher'd  in  by  stenier  hands. 

With  bayonet,  blade,  and  spear. 

IX. 

No  vulgar  crop  was  theirs  to  reap, 
No  stinted  harvest  thin  and  cheap! 

Pale   Brussels  !   then    what   thoughts  were 
thine,1 

Heroes  before  each  fatal  sweep 

When  ceaseless  from  the  distant  line 

Fell  thick  as  ripen'd  gram  : 
And  ere  the  darkening  of  the  day. 
Piled  high  as  autumn  shocks,  there  lay 

Continued  thunders  came  ! 
Each  burgher  held  his  breath,  to  hear 
These  forerunners  of  havoc  near, 

The  ghastly  harvest  of  the  fray, 
The  corpses  of  the  slain. 

Of  rapine  and  of  flame. 
What  ghastly  sights  were  thine  to  meet, 

VT 

When  rolling  through  thy  stately  street. 

V  1. 

Ay,  look  again  —  that  line,  so  black 

The  wounded  show'd  their  mangled  plight 
In  token  of  the  unfinish'd  fight. 

And  trampled,  marks  the  bivouac, 

Yon  deep-graved  ruU  the  artillery's  track, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

422                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

And  from  each  anguish-laden  wain 

As  when  they  practise  to  display 

The  blood-drops  laid  thy  dust,  like  rain! 

Their  discipline  on  festal  day. 

How  nfieii  in  the  distant  drum 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 

lleard'si  thou  the  fell  Invader  come, 

Down  were  the  eagle  banners  sent. 

While  Rum.  shouting  lo  his  band. 

Down  reeling  steeds  and  rulers  went, 

Shook  high  her  torch  and  gory  brand  !  — 

Corslets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent; 

Che.er  thee.  liiir  City  !     From  yon  stand, 

And.  to  augment  the  fray, 

Impatient,  snll  his  outstrelch'd  hand 

Wheel'd  full  against  their  staggering  flanks, 

Points  to  his  prey  m  vain. 

The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranks 

While  maddening  in  his  eager  mood, 

Forced  their  resistless  way. 

And  all  unwont  to  lie  withstood, 

Then  to  the  musket-knell  succeeds 

He  fires  the  fight  again. 

The  clash  of  swords—  the  neigh  of  steeds  — 

As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade,* 

X. 

Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  hlade; 

"  On  !  on  !"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim  ; 

And  while  amid  their  close  array 

"Confront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame  ! 

The  well  served  cannon  rent  their  way, 

Rush  on  the  levell'd  gun  !  ' 

And  while  amid  their  scatter'd  band 

My  steel-chid  cuirassiers,  advance  ! 

Raced  the  fierce  rider's  bloody  brand, 

Each  Hulan  forward  with  his  lance. 

Recoil'd  in  common  rout  and  fear, 

My  Guard—  my  Chosen  —  charge  for  France, 

Lancer  and  guard  and  cuirassier. 

France  and  Napoleon  !" 

Horsemen  and  fool  —  a  mingled  host, 

Loud  answer'd  their  acclaiming  shout. 

Their  leaders  fall'n,  their  standards  lost. 

Greeting  the  mandate  which  sent  out 

XIII. 

Their  bravest  and  their  best  to  dare 
The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share.2 
But  He,  his  country's  sword  and  shield, 
Sull  in  the  battle  front  reveal'd. 
Where  danger  fiercest  swept  the  field, 
Came  like  a  beam  of  light. 
In  action  prompt,  in  sentence  brief— 
"Soldiers,  stand  firm."  exclaim'd  the  Chief, 
"England  shall  tell  the  fight!"  3 

Then,  Wellington  !  thv  piercing  eye 
This  crisis  caught  of  destiny  — 
The  British  host  had  stood 
That  morn  'gainst  charse  of  sword  and  lance 
As  their  own  ocean-rocks  hold  stance. 
But  when  thy  voice  had  said,  "Advance!" 
They  were  their  ocean's  flood.  — 
0  Thou,  whose  inauspicious  aim 
Hath  wrought  thy  host  this  hour  of  shame, 

XI. 

Tlunk'st  thou  thy  broken  bands  will  bide 

On  came  the  whirlwind  —  like  the  last 
But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest-hiast  — 
On  came  the  whirlwind—  steel-gleams  broke 
Like  lightning  through  the  rolling  smoke  ; 
The  war  was  waked  anew. 

The  terrors  of  yon  rushing  tide  ? 
Or  will  thy  chosen  brook  to  feel 
The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel,* 
Or  dost  thou  turn  thine  eye 
Where  coining  squadrons  gleam  afar, 
And  fresher  thunders  wpake  the  war, 

Three  hundred  cannon  mouths  roar'd  loud, 
And  from  their  tlirouls.  with  flash  and  cloud, 
Their  showers  of  iron  threw. 
Beneath  Iheir  fire,  in  (ull  career. 

And  other  standards  fly?  — 
Think  not  that  in  yon  columns,  file 
Thy  conquering  troops  from  Distant  Dylo— 
Is  Blucher  yet  unknown  ? 

Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 
The  lancer  couch'd  his  ruthless  spear, 
And  hurrying  as  to  havoc  near, 

Or  dwells  not  in  thy  memory  still, 
(Heard  frequent  in  thine  hour  of  ill.) 
What  notes  of  hate  and  vengeance  thrill 

The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 

In  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  ?  — 

In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 

What  yet  remains?  —  shall  it  be  thine 

The  advancing  onset  roll'd  along. 

To  head  the  relics  of  thy  line 

Forth  harbmger'd  by  fierce  acclaim, 

In  one  dread  effort  more?  — 

That,  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 
PeaTd  wildly  the  imperial  name. 

The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved. 
And  thou  canst  tell  what  fortune  proved 

XII. 

That  Chieftain,  who.  of  yore, 

But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 
The  terrors  of  the  charging  host  ; 
For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  view'd 
Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude, 
Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  staid, 
As  dropp'd  the  dying  and  the  dead. 

Ambition's  dizzy  paths  essay'd, 
And  with  the  gladiators'  aid 
For  empire  enierpnsed  — 
He  stood  the  cast  his  rashness  play'd, 
Left  not  the  victims  he  had  made, 
Dug  his  red  grave  with  his  own  blade, 
And  on  ttie  field  he  lost  was  laid 

Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear, 
Fast  they  renew'd  each  serried  square; 

Abhorr'd—  but  not  despised. 

And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 

XIV. 

Closed  their  dimmish'd  files  again. 
Till  from  their  line  scarce  spears'  lengths 

Bnt  if  revolves  thy  fainter  thought 
On  safety  —  howsoever  bought.  — 

three. 
Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 

Then  turn  thy  fearful  rein  and  ride, 
Though  twice  ten  thousand  men  have  died 

Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply.  — 

On  this  eventful  dav. 

Then  waked  their  fire  at  once  I 

To  gild  the  military  fame 

I  ach  musketeer's  revolving  knell, 

Which  thon.  for  life,  in  traffic  tame 

As  fast,  as  regularly  fell. 

Wilt  barter  thus  away. 

a  So,  Appendix,  Note  E.              4  Ibid,  Note  F. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

THE    FIELD   OF   WATERLOO. 


423 


Shall  future  apes  tell  this  tale 
Of  mconsistence  faint  and  frail? 
And  art  thou  He  of  Lodi's  bridge, 
MafKnso'.s  field,  and  Wagram's  ridge! 

Ur  is  thy  soul  like  mountiijn-tide, 
That,  swell'd  hy  winter  storm  and  shower, 
Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power, 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide  ; 
Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure, 
Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean  and  poor, 

Whose  channel  shows  display'd 
The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course, 
But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

By  winch  these  wrecks  were  made! 

XV. 

Spur  on  thy  way!— since  now  thine  ear 
Has  brook 'd  thy  veterans'  wish  to  hear, 

Who.  as  thy  flight  they  eyed, 
Exclaim'd,— while  tears  of  anguish  came, 
Wrunz  forth  by  pride,  and  rage,  and  shame,- 

"O.  that  he  had  but  died  !" 
But  yet,  to  sum  this  hour  of  ill, 
Look,  ere  thou  leavest  the  fatal  hill, 

Back  on  yon  broken  ranks — 
Upon  whose  wild  confusion  gleams 
The  moon,  as  on  the  trouhjed  streams 

When  rivers  break  their  banks, 
And.  to  the  ruin'd  peasant's  eye, 
Objects  half  seen  roll  swiftly  by, 

Down  the  dread  current  hurl'd — 
So  mingle  banner,  wain,  and  gun. 
Where  the  tumultuous  flight  rolls  on 
Of  warriors,  who.  when  morn  begun, 

Defied  a  banded  world. 

XVI. 

List— frequent  to  the  hurrying  rout, 
The  stern  pursuers'  vengeful  shout 
Tells,  that  upon  their  broken  rear 
Rages  the  Prussian's  bloody  spear. 

So  fell  a  shriek  was  none, 
When  Beresiria's  icy  flood 
Redden'd  and  thaw  d  with  flame  and  blood, 
And,  pressing  on  thy  desperate  way. 
Raised  oft  and  long  their  wild  hurra, 

The  children  of  the  Don. 
Thine  ear  no  yell  of  horror  cleft 
So  ominous,  when,  all  bereft 
Of  aid.  the  valiant  Polack  left- 
Ay,  left  by  thee — found  soldier's  grave 
In  Leipsic's  corpse-encnmber'd  wave. 
Fate,  in  those  various  perils  past. 
Reserved  thee  still  some  future  cast; 
On  the  dread  die  thou  now  hast  thrown, 
Hangs  not  a  single  field  alone. 
Nor  one  campaign — thy  martial  fame, 
Thy  empire,  dynasty,  and  name, 

Have  felt  the  final  stroke ; 
And  now,  o'er  thy  devoted  head 
The  last  stern  vial's  wrath  is  shed, 

The  last  dread  sea)  is  broke. 

xvn. 

Since  live  thou  wilt — refuse  not  now 
Before  these  demagogues  to  bow, 
Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 
Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 
Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate.— 
3r  shall  we  say,  thou  stoop'st  less  low 
u  seeking  refuge  from  the  foe. 
Against  whose  heart,  in  prosperous  life, 
I'hiiie  hand  hath  ever  held  the  knife  ? 


Such  homage  hath  been  paid 
By  Roman  and  by  Grecian  voice, 
And  there  were  honour  in  the  choice, 

If  it  were  freely  made. 
Then  safely  come — in  one  so  low, — 
So  lost, — we  cannot  own  a  foe  ; 
Though  dear  experience  bid  us  end, 
In  thee  we  ne'er  can  hail  a  friend.— 
Come,  howsoe'er— hut  do  not  hide 
Close  in  thy  heart  that  germ  of  pride, 
Erewhile,  by  gifted  bard  espied, 

That  "  yet  imperial  hope  ;" 
Think  not  that  for  a  fresh  rebound, 
To  raise  ambition  from  the  ground. 

We  yield  thee  means  or  scope. 
In  safety  come — but  ne'er  again 
Hold  type  of  independent  reign ; 

No  islet  calls  thee  lord. 
We  leave  thee  no  confederate  hand, 
No  symbol  of  thy  lost  command, 
To  be  a  dagger  in  the  hand 

From  which  we  wrench'd  the  sword. 

XVIII. 

Yet,  even  in  yon  sequester'd  spot. 
May  worthier  conquest  be  thy  lot 

Than  yet  thy  life  has  known  ; 
Conquest,  uiibought  by  hlood  or  harm, 
That  needs  nor  foreign  aid  nor  arm, 

A  triumph  all  tliine  own. 
Such  waits  thee  wheu  thou  shall  control 
Those  passions  wild,  ihat  stubborn  soul, 

That  marr'd  thy  prosperous  scene : — 
Hear  this — fmm  no  unmoved  heart, 
Which  sighs,  comparing  what  thou  art 

With,  what  thou  might'st  have  been ! 

XIX. 

Thou,  too,  whose  deeds  of  fame  renew'd 

Bankrupt  a  nation's  gratitude. 

To  thine  own  noble  heart  must  owe 

More  than  the  meed  she  can  bestow. 

For  not  a  people's  just  acclaim, 

Vot  the  full  haii  of  Europe's  fame. 

Thy  Prince's  smiles,  thy  State's  decree, 

The  ducal  rank,  the  garter'd  kne«, 

Vnt  these  such  pure  delight  afford 

As  that,  when  hanging  up  thy  sword, 

Well  may'st  thou  think,  "  This  honest  steel 

Was  ever  drawn  for  public  weal ; 

And.  such  was  rightful  Heaven's  decree, 

Se'er  sheathed  unless  with  victory  !" 

XX. 

!x>ok  forth,  once  more,  with  soften'd  heart, 
ire  from  the  field  of  fame  we  part ; 
Triumph  and  Sorrow  border  near, 
And  joy  oft  melts  into  a  tear. 
Alas  I  what  links  of  love  that  morn 
las  War's  rude  hand  asunder  torn ! 
^or  ne'er  was  field  so  sternly  fought, 
And  ne'er  was  conquest  dearer  bought. 
iere  piled  in  common  slaughter  sleep 
Those  whom  affection  lung  shall  weep : 
Here  rests  the  sire,  that  ne'er  shall  strain 
Us  orphans  to  his  heart  again  ; 
['he  son,  whom,  on  his  native  shore, 
The  parent's  voice  shall  bless  no  more ; 
The  bridegroom,  who  has  hardly  press'd 
Iis  blushing  consort  to  his  breast ; 
['he  husband,  whom  through  many  a  year 
x>ng  love  and  mutual  faith  endear. 
1'hou  canst  not  name  one  tender  tie, 
But  here  dissolved  its  relics  lie  1 


424                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

O  !  when  thou  see'st  some  mourner's  veil 

Has  not  such  havoc  bought  a  name 

Shioud  her  thin  form  and  visage  pale, 

Immortal  in  the  rolls  of  fame  ? 

Or  mark'st  the  Matron's  bursting  tears 

Yes  —  Agincnurt  may  be  forgot. 

Stream  when  the  stricken  drum  she  hears  ; 

And  Cressy  be  an  unknown  spot, 

Or  see'st  how  manlier  grief,  suppress'd, 

And  Blenheim's  name  he  new; 

Is  labouring  in  a  father's  breast,  — 

But  still  m  story  and  in  sung. 

With  no  enquiry  vain  pursue 
The  cause,  but  think  on  Waterloo  ! 

For  many  an  age  remeniber'd  long. 
Shall  live  the  towers  of  Hougomont, 

And  Field  of  Waterloo. 

XXI. 

Period  of  honour  as  of  woes, 

CONCLUSION. 

What  bright  careers  'twas  thine  to  close  !— 

Mark'd  on  thy  roll  of  blood  what  names 

Stern  tide  of  human  Time  !  that  know'st  not 

To  Briton's  memory,  and  to  Fame's, 

rest, 

Laid  there  their  last  immortal  claims! 

But,  sweeping  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 

Thou  saw'st  in  seas  of  gore  expire 

Bear'.-t  ever  downward  on  thy  duskv  breast 

Redoubted  Picton's  soul  of  fire  — 

Successive  generations  to  their  dooiii  ; 

Saw'st  in  the  mingled  carnage  lie 
All  that,  of  Ponsonby  rould  die  — 
De  Lancey  change  Love's  bridal-wreath, 

While  thy  capacious  stream  has  equal  room 
For  the  gay  bark  where  Pleasure's  streamers 
sport. 

For  laurels  from  the  hand  of  Death  —  1 

And  for  the  prison-ship  of  guilt  and  gloom. 

Saw'st  gallant  Miller's*  failing  eye 
Still  bent  where  Albion's  banners  fly, 

The  fisher  skiff,  and  barge  lhat  bears  a  court, 
Still  wafiing  onward  all  to  one  dark  silent 

And  Cameron.3  in  the  shock  of  steel, 

port  ;— 

Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel  ; 

And  generous  Gordon,  *  'mid  the  strife, 

Stern  tide  of  Time!  through  what  mysterious 

Fall  while  he  watch'd  his  leader's  life  — 

change 

Ah  !  though  her  guardian  angel's  shield 

Of  hope  and  fear  have  our  frail  barks  been 

Fenced  Britain's  hero  through  the  field. 

driven! 

Fate  not  the  less  her  power  made  known, 

For  ne'er,  before,  vicissitude  so  strange 

Through  his  friends'  hearts  to  pierce  his  own  ! 

Was  to  one  nice  of  Adam's  offspring  given. 

XXII. 

And  sure  such  varied  change  of  sea  and  hea- 
ven. 

Forgive,  brave  Dead,  the  imperfect  lay  ! 
Who  may  your  names,  your  numbers,  say  ? 

Such  unexpected  bursts  of  joy  and  woe, 
Such  fearful  strife  as  that  where  we  have 

What  high-strung  harp,  what  lofty  line, 

striven. 

To  each  the  dear-earn'd  praise  assign, 

Succeeding  ages  ne'er  again  shall  know, 

From  high-born  chiefs  of  martial  fame 

Until  the  awful  term  when  Thou  shalt  cease 

To  the  poor  soldier's  lowlier  name  ? 

to  flow  ! 

Lightly  ye  ruse  that  dawning  day. 

From  vonr  cold  couch  of  swamp  and  clay. 

Well  hast  thou  stood,  my  Country  !—  the  brave 

To  fill',  before  the  sun  was  low. 

fight 

The  bed  that  morning  cannot  know.  — 
Oft  may  the  tear  the  green  sod  steep, 

Hast  well  maintain'd  through  good  report  and 

And  sacred  be  the  heroes'  sleep, 
Till  time  shall  cease  to  run  ; 

In  thy  just  cause  and  in  thy  native  might. 
And  in  Heaven's  grace  and  justice  constant 

And  ne'er  beside  their  noble  grave, 

still  ; 

Mav  Briton  pass  and  fail  to  crave 

Whether  the  banded  prowess,  strength,  and 

A  blessing  on  the  fallen  brave 

skill 

Who  fought  with  Wellington  ! 

Of  half  the  world  against  thee  stood  arraved, 

Or  when,  with  better  views  and  freer  will, 

xxm. 

Beside  thee  Europe's  noblest  drew  the  blade. 

Farewell,  sad  Field  !  whose  blighted  face 

Each  emulous  in  arms  the  Ocean  Queeu  to 

Wears  desolation's  withering  trace  ; 

aid. 

Long  shall  my  memory  retain 

Thy  shatter'il  huts  and  trampled  grain, 

Well  art  thou  now  repaid—  though  slowly  rose. 

With  every  mark  of  martial  wrong. 

And  struggled  long  with  mists  t!fy  blaze  of 

That  scathe  thy  towers,  fair  Hougomont! 

fame. 

Yet  though  thy  garden's  green  arcade 

While  like  the  dawn  that  in  the  orient  glows 

The  marksman's  fatal  post  was  made, 

On  the  broad  wave  its  earlier  lustre  came  ; 

Though  on  thy  shatter'd  beeches  fell 

Then  eastern  Egypt  saw  the  growing  flame, 

The  blended  rage  of  shot  and  shell. 

And  Maida's  myrtles  gleam'd  beneath  its  ray, 

Though  from  thy  blacken'd  portals  torn, 

Where  first  the  soldier,  stung  with  generous 

Their  fall  thy  blighted  fruit-trees  mourn. 

shame, 

ITne  Poet's  friend.  Colonel  Sir  William  De  Lancey, 

over  his  head,  and  the  expiring  officer  declared  himself 

married  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Sir  James  Hal),  Bart., 

satisfied. 

in  April  J8I5,  and  received  his  mortal  wound  on  the  IBlh 

3  "Colonel  Cameron,   of    Faniefern,   >o    often    distin 

of  June      See  Captain  B.  Mail's  aftVcting  narrative   n  the 

gninbcd  in  LorJ  Wellington's  de>paiche«  from  Spain,  fell 

first  series  of  hi*  "  Fragments  of  Voyages  and  Travels," 

n  the  aniou  at  Ouatre  Bras.  (16lh  June  1S15.)  while  lead- 

vol.  ii.  p.  369. 

US  the  80d  or  Gordon  HishlaudrrK,  to  rtiarse  a  body  of 

2  Colonel  Miller,  of  the  Guards  —  son  to  Sir  William 

cavalry,  supported  by  infantry."—  Paul't  Letlm,  p  91. 

Miller,  Lord  Glenlee.    When  mortally  wounded   in  the 

4  Colonel  the  Honourable  Sir  Alexander  Gordon,  brother 

attack  on  the  Bois  de  Bostu.  he  desired  to  see  the  colours 

to  the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  who  has  erected  a  pillar  on  the 

of  the  regiment  once  more  ere  he  died.    They  were  waved 

spot  where  he  fell  by  the  side  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


425 


Rivall'd  the  heroes  of  the  wat'ry  way. 
And  wash'd  in  foemen's  gore  unjust  reproach 
away. 

Now.  Island  Empress,  wave  thy  crest  on  high, 
AnJ  hid  •  he  banner  of  thy  Patron  flow. 
Sallant  Saint  George,  the  flower  of  Chivalry, 
For  them  hast  faced,  like  him,  a  dragon  foe, 
And  rescued  innocence  from  overthrow. 
And  trampled  down, like  him,  tyrannic  might, 
And  to  ihe  gazing  world  mayst  proudly  show 
The  chosen  emblem  of  thy  sainted  Knight, 
Who  quell'd  devouring  pride,  and  vindicated 
right. 


Yet  'mid  the  confidence  of  just  renown, 
Renown  dear-bought,  but  dearest   thus  ac- 
quired. 

Write,  Britain,  write  the  moral  lesson  down: 
"l'is  not,  alone  the  heart  with  valour  fired, 
The  discipline  so  dreaded  and  admired, 
In  many  a  field  of  bloody  conquest  known ; 
— Such   may  by  fame  be  lured,   by  gold  be 

hired— 

'Tis  constancy  in  the  good  cause  alone, 
Best  justifies  the  meed  thy  valiant  sons  have 
won. 

END  OF  THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

The  peasant,  nt  his  labour  blithe. 

Plies  the  hook'd  staff  and  shortm'd  scythe. 

P.  420. 

The  reaper  in  Flanders  carries  in  his  left 
hand  a  stick  with  an  iron  hook,  with  which 
he  collects  as  much  grain  as  he  can  cut  at  one 
sweep  with  a  short  scythe,  which  he  holds  in 
his  rieht  hand.  They  carry  on  this  double 
process  with  great  spirit  and  dexterity. 


NOTE  B. 

Pale  Brussels !  then  what  thoughts  were  thine. 
P.  421. 

It  was  affirmed  by  the  prisoners  of  war, 
that  Bonaparte  had  promised  his  army,  in 
case  of  victory,  twenty-four  hours'  plunder  of 
the  city  of  Brussels. 


NOTE  C. 

"  Oil .'  On !"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim. 

P.  422. 

The  characteristic  obstinacy  of  Napoleon 
was  never  more  fully  displayed  than  in  what 
we  may  be  permitted  to  hope  will  prove  the 
last  of  his  fields  He  would  listen  to  no  ad- 
vice, and  allow  of  no  obstacles.  An  eye-wit- 
ness has  given  the  following  account,  of  his 
demeanour  towards  the  end  of  the  action  : — 

'•  It  was  near  seven  o'clock  ;  Bonaparte, 
who  till  then  had  remained  upon  the  ridge  of 
the  hill  whence  he  could  best  behold  what 
passed,  contemplated  with  a  stern  counte- 
nance, the  scene  of  this  horrible  slaughter. 
The  more  that  obstacles  seemed  to  multiply, 
the  more  his  obstinacy  seemed  to  increase 
He  became  indignant  at  these  unforeseen  dif- 
ficulties ;  and,  far  from  fearing  to  push  to  ex- 
tremities an  army  whose  confidence  in  him 


was  boundless,  he  ceased  not  to  pour  down 
fresh  troops,  and  to  give  orders  to  march  for- 
ward—to charee  with  the  bayonet  —  to  carry 
by  storm.  He  was  repeatedlv  informed,  from 
different  points,  that  the  day  went  against 
him,  and  that  the  troops  seemed  to  be  disor- 
dered ;  to  which  he  only  replied, — '  En-avant! 
En-avfint  r 

"One  general  sent  to  inform  the  Emperor 
that  he  was  in  a  position  which  he  could  not 
maintain,  because  it  was  commanded  by  a 
battery,  and  requested  to  know,  at  the  same 
time,  in  what  way  he  should  protect  his  divi- 
sion from  the  murderous  fire  of  the  English 
artillery.  '  Let  him  storm  the  battery,'  replied 
Bonaparte,  and  turned  his  hack  on  the  aide- 
de  camp  who  brought  the  message."— Relation 
tie  la  Battaille  de  Mont- SI- Jf an.  Par  tin  Te- 
moin  Oculaire.  Paris,  1815,  8vo,  p.  51. 


NOTE  D. 

The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share. 

P.  422. 

It  has  been  reported  thnt  Bonaparte  charged 
at  the  head  of  his  guards,  at  the  last  period 
of  this  dreadful  conflict.  This,  however,  is 
not  accurate.  He  came  down  indeed  to  a 
hollow  part  of  the  high  road,  leading  to  Char- 
leroi,  within  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
the  farm  of  La  Have  Sainte.  one  of  the  points 
most,  fiercely  disputed  Here  he  harangued 
the  guards,  and  informed  them  that  his  pre- 
cedine  o[«rations  had  destroyed  the  British 
infantry  and  cavalry,  and  that  they  had  only 
to  support  the  fire  of  the  artillery,  which  they 
were  to  attack  with  the  bayonet.  This  ex- 
hortation was  received  with  shouts  of  Vive 
FEmprrtur,  which  were  heard  over  all  our 
line,  and  led  to  an  idea  that  Napoleon  was 
charging  in  person.  But  the  guards  were  led 
on  by  Ney;  nor  did  Bonaparte  approach 
nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  the  spot  al- 
ready mentioned,  which  the  rising  banks  on 
each  side  rendered  secure  from  all  such  balls 


426 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


as  did  not  come  in  a  straieht  line.  He  wit- 
nessed the  earlier  part  of  the  battle  from 
planes  yet  more  remote,  particularly  from  an 
observa'ory  which  had  been  placed  there  by 
the  King  of  the  Netherlands,  somn  weeks  be- 
fore, fin  the  purpose  of  surveying  the  country. 
It  is  not  meant  to  infer  from  these  particulars 
that  Napoleon  showed,  on  that  memorable 
occasion,  the  least  deficiency  in  personal  cou- 
rage ;  on  the  contrary,  he  evinced  the  greatest 
composure  and  presence  of  mind  during  the 
whole  action.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that  re- 
port has  erred  in  ascribing  to  him  any  despe- 
rale  effort?  of  valour  for  recovery  of  the 
battle;  mid  it  is  remarkable,  that  during  the 
whole  carnage,  none  of  his  suite  were  either 
killed  or  wounded,  whereas  scarcely  one  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington's  personal  attendants 
escaped  unhurt. 


NOTE  E. 

'England,  shall  tell  the  fight  .'—P.  422. 
In  riding  up  to  a  regiment  which  was  hard 
pressed,  the  Duke  called  to  the  men,  "Sol- 
diers, we  must  never  be  beat.  —  what  will 
they  say  in  England  V  It  is  needless  to  say 
how  this  appeal  was  answered. 


NOTE  F. 

4s  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade. 

P.  422. 

A  private  soldier  of  the  95th  regiment  com- 
pared the  sound  which  took  place  imme- 
diately upon  tbe  British  cavalry  mingling  with 


those  of  the  enemy,  to  "a  thousand  (inkers  at 
work  mending  pots  and  ketllts." 


NOTE  G. 

The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel. 

P.  422. 

No  persuasion  or  authority  could  prevail 
upon  the  French  troops  to  stand  the  shock  of 
the  bayonet.  The  Imperial  Guards,  in  parti- 
cular, hardly  stood  till  the  British  were  within 
thirty  yards  of  them,  although  the  French 
author,  already  quoted,  has  put  into  their 
mouths  the  magnanimous  sentiment,  "The 
Guards  never  yield  —  they  die."  The  same 
author  has  covered  the  plateau,  or  eminence, 
of  St.  Jean,  which  formed  the  British  posi- 
tion, with  redoubts  and  retrenchments  which 
never  had  an  existence.  As  the  narrative, 
which  is  in  many  respects  curious,  was  written 
by  an  eye-witness,  lie  was  probably  deceived 
by  the  appearance  of  a  road  and  ditch  which 
run  along  part  of  the  hill.  It  may  be  also 
mentioned,  in  criticising  this  work,  that  the 
writer  mentions  the  Chateau  of  Hougomont 
to  have  been  carried  by  the  French,  although 
it  was  resolutely  and  successfully  defended 
durum  the  whole  action.  The  enemy,  indeed, 
possessed  themselves  of  the  wood  by  which  it 
is  surrounded,  and  at  length  set  fire  to  the 
house  itself;  but  the  British  (a  detachment 
of  the  Guards,  under  the  command  of  Colonel 
Macdonneil,  and  afterwards  of  Colonel  Home) 
made  good  the  garden,  and  thus  preserved, 
by  their  desperate  resistance,  the  post  which 
covered  the  return  of  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton's right  flank. 


larnlit  {JIB  inttntbss: 

A  POEM,   IN   SIX  CANTOS. 


"  Upon  another  occasion."  says  Sir  Waller,  "  Tsent  up  another  of  these,  trifles,  which,  like  school- 
boy? /cites,  settled  to  show  now  the  wind  of  popular  taste  teas  setting.  Thr  manner  was  supposed 
to  be  that  of  a  rude  minstrel,  or  Scald,  in  opposition  to  '  The  Bndal  of  Triermain.'  which  was 
designed  to  belong  rather  to  the  1'alian  school.  This  new  fugitive  piece  was  called  '  Harold  the 
Dauntless ;'  and  1  am  still  astonished  at  mi/  hamng  committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  wry 
name  which  Lord  Baron  had  marie  so  famous.  It  encountered  rather  an  odd  fnte.  My  ingenious 
frirnil.  Mr.  Jnmts  Hogg,  had  published,  about  the  same  time,  a  work  called  the  '  Poetic  Mirror,' 
containing  imitations  of  the  principal  living  poets  There  leas  in  it  a  rery  good  imitation  of  my 
own  stale,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  '  Harold  the  Dauntless.'  that  there  ifas  no  discovering 
the  original  from  the  imitation,  and  I  believe  that  many  who  took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the 
subject,  were  rather  of  opinion  that  my  ingenious  friend  was  the  true,  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon 
Pure."— Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.  1830. 


HAROLD    THE    DAUNTLESS. 


427 


JBJarolU  tje  S.iuntless. 


INTRODUCTION. 

There  is  a  mood  of  mind,  we  all  have  known 
OH  drowsy  eve.  or  dark  and  low 'ring  day. 
When   the   tired   spirits   lose   their  sprightly 

tone. 
And  nouziit  can  chase   the  lingering  hours 

away. 

Dull  on  our  soul  falls  Fancy's  dazzling  ray. 
And  Wisdom  holds  his  steadier  torch  in  vain. 
Obscured  the  painting  seems,  mistuned  the 

lay. 

Nor  dare  we  of  our  listless  load  complain. 
For  who  for  sympathy  may  seek  that  cannot 

tell  of  pain? 

The  jolly  sportsman  knows  such  drearihood. 
When  hursts  in  deluge  the  autumnal  rain, 
Clouilin?  that  morn  which  threats  the  heath- 
cock's  orood  : 
Of  such,  in  summer's  drought,  the   anglers 

plain. 
Who  hope  the  soft  mild  southern  shower  in 

vain; 

But.  more  lhan  all.  the  discontented  fair. 
Whom  father  stern,  and  sterner  aunt,  restrain, 
From  county-nail,  or  race  occurring  rare. 
While  all  her  friends  around  their  vestments 
gay  prepare. 

Ennui !  —  or,   as   our    mothers    call'd    thee, 

Spleen ! 

To  thee  we  owe  full  many  a  rare  device  ; — 
Thine  is  the  sheaf  of  painted  cards.  I  ween. 
The  rolling  billiard-ball,  the  rattling;  dice. 
The  turning  lathe  for  framing  gimcrack  nice  : 
The   amateur's  blotch'd    pallet   thou    mayst 

claim. 
Retort,  and  air-pump,  threatening  frogs  and 

mice. 

(Murders  disguised  by  philosophic  name,) 
And  much  of  trifling  grave,  arid  much  of 

buxom  game. 

Then  of  the  books,  to  catch  thy  drowsy  glance 
Compiled,  what  hard  the  catalogue  may  quote  ! 
Plays,  poems,  novels,  never  read  but  once ; — 
but  not  of  such  the  tale  fair  Kdgeworth 

wrote. 

That  bears  thy  name,  and  is  thine  antidote; 
And  not  of  such  the  strain  my  Thomson  sung, 
Delicious  dreams  inspiring  by  his  note, 
Wnal  time  to  Indolence  his  harp  lie  strnn?; — 
Oh  !  might  my  luy  be  raak'd  that  happier  list 

among ! 

Each  hath  his  refuge  whom  thy  cares  assail. 
For  me,  1  love  my  study  fire  to  trim. 
Ami  con  right  vacantly  some  idle  tale. 
Displaying  on  the  conch  each  listless  limb. 
Till  on  th«  drowsy  pase  the  lishts  erow  dim. 
And  doubtful  slumber  half  supplies  the  theme ; 
While  antique  shapes  of  knight  and  giant  gr.m. 
Damsel  and  dwarf,  m  long  procession  eleam. 
And  the  Romancer's  tale  becomes  the  Reader's 
dream. 

'Tis  thus  my  malady  I  well  may  bear, 
Albeit  oulstretch'd.  like  Pope's  own  Paridel, 
Upon  the  rack  of  a  too-easy  chair ; 
And  find,  to  cheat  the  time,  a  powerful  spell 
In  old  romaunts  of  errantry  that  tell, 


Or  Inter  lesrends  of  the  Fairy-folk, 
Or  Oriental  tale  of  Afrite  fell. 
Of  Genii,  Talisman,  and  broad  wing'd  Roc. 
Though  taste  may  blush  and  frown,  and  sober 
reason  mock. 

Oft  at  such  season,  too.  will  rhymes  unsought 
Arrange  themselves  in  some  romantic  lay; 
The  which,  as  things  unfitting  graver  thought, 
Are  burnt  or  blotted  on  some  wiser  day  — 
These  few  survive — and  proudly  let  me  say, 
Court  not  the   critic's  smile,  nor  dread    his 

frown ; 

They  well  may  serve  to  while  an  hour  away, 
Nor  does  the  volume  ask  for  more  renown, 
Than  .Ennui's  yawning  smile,  what  time  she 

drops  it  down. 


ffiarotti  t&e  dauntless. 


CANTO   FIBST. 


List  to  the  valorous  deeds  that  were  done 
By  Harold   the  Dauntless,  Count  VVitikind's 
son! 

Count  Witikind  came  of  a  regal  strain. 

And  roved  with  his  Norsemen  the  land  and 

the  main 

Woe  to  the  realms  which  he  coasted  !  for  there 
Was  shedding  of  hi  nod.  and  rending  of  hair, 
Rape  of  maiden,  and  slaughter  of  priest. 
Gathering  of  ravens  and  wolves  to  the  feast: 
When  he  hoisted  his  standard  black. 
Before  him  was  battle,  behind  him  wrack, 
And  be  burn'd  the  churches,  that  heathen 

Dane, 
To  light  his  band  to  their  barks  again. 

II. 

On  Erin's  shores  was  his  outrage  known, 
The  winds  of  France  hail  his  banners  blown; 
Little  was  there  to  plunder,  yet  still 
His  pirates  had  forav'd  on  Scottish  hill: 
But  upon  merry  England's  coast 
More  frequent  he  sail'd,  for  lie  won  the  most. 
So  wide  and  so  far  his  ravage  they  knew. 
If  a  sail  but  gleam'd  white  'gainst  the  welkin 

blue. 

Trumpet  and  huele  to  arms  did  call. 
Burghers  hasten'd  to  man  the  wall, 
Peasants  fled  inland  liis  fury  to  'scape. 
Beacons  were  lighted  on  headland  and  cape, 
Bells  were  toll'd  out,  and  aye  as  thev  rung 
Fearful  and  faintly  the  grey"  brothers  sung. 
••  Bless  us,  St.  Mary,  from  flood  and  from  fire. 
From  famine  and  pest,  and  Count  Witikmd's 

ire !" 

III. 

He  liked  the  wealth  of  fair  England  so  well. 
That  he  sought  in  her  bosom  as  native  to 

dwell. 

He  enter'd  the  Humber  in  fearful  hour. 
And  disembark'd  with  his  Danish  power. 
Three  Earls  came  against  him  with  all  their 

train.— 
Two  hath  he  taken,  and  one  hath  he  slain. 


428 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Count  Witikind  left  the  Humber's  rich  strand, 

And  he  wasted  and  warr'd  in  Northumber- 
land 

But  the  Saxon  Kins  was  a  sire  in  age, 

Weak  in  battle,  in  council  sage; 

Peace  of  that  heathen  leader  he  sought, 

Gifts  he  gavi    and  qmei  he  bought; 

And  the  Count  took  upon  him  the  peaceable 
style 

Of  a  vassal  and  liegeman  of  Britain's  broad 
isle. 

IV. 

Time  will  rust  the  sharpest  sword, 

Time  will  consume  the  strongest  cord ; 

That  which  moulders  hemp  and  steel. 

Mortal  arm  and  nerve  must  feel. 

Of  the  Danish  band,  whom  Count  Witikind 

led. 

Many  wax'd  aged,  and  many  were  dead : 
Himself  found  his  armour  full  weighty  to  bear. 
Wrinkled  his  brows  grew,  and  hoary  his  hair  : 
He  lean'd   on  a  staff,  when   his  step  went 

abroad. 

And  patient  his  palfrey,  when  steed  he  be- 
strode. 

As  he  grew  feebler,  his  wildness  ceased, 
He  made  himself  peace  with  prelate   and 

priest, — 

Made  his  peace,  and.  stooping  his  head, 
Patiently  listed  the  counsel  they  said  : 
Saint  Culhbert's  Bishop  was  holy  and  grave. 
Wise  and  good  was  the  counsel  he  gave. 

V. 

"Thou  hast  murder'd.  robh'd,  and  spoil'd, 
Time  it  is  thy  poor  soul  were  assoil'd  ; 
Priests  didst  thou  slay,  and  churches  burn, 
Time  it  is  now  to  repentance  to  turn ; 
Fiends  hast  thou  worshipp'd,  with  fiendish 

rite. 

Leave  now  the  darkness,  and  wend  into  light : 
O!  while  life  and  space  are  given. 
Turn  thee  yet,  and  think  of  Heaven !" 
That  stern  old  heathen  his  head  he  raised, 
And  on  the  good  prelate  he  stedfastly  gazed  ; 
"Give  me  broad  lauds  ou  the  Wear  and  the 

Tyne, 
My  faith  I  will  leave,  and  I'll  cleave  unto 

thine." 

VI. 

Broad  lands  he  gave  him  on  Tyne  and  Wear, 
To  be  held  of  the  church  by  bridle  and  spear ; 
Part  of  Monkwearmouth.  of  Tynedale  part, 
To  belter  his  will,  and  to  soften  his  heart : 
Count  Witikind  was  a  joyful  man. 
Less  for  the  faith  than  the  lands  that  he  wan. 
The  higli  church  of  Durham  is  dress'd  for  the 

day. 

The  clergy  are  rank'd  in  their  solemn  array  : 
There  came  the  Count,  in  a  bear-skin  warm, 
Leaning  on  Hilda  his  concubine's  arm 
He  kneel'd  before  Saint  Cuthbert's  shrine, 
With  patience  unwonted  at  rites  divine ; 
He  abjured  the  gods  of  heaihen  race, 
And  he  bent  his  head  at  the  font  of  grace. 
But  such  was  the  grisly  old  proselyte's  look, 
That  the  priest  who  baptized  Him  grew  pale 

and  shook ; 
And  the  old  monks  mutter'd  beneath  their 

hood, 
"Of  a  stem  so  stubborn  can  never  spring 

good!" 


VII. 

Up  then  arose  that  grim  convertite. 
Homeward  he  hied  him  when  ended  the  rite; 
The  Prelate  in  honour  will  with  him  ride. 
And  feast  in  his  nasMr  on  Tyne's  fair  side 
Banners  and  banderols  danced  in  the  wind. 
Monks  rode  before  them,  and  spearmen  be- 
hind ; 

Onward  they  pass'd.  till  fairly  did  shine 
Pennon  and  cross  on  the  bosom  of  Tyne ; 
And  full  in  front  did  that  fortress  lower. 
In  darksome  strength  with  its  buttress  and 

tower : 

At  the  castle  Kate  was  young  Harold  there, 
Count  Witikind's  only  offspring  and  heir. 

vni. 

Young  Harold  was  fear'd  for  his  hardihood. 

His  strength  of  frame,  and  his  fury  of  mood. 

Kude  he  was  and  wild  to  behold. 

Wore  neither  collar  nor  bracelet  of  gold, 

Cap  of  vair  nor  rich  array. 

Such  as  should  grace  that  festal  day  : 

His  doublet  of  bull's  hide  was  all  unbraced, 

Uncover'd  his  head,  and  his  sandal  unlaced  : 

His  shaggy  black  locks  on  his  brow  hung  low, 

And  his  eyes  glauced  through  them  a  swarthy 

glow ; 

A  Danish  club  in  his  hand  he  bore, 
The  spikes  were  clotted  with  recent  gore ; 
At  his  back  a  she-wolf,  and  her  wolf-cubs 

twain. 

In  the  dangerous  chase  that  morning  slain. 
Rude  was  the  greeting  his  father  he  made. 
None  to  the  Bishop,— while  thus  he  said  : — 

IX. 

"  What  priest-led  hypocrite  art  thou, 

With  thy  humbled    look    and    thy   monkish 

brow, 
Like  a  shaveling  who  studies  to  cheat  his 

vow? 

Can'st  thou  be  Witikind  the  Waster  known, 
Royal  Eric's  fearless  son. 
Haughty  Gunhilda's  haughtier  lord, 
Who  won  his  bride  by  the  axe  and  sword : 
From  the  shrine  of  St.  Peter  the  chalice  who 

tore. 

And  melted  to  bracelets  for  Freya  and  Thor ; 
With  one  blow  of  his  gauntlet  who  burst  the 

skull. 

Before  Odin's  stone,  of  the  Mountain  Bull  ? 
Then  ye  worshipp'd  with  rites  that  to  war- 
gods  belong. 
With  the  deed  of  the  brave,  and  the  blow  of 

the  strong; 

And  now.  in  thine  age  to  dotage  sunk. 
Wilt  thou   patter  thy   crimes    to    a   shaven 

monk, — 

Lay  down  thy  mail-shirt  for  clothing  of  hair, — 
Fasting  and  scourge,  like  a  slave,  wilt  thou 

bear? 

Or.  at  best,  be  admitted  in  slothful  bower 
To  batten  with  priest  and  wilh  paramour? 
Oh  !  out  upon  thine  endless  shame  ! 
Each  Scald's  high  harp  shall  Mast  thy  fame. 
AnJ  thy  son  will  refuse  thee  a  father's  ntme !" 


Ireful  wax'd  old  Wjtikind's  look. 

His  faltering  voice  with  fury  shook  :— 


HAROLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


429 


'  Hear  me.  Harold  of  harden'd  heart ! 
Stubborn  and  wilful  ever  ihou  wert. 
Thine  outrage  insane  I  command  thee  to  cease, 
Fear  my  wrath  and  remain  at  peace : — 
Just  is  the  debt  of  repentance  I've  paid, 
Kichly  the  church  has  a  recompense  made. 
And  the  truth  of  her  doctrines  1  prove  with 

my  blade. 

But  reckoning  to  none  of  my  actions  I  owe. 
And  least  to  my  son  such  accounting  will  show. 
Why  speak  I  to  thee  of  repentance  or  truth. 
Who  ne'er  from  thy  childhood  knew  reason  or 

ruth  ? 

Hence !  to  the  wolf  and  the  bear  in  her  den ; 
These  are  thy  mates,  and  not  rational  men." 

XI. 

Grimly  smiled  Harold,  and  coldly  replied, 
"  We  must  honour  our  sires,  if  we  fear  when 

they  chide 

For  me,  1  am  yet  what  thy  lessons  have  made, 
I  was  rock'd  in  a  buckler  and  fed  from  a  blade ; 
An  infant,  was  taught  to  clasp  hands  and  to 

shout 
From  the  roofs  of  the  tower  when  the  flame 

had  broke  out : 

In  the  blood  of  slam  foemen  my  finger  to  dip, 
And  tinge  with  its  purple  my  cheek  and  my 

lip  — 
'Tis  thou  know'st  not  troth,  that  hast  barter'd 

in  eld, 

For  a  price,  the  brave  faith  that  thine  ances- 
tors held. 
When  this  wolf."— and  the  carcass  he  flung 

on  the  plain. — 
"Shall  awake  and  give  food  to  her  nurslings 

again. 

The  face  of  his  father  will  Harold  review ; 
Till  then,  aged    Heathen,  young   Christian 

adieu!" 

XII. 

Priest,  monk,  and  prelate,  stood  aghast. 
As  through  the  pageant  the  heathen  pass'd. 
A  cross  bearer  out  of  his  saddle  he  flung. 
Laid   his   hand   on  the  pommel,  and  into  it 

sprung 

Loud  was  the  shriek,  and  deep  the  groan, 
When  the  holy  sign  on  the  earth  was  thrown 
The  fierce  old  Count  unsheathed  his  brand, 
But  the  calmer  Prelate  stay'd  his  hand. 
"Let    him    pass    free!  —  Heaven    knows   its 

hour.— 

But  he  must  own  repentance's  power, 
Pray  and  weep,  and  penance  bear, 
lire  he  hold  land  by  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear. 
Thus  in  scorn  and  in  wrath  from  his  father  is 


XIII. 

High  wns  the  fenstin?  in  Wjtikind's  hall. 
Keveil'd  priests,  soldiers,  an.l  pagans,  and  all ; 
And  e'en  the  good  Bishop  was  fain  to  endure 
Thescarulal,  which  lime  and  instruction  might 

cure : 
It  were  dangerous,  he  deem'd,  at  the  first  t< 

restrain. 
In  his  wine  and  his  wassail,  a  half-christen'd 

Dime. 
The   mead   flow'd  around,  and  the  ale  was 

drain'd  drv. 
Wild  was  the  laughter,  the  song,  and  the  cry ; 


With  Kyrie  Eleison,  came  clamorously  in 
The  war-songs  of  Danesmen,  Norweyau,  and 

Finn, 

Till  man  after  man  (he  contention  gave  o'er, 
Outstretch'd  on  the  rushes  that  strew'd  the 

hall  floor; 
And  the  tempest  within,  having  censed  its 

wild  rout, 
Gave  place  to  the  tempest  that  thunder 'd 

without. 

XIV. 

Apart  from  the  wassail,  in  turret  alone, 

Lay  flaren-hair'd  Gunnar,  old  Ermengarde's 

son; 
In  the  train  of  Lord  Harold  that  Page  was  the 

first, 
For  Harold  in  childhood   had   Ermengarde 

nursed ; 
And  grieved  was  young  Gunnar  his  master 

should  roam. 
Unhoused    and    unfriended,   an   exile   from 

home. 
He  heard  the  deep  thunder,  the  plashing  of 

rain, 
He  saw  the  red  lightning  through  shot-hole 

and  pane : 
And  oh !"  said  the  Page,  "  on  the  shelterless 

wold 
Lord  Harold  is  wandering  in  darkness  and 

cold! 
What  though  he  was  stubborn,  and  wayward, 

and  wild. 
He  endured  me  because  I  was  Ermengarde's 

child  — 

And  often  from  dawn  till  the  set  of  the  sun, 
In  the  chase,  by  his  stirrup,  unbidden  I  run; 
I  would  1  were  older,  and  knighthood  could 

bear, 
I  would  soon  quit  the  banks  of  the  Tyne  and 

the  Wear : 

For  my  mother's  command,  with  her  last  part- 
ing breath, 
Bade  me  follow  her  nursling  in  life  and  to 

death. 

XV.      . 

"  It  pours  and  it  thunders,  it  lightens  amain, 
As  if  Lok,  the  Destroyer,  had  burst  from  his 

chain ! 
Accursed  by  the  Church,  and  expell'd  by  his 

sire, 
Nor  Christian,  nor  Dane  give  him  shelter  or 

fire. 
And  this  tempest  what  mortal  may  houseless 

endure? 

Unaided,  un mantled,  he  dies  on  the  moor! 
Whate'er  comes  of  Gunnar,  he   tarries  not 

here" 
He  leapt  from  his  couch  and  he  grasp'd  to  his 

spear; 
Sought  the  hall  of  the  feast.    Undisturb'd  by 

his  tread. 
The  wassailers  slept  fast  as  the  sleep  of  the 

dead  : 
"  Ungrateful  and  bestial !"  his  anger  broke 

forth. 
"  To  forget  'mid  your  goblets  the  pride  of  the 

North! 
And  you.  ye  cowl'd  priests,  who  have  plenty 

in  store, 
Must  give  Gunnar  for  ransom  a  palfrey  and 

ore." 


430 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


xvi. 

Then,  heeding  full  little  of  ban  or  of  curse, 
He  has  seized  on  the  Prior  of  Jorvaux's  purse  : 
Saint   Meneliolt's   Abbot    next    morning    hits 

miss'd 
His  mantle,  deep  furr'd  from  the  cape  to  the 

wrist  : 
The  Seneschal's  keys  from  his  belt  lie  has 

ta'eii. 
(Well  drench'd  on  that  eve  was  old  Hilde- 

hraml's  brain.) 

To  the  stable-yard  he  made  his  way, 
And  mounted  the  Bishop's  palfrey  pay, 
Castle  and  hamlet,  behind  him  has  oast, 
And  riiht  on  his  way  to  the  moorland  has 

pass'd. 

Sore  snorted  the  palfrey,  unused  to  face 
A  weather  so  wild  at  s<>  rash  a  pace  ; 
So  long  he  snorted,  so  loud  he  neigh'd, 
There  answer'd  a  steed  that  was  bound  beside, 
And  the  red  flash  of  lightning  show'd  there 

where  lay 
His  master.  Lord  Harold,  outstretch'd  on  the 

clay. 

XV11. 

Up  he  started,  and  thunder'd  out,  "Stand  !" 
And  raised  the  club  in  his  deadly  hand. 
The  flaxen  hair'd  Gunnar  his  purpose  told, 
Show'd  the  palfrey  and  proffer'd  the  gold. 
'•  Back.  hack,  and  home,  thou  simple  boy  ! 
Thou  canst  not  share  my  grief  or  joy  : 
Have  I  not  mark'd  thee  wail  and  cry 
When  thou  hast  seen  a  sparrow  die  ? 
And  canst  thou,  as  my  follower  should, 
Wade  ankle-deep  through  fneman's  blood, 
Dare  mortal  and  immortal  foe, 
The  gods  above,  the  fiends  below. 
And  man  on  earth,  more  hateful  still, 
The  very  fountain-head  of  ill  ? 
Desperate  of  life,  and  careless  of  death. 
I  .over  of  bloodshed,  anil  slaughter,  and  scathe, 
Such  must  thou  be  with  me  to  roam. 
And  such  thou  canst  not  be  —  back,  and  home  ! 

XVIII. 

Young  Gunnar  shook  like  an  aspen  hough, 
As  he  heard  the  harsh  voice  and  beheld  the 

dark  brow, 

And  half  he  repented  his  purpose  and  vow. 
But  now  to  draw  back  were  bootless  shame, 
And  he  loved  his  master,  so  urged  his  claim  : 
"Alas!  if  my  arm  and  my  courage  be  weak, 
Bear  with  me  a  while  for  old  Errnengarde's 

sake: 

Nor  deem  so  lightly  of  Gunnar's  faith, 
As  to  fear  he  would  break  it  for  peril  of  death. 
Have  1  mil  risk'd  it  to  fetch  thee  this  gold, 
Tins  surcoat  and  mantle  to  fence  thee  from 

cold  ? 

And,  did  I  bear  a  baser  mind, 
What  lot  remains  if  1  slay  behind  ? 
The  priests'  revenge,  thy  father's  wrath 
A  dungeon,  and  a  shameful  death." 


XIX. 


Twere    bootless    to   tell   what  climes   they 

sought. 

Ventures  achieved,  and  battles  fought; 
How  oft  with  few.  how  oft  alime, 
Fierce  Harold's  arm  the  field  hath  won. 
Men  swore  his  eye.  that  flash'd  so  red 
When  each  other  glauce  was  quench'd  with 

dread, 

Bore  oft  a  light  of  deadly  flame, 
That  ne'er  from  mortal  murage  came. 
Those  limbs  so  strong,  that  mood  so  stern, 
That  loved  the  couch  of  heath  and  fern, 
Afar  from  hamlet,  tower,  and  town. 
More  than  to  rest  on  driven  down ; 
That  stubborn  frame,  that  sullen  mood. 
Men  deenfd  must  come  of  aught  but  good  ; 
And  they  whisper'd,  the  great  Master  Fiend 

was  at  one 
With  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikiud's 

son. 

XX. 
.  Years  after  years  had  gone  and  fled, 

'I  he  good  old  Prelate  lies  lapp'd  in  lead; 
I  In  the  chapel  still  is  shown 
His  sculptured  form  on  a  marble  stone, 
With  staff  and  ring  and  scapulaire. 
And  folded  hands  in  the  act  of  prayer. 
Saint  (.' 11  ih ben's  mitre  is  resting  nnw 
On  the  haughty  Saxon,  bold  Aldingar's  brow ; 
The  power  of  his  crozier  he  loved  to  extend 
O'er  whatever   would    break,    or    whatever 

would  bend ; 
And  now  hath  he  clothed  him  in  cope  and  in 

nail, 
And  the  Chapter  of  Durham  has  met  at  his 

call. 
••  And  hear  ye  not,  brethren,"  the  proud  Bishop 

said, 
"  That  our  vassal,  the  Danish  Count  Witikiud'g 

dead? 

All  his  gold  and  his  goods  hath  he  given 
To  holy  Church  for  ihe  love  of  Heaven, 
And  hath  founded  a  chantry  with  stipend  and 

dole, 
That  priests  and  that  beadsmen  may  pray  for 

his  soul : 

Harold  his  son  is  wandering  abroad, 
Dreaded  by  man  and  abhorr'd  by  God ; 
Meet  it  is  not,  that  such  should  heir 
The  lands  of  the  church  on  the  Tyne  and  the 

Wear, 

And  at  her  pleasure,  her  hallow'd  hands 
May  now  resume  these  wealthy  lands." 

XXI. 

Answer'd  good  Eustace,  a  canon  old. — 
"  Harold  is  tameless,  and  furious,  and  bold  ; 
Ever  Renown  blows  a  note  of  fame. 
And  a  note  of  fear,  when  she  sounds  his  name: 
Much  of  bloodshed  and  much  of  scathe 
Have   been   their  lot  who   have   waked   his 

wrath. 

Leave  him  these  lands  and  lordships  still. 
Heaven  in  its  hour  may  change  his  will; 
But  if  reft  of  gold,  and  of  living  bare, 
An  evil  counsellor  is  despair." 
More  had  he  said,  but  the  Prelate  frown'd. 
And  murmur'd  his  brethren  who  sale  around. 
And  with  one  consent  have  they  given  their 

doom, 
That  the  Church  should  the  lauds  of  Saint 

Cuthbert  resume. 

So  will'd  the  Prelate ;  and  canon  and  dean 
Gave  to  his  judgment  their  loud  amen. 


HAROLD    THE    DAUNTLESS. 


431 


tljc  IDauntless. 


CA.NTO   SEOOK  D. 


I. 

Tis  merry  in  greenwood,  — thus  runs  the  old 

In  the  gladsome  month  of  lively  May, 
When  the  wild  birds'  song  on  stem  and  spray 

Invites  to  forest  bower; 
Then  rears  the  ash  his  airy  crest, 
Then  shines  the  birch  in  silver  vest, 
And  the  beecli  in  glistening  leaves  is  drest, 
And  dark   between  shows  the  oak's  proud 
breast, 

Like  a  chieftain's  frowning  tower  ; 
Though  a  thousand  branches  join  their  screen, 
Vet  the  broken  sunbeams  glance  between, 
And  tip  the  leaves  with  lighter  green, 

With  brighter  tints  the  flower : 
Dull  is  the  heart  that  loves  not  then 
The  deep  recess  of  the  wildwood  glen. 
Where  roe  and  red-deer  find  sheltering  den, 

When  the  sun  is  in  his  power. 

II. 

Less  merry,  perchance,  is  the  fading  leaf 
That  follows  so  soon  on  the  gather'd  sheaf, 

When  the  greenwood  loses  the  name; 
Silent  is  then  the  forest  bound, 
Save  the  redbreast's  note,  and  the  rustling 

sound 

Of  frost-nipt  leaves  that  are  dropping  round, 
Or  the  deep-mouth'd  cry  of  the  distant  hound 

That  opens  on  his  game  : 
Yet  then,  too,  I  love  the  forest  wide, 
Whether  the  sun  in  splendour  ride, 
And  gild  its  manv-culour'd  side; 
Or  whether  the  soft  and  silvery  haze. 
In  vapoury  folds,  o'er  the  landscape  strays, 
And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze, 

Like  an  early  widow's  veil, 
Where  wirnpling  tissue  from  the  gaze 
The  form  half  hides,  and  half  betrays, 

Of  beauty  wan  and  pale. 

III. 

Fair  Metelill  was  a  woodland  maid. 
Her  father  a  rover  of  greenwood  shade, 
By  forest  statutes  undismay'd. 

Who  lived  by  bow  and  quiver; 
Well  known  was  Wulfstane's  archery, 
By  merry  Tyne  both  on  moor  and  lea, 
Through  wooded  Weardale's  glens  so  free, 
Well  beside  Stanhope's  wildwood  tree. 

And  well  on  Ganlesse  river. 
Yet  free  though  he  trespass 'd  on  woodland 

game, 
More  known  and  more  fear'd  was  the  wizard 

fame 

Of  Jutta  of  Rookhope,  the  Outlaw's  dame ; 
Fear'd  when  she  frown'd  was  her  eye  of  flame, 

More  fear'd  when  in  wrath  she  laugh'd  ; 
For  then,  'twas  said,  more  fatal  true 
To  its  dread  aim  her  spell-glance  flew, 
Than  when  from  Wulfstane's  bended  yew 

Sprung  forth  the  grey-goose  shaft. 

IV. 

Yet  had  this  fierce  and  dreaded  pair. 
So  Heaven  decreed,  a  daughter  fair ; 


None  brighter  crown'd  the  bed, 
In  Britain's  bounds,  of  peer  or  prince, 
Nor  hath,  perchance,  a  lovelier  since 

In  this  fair  isle  been  bred. 
And  nought  of  fraud,  or  ire.  or  ill, 
Was  known  to  gentle  Metelill,— 

A  simple  itmiden  she; 
Tin;  spelts  in  dimpled  smile  that  lie, 
And  a  downcast  blush,  and  the  darts  that  fly 
With  the  sidelong  glance  of  a  hazel  eye, 

Were  her  arms  and  witchery. 
So  young,  so  simple  was  she  yet, 
She  scarce  could  ch|ldhood's  joys  forget, 
And  still  she  loved,  in  secret  set 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
To  phut  the  rushy  coronet. 
And  braid  with  flowers  her  locks  of  jet, 

As  when  in  infancy  ;— 
Yet  could  that  heart,  so  simple,  prove 
The  early  dnwn  of  stealing  love  : 

Ah  !  gentle  maid,  beware ! 
The  power  who,  now  so  mild  a  guest, 
Gives  dangerous  yet  delicious  zest 
To  the  calm  pleasures  of  thy  breast, 
Will  soon,  a  tyrant  o'er  the  rest, 

Let  none  his  empire  share. 

V. 

One  morn,  in  kirtle  green  array'd, 
Deep  in  the  wood  the  maiden  siray'd, 

And,  where  a  fountain  sprung, 
She  sate  her  down,  unseen,  to  ttiread 
The  scarlet  berry's  mimic  braid. 

And  while  the  beads  she  strung, 
Like  the  blithe  lark,  whose  carol  gay 
Gives  a  good-morrow  to  the  day, 

So  lightsomely  she  sung. 


SON  o. 

Lord  William  was  born  in  gilded  bower, 
The  heir  of  Wilton'*  lofty  tower  ; 
Yet  better  loves  Lord  William  now 
To  roam  beneath  wild  Rookhope 's  brow; 
And  William  has  lived  where  ladies  fair 
With  gawds  and  jewels  deck  their  hair, 
Yet  better  loves  the  dewdrops  still 
That  pearl  the  locks  of  Metelill. 

"The  pious  Palmer  loves.  I  wis, 
Saint  Cuthbert's  hallow'd  beads  to  kiss; 
But  1,  though  simple  girl  I  be. 
Might  have  such  homage  paid  to  me; 
For  did  Lord  William  see  me  suit 
I'his  necklace  of  the  bramble's  fruit, 
He  fain— but  must  not  have  his  will — 
Would  kiss  the  beads  of  Melelill. 

•  My  nurse  has  told  me  many  a  tale, 
Sow  vows  of  love  are  weak  and  frail ; 
My  mother  says  that  courtly  youth 
I5y  rustic  maid  means  seldom  sooth. 
What  should  they  mean  ?  it  cannot  be, 
That  such  a  warning's  meant  tor  me. 
For  nought— oh  !  nought  of  fraud  or  ill 
Jan  William  mean  to  Metelill  I" 

VII. 

Sudden  she  stops— and  starts  to  feel 
A  weighty  hand,  a  glove  of  steel, 
^'pon  her  shrinking  shoulders  laid  ; 
fearful  she  turn'd,  and  saw,  dismay'd, 
A  Knight  in  plate  and  mail  array'd, 
lis  crest  and  hearing  worn  and  fray'd, 


432 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


His  surcoat  soil'd  and  riven, 
Forni'd  like  that  giant  race  of  yore. 
Whose  Ions  continued  crimes  outwore 

The  sufferance  of  Heaven. 
Stem  accents  made  his  pleasure  known, 
Though  then  he  used  his  gentlest  tone: 
'•  Maiden.''  he  said,  "  sing  fort  h  thy  glee. 
Start  not — sing  ou — it  pleases  me." 

vm. 

Secured  within  his  powerful  hold, 
To  bend  her  knee,  her  hands  to  fold. 

Was  all  the  maiden  might; 
And  "Oh!  forgive,"  she  faintly  said, 
"The  terrors  of  a  simple  maid, 

If  thou  art  mortal  wight ! 
But  if — of  such  strange  tales  are  told — 
Unearthly  warrior  of  the  wold, 
Thou  comest  to  chide  mine  accents  bold. 
My  mother.  Jutta,  knows  the  spell, 
At  noon  and  midnight  pleasing  well 

The  disembodied  ear; 
Oh !  let  her  powerful  charms  atone 
For  aught  my  rashness  may  have  done, 

And  cease  thy  grasp  of  fear." 
Then  laugh 'd  the  Knight— his  laughter's  sound 
Half  in  the  hollow  helmet  drowu'd ; 
His  barred  vizor  then  he  raised, 
And  steady  on  the  maiden  gazed. 
He  smooth'd  his  brows,  as  best  he  might. 
To  the  dread  calm  of  autumn  night, 

When  sinks  the  tempest  roar; 
Yet  still  the  cautious  fishers  eye 
The  clouds,  and  fear  the  gloomy  sky, 

And  haul  their  barks  on  shore. 

IX. 

"  Damsel."  he  said,  "  be  wise,  and  learn 
Matters  of  weight  and  deep  concern  : 

From  distant  realms  I  none, 
And.  wanderer  long,  at  length  have  plann'd 
In  this  my  native  Northern  laud 

To  seek  myself  a  home. 
Nor  that  alone— a  mate  1  seek  ; 
She  must  be  gentle,  soft,  and  meek, — 

No  lordly  dame  for  me ; 
Myself  am  something  rough  of  mood, 
And  feel  the  fire  of  royal  blood. 
And  therefore  do  not  hold  it  good 

To  match  in  my  degree. 
Then,  since  coy  maidens  say  my  face 
Is  harsh,  my  form  devoid  of  grace, 
For  a  fair  lineage  to  provide, 
'Tis  meet  that  my  selected  bride 

In  lineaments  be  fair; 
I  love  thine  well— till  now  I  ne'er 
Look'd  patient  on  a  face  of  fear, 
But  now  that  tremulous  sob  and  tear 

Become  thy  beauty  rare. 
One  kiss — nay,  damsel,  coy  it  not! — 
And  now  go  seek  thy  parents'  cot, 
And  say,  a  bridegroom  soon  I  come. 
To  woo  my  love,  and  bear  her  home." 


Home  sprung  the  maid  without  a  pause 
As  leveret  'scaped  from  greyhound's  jav 
But  still  she  lock'd.  howe'er  distress'd, 
The  secret  in  her  boding  breast ; 
Dreading  her  sire,  who  oft.  forbade 
Her  steps  should  stray  to  disiant  glade. 
Night  carne— to  her  accustom'd  nook 
I  Her  distaff  aged  Jutta  took, 


And  by  the  lamp's  imperfect  glow. 
Rough  Wulfstane  trimin'd  his  shafts  and  bow. 
Sudden  and  clamorous,  from  the  ground 
Upstarted  slumbering  nrach  and  hound  ; 
Loud  knocking  next  the  lodse  alarms, 
And  Wultstane  snatches  at  Ins  arms, 
When  open  flew  the  yielding  door. 
And  that  grim  Warrior  press 'd  the  floor. 

XI. 

"  All  peace  be  here— What !  none  replies  T 
Dismiss  your  fears  and  your  surprise. 
'Tis  1— that  Maid  hath  told  my  tale,— 
Or,  trembler,  did  thy  courage  fail  1 
It  recks  not — it  is  I  demand 
Fair  Metelill  in  marriage  band  ; 
Harold  the  Dauntless  1,  whose  name 
Is  brave  men's  boast  and  caitiff's  shame." 
The  parents  sought  e;tch  other's  eyes, 
With  awe,  resentment,  and  surprise: 
Wulfstane,  to  quarrel  prompt,  began 
The  stranger's  size  and  thewes  to  scan ; 
But  as  he  scann'd.  his  courage  sunk, 
And  from  unequal  strife  he  shrunk, 
Then  forth,  to  blight  and  blemish,  flies 
The  harmful  curse  from  Jutta's  eyes ; 
Yet,  fatal  howsoe'er,  the  spell 
On  Harold  innocently  fell ! 
And  disappointment  and  amaze 
Were  in  the  witch's  wilder'd  gaze. 

XII. 

But  soon  the  wit  of  woman  woke, 
And  to  the  Warrior  mild  she  spoke  : 
'•  Her  child  was  all  too  young." — "A  toy, 
The  refuge  of  a  maiden  coy." — 
Again.  "  A  powerful  baron's  heir 
Claims  in  her  heart  an  interest  fair." — 
"  A  trifle — whisper  in  his  ear 
That  Harold  is  a  suitor  here  !" — 
Baffled  at  length  she  sought  delay : 
"  Would  not  the  Knight  till  morning  stay? 
Late  was  the  hour — lie  there  might  rest 
Till  morn,  their  lodge's  hononr'd  guest.' 
Such  were  her  words, — her  craft  might  cast, 
Her  honour'd  guest  should  sleep  his  last ; 
"No,  not  to-night — but  soon,"  he  swore, 
"  He  would  return,  nor  leave  them  more." 
The  threshold  then  his  huge  stride  crost, 
And  soon  iie  was  m  darkness  lost, 

XIII. 

Appall'd  a  while  the  parents  stood, 
Then  changed  their  fear  to  ansrv  mood, 
And  foremost  frll  their  words  of  ill 
On  unresisting  Metelill: 
Was  she  not  caution'd  and  forbid, 
Forewarn'd,  implored,  accused  and  chid, 
And  must  she  still  to  greenwood  roam, 
To  marshal  such  misfortune  home  ? 
"  Hence,  minion— to  thy  chamber  hence — 
There  prudence  learn,  and  penitence." 
She  went — her  lonely  couch  to  steep 
In  tears  which  absent  lovers  weep; 
Or  if  she  gain'd  a  troubled  sleep. 
Fierce  Harold's  suit  was  still  the  theme 
Aud  terror  of  her  feverish  dream. 

XIV. 

Scarce  was  she  gone,  her  dame  and  sire 
Upon  each  other  hent  their  ire ; 
"  A  woodsman  thou.  and  hast  a  spear, 
And  coiildst  thou  such  an  insult  hear ''." 


HAROLD    THE    DAUNTLESS. 


433 


Sullen  he  said,  "  A  man  contends 

Wjtli  men,  a  witch  with  sprites  and  fiends; 

Not  to  mere  mortal  wiglit  belong 

Yon  gloomy  brow  and  Ira  me  so  strong. 

But  I'linu— is  this  thy  promise  fair, 

That  vnur  Lord  William,  wealthy  heir 

To  L'lrick,  Baron  of  Witton-le-Wear, 

Should  Melelill  to  altar  bear? 

Do  all  the  spells  thou  hoast'st  as  thine 

Serve  but  to  slay  some  peasant's  kine, 

His  gram  in  autumn's  storms  to  steep. 

Or  thorough  fog:  and  fen  to  sweep, 

And  hag-ride  some  poor  rust.ic's  sleep? 

Is  such  mean  miM-hief  wortli  the  fame 

Of  sorceress  and  witch's  name? 

Fame,  which  with  all  men's  wish  conspires, 

Wnh  thy  deserts  and  my  desires, 

To  damn  thy  corpse  to  penal  fires  ? 

Out  on  thee.  witch!  aroint!  aroint! 

What  now  shall  put  thy  schemes  ill  joint 

Wliat  save  this  irusty  arrow's  point, 

From  the  dark  dingle  when  it  flies, 

And  he  who  meets  it  gasps  and  dies." 

XV. 

Stern  she  replied,  "I  will  not  wage 
War  with  thy  folly  or  thy  rage  ; 
But  ere  the  morrow's  sun  be  low, 
WulfsUme  of  Rookhope.  thou  shall  know, 
If  I  can  venge  me  on  a  foe. 
Believe  the  while,  that  whatsoe'er 
I  spoke,  in  ire.  of  bow  and  spear, 
It  is  not  Harold's  destiny 
The  death  of  pilfer'd  deer  to  die. 
Hut  he,  and  thou,  and  yon  pale  moon, 
(That  shall  be  yet  more  pallid  soon, 
Before  she  sink  behind  the  dell,) 
Thou,  she.  and  Harold  too,  shall  tell 
Whiit  Jutta  knows  of  charm  or  spell." 
Thus  muttering,  to  the  door  she  bent 
Her  wayward  steps,  and  forth  she  went, 
And  left  alone  the  moody  sire, 
To  cherish  or  to  slake  his  ire. 

XVI. 

Far  faster  than  belong'd  to  age 
Has  Jutta  made  her  pilgrimage. 
A  priest  has  me',  her  as  she  pass'd, 
And  cross'd  himself  and  stood  aghast: 
She  traced  a  hamlet — not  a  cur 
His  throat  would  ope,  his  foot  would  stir; 
15v  crouch,  by  trembling,  and  by  groan, 
They  made  her  hated  presence  known ! 
But  when  she  trode  the  sable  fell. 
Were  wilder  sounds  her  way  to  tell,— 
For  far  was  heard  the  fox's  yell, 
The  black-cock  waked  and  faintly  crew, 
Soream'd  o'er  the  moss  the  scared  curlew ; 
Where  o'er  the  cataract  the  oak 
Lay  slant,  was  heard  the  raven's  croak  ; 
The  moantain-cat,  which  sought  his  prey, 
Glared,  srreacn'd.  anil  started  Irom  her  way. 
Sue!,  music  cheer'd  her  journey  lone 
To  Lhe  dt-ep  dell  and  rocking  stone  : 
There,  with  unhallow'd  hymn  of  praise, 
Sue  cali'd  a  God  of  heathen  days. 

XVII. 

INVOCATION. 
"From  thy  Pomeranian  throne, 
Hewn  in  rock  of  living  stone, 
Where,  to  thy  godhead  faithful  yet, 
Bend  Ksthoman,  Finn,  and  Lett, 


And  their  swords  in  vensreance  whet, 
That  shall  make  thine  altars  wet, 
Wet  and  red  for  ages  more 
With  the  Christians'  hated  gore, — 
Hear  me  !  Sovereign  of  the  Rock, 
Hear  me  !  mighty  Zernebuck ! 

"  Mightiest  of  the  mighty  known. 
Here  thy  wonders  have  been  shown; 
Hundred  tribes  in  various  tongue 
Oft  have  here  thy  praises  sung; 
Down  that  stone  with  Runic  seam'd, 
Hundred  victims'  blood  hath  stream'd  ! 
Now  one  woman  comes  alone, 
And  but  wets  it  with  her  own, 
The  last,  the  feeblest  of  thy  flock,— 
Hear — and  be  present,  Zernebock  ! 

"  Hark  !  he  comes!  the  night-blast  cold 
Wilder  sweeps  along  the  wold ; 
The  cloudless  moon  grows  dark  and  dim, 
And  bristling  hair  and  quaking  limb 
Proclaim  the  Master  Demon  nigh.— 
Those  who  view  his  form  shall  die! 
Lo  !  I  stoop  and  veil  my  head ; 
Thou  who  ridest  the  tempest  dread, 
Shaking  hill  and  rending  oak — 
Spare  me  !  spare  me !  Zernebonk. 

"  He  comes  not  yet !    Shall  cold  delay 
Thy  votaress  at  her  need  repay  ? 
Thou— shall  1  call  thee  god  or  fieud? — 
Let  others  on  thy  mood  attend 
With  prayer  and  ritual— Jutta's  arms 
Are  necromantic  words  and  charms; 
Mine  is  the  spell,  that,  ulter'd  once. 
Shall  wake  Thy  Master  from  Ins  trance, 
Shake  his  red  mansion-house  of  pain, 
And  burst  his  seven-times-twisted  chain! — 
So  !  coin'stlhou  ere  the  spell  is  spoke  ? 
I  own  thy  presence,  Zeriiebock." — 

XVIII. 

"  Daughter  of  dust,"  the  Deep  Voice  said, 
—Shook  while  it  spoke  the  vale  for  dread, 
Rock'd  on  the  base  that  massive  stone, 
The  Evil  Deity  to  own. — 
"  Daughter  of  dust !  not  mine  the  power 
Thou  seek'st  on  Harold's  fatal  hour. 
'Twixt  heaven  and  hell  there  is  a  strife 
Waged  for  his  soul  and  for  his  life. 
And"  tain  would  we  the  combat  win, 
And  snatch  him  in  his  hour  of  sin. 
There  is  a  star  now  rising  red, 
That  threats  him  with  an  influence  dread: 
Woman,  thine  arts  of  malice  whet, 
To  use  the  space  before  it  set. 
Involve  him  with  the  church  in  strife, 
Push  on  adventurous  chance  his  life ; 
Ourself  will  in  the  hour  of  need. 
As  best  we  may  thy  counsels  speed." 
So  ceased  the  Voice  ;  for  seven  leagues  round 
Kach  hamlet  started  at  the  sound; 
But  slept  again,  as  slowly  died 
Its  thunders  on  the  hill's  brown  side. 

XIX. 

"  And  is  this  all,"  said  Jutta  stern, 
"  That  thou  can'st  teach  and  I  can  learn' 
Hence  !  to  the  land  of  fog  and  waste, 
There  fittest  is  thine  influence  placed, 
Thou  powerless,  sluggish  Deity  ! 
But  ne'er  shall  Briton  bend  the  knee 
Again  before  so  poor  a  god." 
She  struck  the  altar  with  her  rod  ; 


434 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Slight  was  the  touch,  as  when  at  need 

A  damsel  stirs  her  tardy  steed  ; 

But  to  the  blow  the  stone  gave  place, 

And,  starting  from  its  balanced  base, 

Koll'd  thundering  down  the  moonlight  dell, — 

Re-echo'd  moorland,  rock,  and  fell; 

Into  the  moonlight  tarn  it  dash  id, 

Their  shores  the  sounding  surges  lash'd, 

And  there  was  ripple,  rage,  and  foam; 
But  on  that  lake,  so  dark  and  lone, 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeam  shone 

As  Jutta  hied  her  home. 


CAMTO  THIED. 


Grey  towers  of  Durham!  there  was  once  a 

time 
I  view'd  your  battlements  with  such  vague 

hope. 

As  brightens  life  in  its  first  dawning  prime ; 
Not  that  e'en  then  came  within  fancy's  scope 
A  vision  vain  of  mitre,  throne,  or  cope  ; 
Yet.  gazing  on  the  venerable  hall, 
Her  flattering  dreams  would  in  perspective 

ope 
Some    reverend    room,   some    prebendary's 

stall.— 
And  thus  Hope  me  deceived  as  she  deceiveth 

all. 

Well  yet  1  love  thy  mii'd  and  massive  piles, 
Half  church  of  God,  half  castle  'gainst  the 

Scot. 

And  long  to  roam  these  venerable  aisles, 
With  records  stored  of  deeds  long  since  forgot ; 
There  might  I  share  my  Surtees'  happier  lot, 
Who  leaves  at  will  his  patrimonial  Held 
To  ransack  every  crypt  and  hallow 'd  spot, 
I  And  from  oblivion  rend  the  spoils  they  yield. 
Restoring  priestly  chant  and  clang  of  knightly 

shield. 

Vain  is  the  wish — since  other  cares  demand 
Each  vacant  hour,  and  in  another  clime ; 
But  still  that  northern  harp  invites  my  hand, 
Which  tells  the  wonder  of  thine  earlier  time ; 
And  fain  Its  numbers  would  1  now  command 
To  paint  the  beauties  of  that  dawning  lair, 
When  Harold,  gazing  from  its  lofty  stand 
Upon  the  western  heights  of  Beaurepaire. 
Saw  Saxon  Eadmer's  towers  begirt  by  wind- 
ing Wear. 

Fair  on  the  half-seen  streams  the  sunbeams 

danced. 

Betraying  it  beneath  the  woodland  bank. 
And  fair  between  the  Gothic  turrets  glanced 
Broad  lights,  and  shadows  fell  on  front  and 

flank. 
Where  tower  and  buttress  rose  in  martial 

rank. 

And  girdled  in  the  massive  donjon  Keep, 
And  from  their  circuit  peal'd  o'er  bush  and 

bank 

The  matin  bell  with  summons  long  and  deep. 
And  echo  answer'd  still  with  long-resounding 

sweep. 


III. 

The  morning  mists  rose  from  the  ground, 
Each  merry  bird  awaken'd  round, 

As  if  in  revelrv  ; 
Afar  the  bugles'  clanging  sound 
Call'd  to  the  chase  the  lagging  hound  ; 

The  sale  breath'd  soft  and  free, 
And  seem'd  to  linger  on  its  way 
To  catch  fresh  odours  from  the  spray, 
And  waved  it  in  its  wanton  play 

So  light  and  gamesomely. 
The  scenes  which  morning  beams  reveal, 
Its  sounds  to  hear,  its  gales  to  feel 
In  all  their  fragrance  round  him  steal, 
It  melted  Harold's  heart  of  steel, 
And,  hardly  wotting  why, 
He  doff  'd  his  helmet's  gloomy  pride, 
And  hung  it  on  a  tree  beside, 

Laid  mace  and  falchion  by, 
And  on  the  greensward  sate  him  down, 
And  from  his  dark  habitual  frown 

Kelax'd  his  ruerged  brow  — 
Whoever  hath  the  doubtful  task 
From  that  stern  Dane  a  boon  to  ask, 

Were  wise  to  ask  it  now. 

IV. 

His  place  beside  young  Gunnar  took, 
And  mark'd  his  master's  softening  look, 
And  in  his  eye's  dark  mirror  spied 
The  gloom  of  stormy  thoughts  subside, 
And  cautious  watch'd  the  fittest  tide 

To  speak  a  warning  word. 
So  when  the  torrent's  billows  shrink, 
The  timid  pilgrim  on  the  brink 
Waits  long  to  see  them  wave  and  sink, 

Ere  he  dare  brave  the  ford, 
And  often,  after  doubtful  pause, 
His  step  advances  or  withdraws  : 
Fearful  to  move  the  slumbering  ire 
Of  ins  stern  lord,  thus  stood  the  squire, 

Till  Harold  raised  his  eye, 
That  glanced  as  when  athwart  the  shroud 
Of  the  dispersing  tempest-cloud 

The  bursting  sunbeams  fly. 


••  Arouse  thee,  son  of  Ermengarde 
Offspring  of  prophetess  and  bard  ! 
Take  harp,  and  greet  this  lovely  prime 
With  some  high  strain  of  Runic  rhyme, 
Strong,  deep,  and  powerful  !     Peal  it  round 
Like  that  loud  bell's  sonorous  sound, 
Yet  wild  by  fits,  as  when  the  lay 
Of  bird  and  bugle  hail  the  day. 
Such  was  mv  grandsire  Kne's  sport, 
When  dawu'gleani'd  on  his  martial  court. 
Heymarthe  Scald,  with  harp's  high  sound, 
Summon'd  the  chiefs  who  slept  around  ; 
Couch'd  on  I  he  spoils  of  wolf  and  bea- 
They  roused  like  lions  from  their  lair, 
Then  rush'd  in  emulation  forth 
To  enhance  the  glories  of  the  North.— 
Proud  Eric,  mightiest  of  thy  race, 
Where  is  thy  shadowy  resting-place  ? 
In  wild  Valhalla  hast  thou  quafTd 
Krom  foeman's  skull  metheglin  draught. 
Or  wanderest  where  thy  cairn  was  piled 
To  frown  o'er  oceans  wide  and  wild  1 
Or  have  the  milder  Christians  given 
Thy  refuge  m  their  peaceful  heaven  ? 
Where'er  thou  art,  to  thte  are  known 
Our  toils  endured,  our  trophies  won, 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


435 


Our  wars,  our  wanderings  ami  our  woes." 
He  ceased,  and  Guimar's  song  arose. 


SONG. 

"  Hawk  and  nsprey  scream'd  for  joy 
O'er  the  beetling  cliffs  of  Hoy, 
Crimson  (mini  the  beach  o'erspread, 
Tiie  heath  was  dyed  with  darker  red, 
When  o'er  trie.  fngU&r'l  sou. 
I  (cine  and  Norihinan  piled  the  stone  ; 
Singiitg  wild  the  war-sons  stern, 
'  Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn !' 

"  Where  eddying  currents  foam  and  boil 
By  Bersa's  burgh  and  Grsemsay's  isle, 
The  seaman  sees  a  martial  form 
Half-mingled  with  the  mist  and  storm. 
In  anxious  awe  he  hears  away 
To  moor  his  bark  in  Stromna's  bay, 
And  murmurs  from  the  noun/ling  stern, 
'  hest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Caim !' 

"  What  cares  disturb  the  mighty  deadt 
Each  honour'd  rite  was  duly  paid  ; 
No  darinf  hand  thy  helm  unlaced, 
Thy  sword,  thy  shield,  were  near  thee  placed,— 
Thy  flinty  couch  no  tear  profaned. 
Without,  with  hostile  hlood  was  stain'd; 
Within,  'twas  lined  with  moss  and  fern, — 
Then  rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn  !— 

"  He  may  not  rest :  from  realms  afar 
Comes  voice  of  battle  and  of  war. 
Of  conquest  wrought  with  bloody  hand 
On  Carmel's  cliffs  and  Jordan's  strand, 
When  Odin's  warlike  son  could  daunt 
The  turban'd  race  of  Termagaunt."^— 

VII. 

"  Peace."  said  the  Knight,  "the  noble  Scald 
Our  warlike  fathers'  deeds  recall'd, 
But  never  strove  to  soothe  the  son 
With  tales  of  what  himself  had  done. 
At  Odin's  board  the  bard  sits  high 
Whose  harp  ne'er  stoop'd  to  flattery: 
But  highest  he  whose  daring  lay 
Hath  dared  unwelcome  truths  to  say." 
With  doubtful  smile  young  Gunuar  eyed 
His  master's  looks,  and  nought  replied — 
But  well  that  smile  his  piaster  led 
To  construe  what  he  left  unsaid. 
"  Is  it  to  me.  thou  timid  youth, 
Thou  fear'st  to  speak  unwelcome  truth? 
My  soul  no  more  thy  censure  grieves 
Than  frosts  roh  laurels  of  their  leaves. 
Say  on — and  yet— beware  the  rude 
And  wild  disfemper  of  my  blood ; 
Loth  were  I  that  mine  ire  should  wrong 
The  youth  that  bore  my  shield  so  long, 
And  who.  in  service  constant  still, 
Though  weak  ill  frame,  art  strong  in  will." — 
"  Oh  !"  quoth  the  Pai;e,  "even  there  depends 
My  counsel — there  my  warning  tends — 
Oft  seems  as  of  my  master's  breast 
Some  demon  were  the  sudden  guest; 
'I  hen  at  the  first  misconstrued  word 
His  hand  is  on  the  m.ici:  and  sword, 
From  h«r  firm  seal  his  wisdom  driven, 
His  life  to  countless  dangers  given. — 
0  !  would  that  Gunnar  could  suffice 
To  be  the  fiend's  last  sacrifice, 
So  that,  when  glutted  with  my  gore, 
He  fled  and  tempted  thee  no  more  !" 


VIII. 

Then  waved  his  hand,  and  shook  his  head 
The  impatient  Dane,  while  thus  h«  said  : 
"  Profane  not,  youth— it  is  not  thine 
To  judge  the  spirit  of  our  line— 
The  hold  Berserkar's  ruse  divine. 
Through  whose  inspiring,  deeds  are  wrought 
Past  human  strength  and  human  thought. 
When  full  upon  his  gloomy  soul 
The  champion  feels  the  influence  roll, 
He  swims  the  lake,  he  leaps  the  wall — 
Heeds  not  the  depth,  nor  plumbs  the  fall- 
Unshielded,  mail-less,  on  he  goes 
Singly  against  a  host  of  foes  ; 
Their  spears  he  holds  like  wither'd  reeds, 
Their  mail  like  maiden's  silken  weeds; 
One  'gainst  a  hundred  will  he  strive, 
Take  countless  wounds,  and  yet  survive. 
Then  rush  the  eagles  to  his  cry 
Of  slaughter  and  of  victory, — 
And  blood  he  quaffs  like  Odin's  bowl, 
Deep  drinks  his  sword,— deep  drinks  his  soul ; 
And  all  that  meet  him  in  his  ire 
He  gives  to  rum.  rout,  and  fire ; 
Then,  like  gorged  lion,  seeks  some  den, 
And  couches  till  he's  man  agen. — 
Thou  know'st  the  signs  of  look  and  limb, 
When  'gins  that,  rate  to  overbrim — 
Thou  know'st  when  1  am  moved,  and  why; 
And  when  thou  see'st  me  roll  mine  eye, 
Set  my  teeth  thus,  and  stamp  my  foot, 
Kegard  thy  safely  and  be  mute ; 
But  else  speak  boldly  out  whale'er 
Is  fitting  that  a  knight  should  hear. 
I  love  thee,  youth.     Thy  lay  bus  power 
Upon  my  dark  and  sullen  hour; — 
So  Christian  monks  are  wont  to  say 
Demons  of  old  were  charm'd  away; 
Then  fear  not  I  will  rashly  deem 
III  of  thy  speech,  whate'er  the  theme." 

IX. 

As  down  some  strait  in  doubt  and  dread 
The  watchful  pilot  drops  the  lead. 
And,  cautious  in  the  midst  to  steer, 
The  shoaling  channel  sounds  with  fear; 
So,  lest  on  dangerous  ground  he  swerved, 
The  Page  his  master's  brow  observed, 
Pausing  at  intervals  to  fling 
His  ham)  o'er  the  melodious  string, 
Arid  to  his  moody  breast  apply 
The  soothm?  charm  of  harmony, 
While  hinted  half,  and  half  exprest. 
This  warning  song  couvey'd  the  rest. — 

SONS. 

1. 

'  111  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven, 
And  ill  when  on  the  breakers  driven,— 
111  when  tile  storm-sprite  shrieks  in  air, 
And  the  scared  mermaid  tears  tier  hair; 
but  worse  when  on  her  helm  the  hand 
Of  some  false  traitor  holds  command. 


Ill  fares  the  fainting  Palmer,  placed 

'Mid  Hebron's  rocks  or  Kana's  waste,— 

111  when  the  scorching  sun  is  high. 

And  the  expected  font  is  dry. — 

Worse  when  his  guide  o'er  sand  and  heath, 

The  barbarous  Copt,  has  plann'd  his  death. 


436 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  111  fares  the  Knight  with  buckler  cleft, 
And  ill  when  of  his  helm  lien-ft,— 
111  when  his  steed  to  earth  is  flung, 
Or  from  his  grasp  his  falchion  wrung; 
But  worse,  if  instant  rum  token. 
When  he  lists  rede  by  woman  spoken." — 


"  How  nnw.  fond  boy  ?— Canst  thou  think  ill,' 
Said  Harold.  ••  of  fair  Metelill  ?"— 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  the  Page  replied. 

As  through  the  strings  lie  ranged, — 
"  She  may  be  fair ;  but  yet,"  he  cried. 

And  then  the  strain  he  changed, 

s  o  N  o. 

1. 
"  She  may  be  fair.''  he  sane:,  "  but  yet 

Far  fairer  have  I  seen 
Than  she,  for  all  her  locks  of  jet. 

And  eves  so  dark  and  sheen. 
Were  I  a  Danish  knight  in  arms. 

As  one  day  1  may  be. 
My  heart  should  own  no  foreign  charms  — 

A  Danish  maul  for  me. 

2. 
"]  lore  my  fathers'  northern  land. 

Where  the  dark  pine-trees  grow, 
And  the  bold  Baltic's  echoing  strand 

Looks  o'er  each  grassy  oe.1 
I  love  to  mark  the  lingering  sun, 

From  Denmark  loth  to  go. 
And  leaving  on  the  billows  bright. 
To  cheer  the  short-lived  summer  night, 

A  path  of  ruddy  glow. 

3. 
"  But  most  the  northern  maid  I  love. 

With  breast  like  Denmark's  snow, 
And  form  as  fair  as  Denmark's  pine. 
Who  lores  with  purple  heath  to  twine 

Her  locks  of  sunny  glow; 
And  sweetly  blend  that  shade  of  gold 

With  the  cheek's  rosy  hue. 
And  Faith  might  for  her  mirror  hold 

That  eye  of  matchless  blue. 

4. 
"  'Tis  hers  the  manly  sports  to  love 

That  southern  maidens  fear, 
To  bend  the  bow  by  stream  and  grove, 

And  lift  the  hunter's  spear. 
She  can  her  chosen  champion's  flight 

With  eye  midazzled  see. 
Clasp  him  victorious  from  the  strife, 
Or  on  his  corpse  yield  up  her  life,— 

A  Danish  maid  for  me  !" 

XL 

Then  smiled  the  Dane—"  Thou  canst  so  well 
The  virtues  of  our  maidens  tell. 
Half  could  I  wish  my  choice  had  been 
Bine  eyes,  and  hair  of  golden  sheen, 
And  lofty  soul ;— yet  what  of  ill 
Hast  iliou  to  cluirse  on  MeteliU  ?" — 
••  Nothing  on  her."  young  Gunnar  said, 
'•  But  her  b;ise  sire's  ignoble  trade. 
Her  mother,  too — the  general  fame 
Hath  given  to  Jutta  evil  name. 


And  in  her  grey  eye  is  a  flame 

Art  cannot  hide,  nor  fear  can  tame  — 

That  sordid  woodman's  peasant  cot 

Twice  have  thine  honour'd  footsteps  sought, 

And  twice  return'd  with  such  ill  rede 

As  seat  thee  on  some  desperate  deed." — 

XII. 

Thou  errest ;  Jutta  wisely  said, 
He  that  comes  suitor  to  a  inaid, 
Ere  link'd  in  marriage,  should  provide 
Lands  and  a  dwelling  for  his  bride — 
My  father's,  by  the  Tyne  and  Wear, 
I  have  reclaim'd." — "'().  all  too  dear, 
And  all  loo  dangerous  the  prize, 
E'en  were  it  won."  young  Gunnar  cries ; — 
"  And  then  this  Jutta's  fresh  device. 
That  thou  shouldst  seek,  a  heathen  Dane, 
From  Durham's  priests  a  boon  to  gain. 
When  thou  hast  left  their  vassals  slain 
In  their  own  halls  !"— Flash'd  Harold's  eye. 
Thunder'd  his  voice—"  False  fage,  you  he  ! 
The  castle,  hall  and  tower,  is  mine, 
Built  by  old  WitikimI  on  Tyne. 
The  wild  cat  will  defend  his  den. 
Fights  for  her  nest  the  timid  wren ; 
And  think 'gt  thou  I'll  forego  my  n»ht 
For  dread  of  monk  or  monkish  knight  T — 
Up  and  away,  that  deepening  bell 
Doth  of  the  Bishop's  conclave  tell. 
Thither  will  1,  m  milliner  due. 
As  Jutta  hade,  my  claim  to  sue ; 
And.  if  to  right  me  they  are  loth, 
Then  woe  to  church  and  chapter  both  !" 
Now  shift  the  scene,  and  let  the  curtain  fall, 
And  our  next  entry  be  Saint  Cuthbert's  hall. 


tfje  -Dauntless. 


CANTO   FOURTH 

I. 

Full  many  a  bard  hath  sung  the  solemn  gloom 
Of  the  long  Gothic  aisle  and  stone-ribb'd  roof. 
O'er-canopying  shrine,  and  gorgeous  tomb. 
Carved  screen,  and  altar  glimmering  far  aloof, 
And  blending  with  the  shade  —  a  matchless 

proof 

Of  high  devotion,  which  hath  now  wax'd  cold ; 
Yet  legends  say,  that  Luxury's  brute  hoof 
Intruded  oft  within  such  sacred  fnld, 
Like  step  of  Bel's  false  priest,  track'd  in  his 

fane  of  old.? 

Well  pleased  am  I,  howe'er,  that  when  the 

route 
Of  our  rude  neighbours  whilome  deign'd  to 

come, 

Uncall'd.  and  eke  unwelcome,  to  sweep  out 
And  cleanse  our  chancel  from  the  rags  of 

Rome. 

They  s;>oke  not  on  our  ancient  fane  the  doom 
To  which  Iheir  bigot  zeal  gave  o'er  their  own. 
But  spared  the  martyr 'd  saint  and  storied 

tomb. 

Though  papal  miracles  had  graced  the  stone. 
And  though  the  aisles  still  luved  the  organ's 

swelling  tone. 


HAROLD    THE    DAUNTLESS. 


437  i 


And  deem  not,  though  'tis  now  my  part  to 

paint 

A  Prelate  sway'd  hy  love  of  power  and  gold, 
Tli;it  all  wlio  wore  the  mitre  of  our  Saint 
Like  tn  ambitious  Aldingar  1  hold  ; 
Since  both  in  modern  times  and  days  of  old 
It  sate  on  those  whose  virtues  might  atone 
Their  predecessors'  frailties  trebly  told  : 
Matthew  and  Morton  we  as  such  may  own— 
And  such  (if  lame  speak  truth)  the  honour'd 

Harrington, 

II. 

But  now  to  earlier  and  to  ruder  times, 
As  subject  meet.  I  tune  my  rugged  rhymes, 
Telling  how  fairly  the  chapter  was  met. 
And  rood  and  books  in  seemly  order  set ; 
Huge  brass-ct.-isp'd  volumes,  which  the  hand 
Of  studious  priest  but  rarely  scinn'd. 
Now  on  fair  carved  desk  display'd, 
''I' was  theirs  the  solemn  scene  to  aid. 
O'erhead  with  many  a  scutcheon  graced, 
And  quaint  devices  interlaced, 
A  labyrinth  of  crossing  rows, 
The  roof  in  lessening  arches  shows  : 
Beneath  its  shade  placed  proud  and  high, 
With  footstool  and  with  canopy. 
Sate  Aldingar.— and  prelate  ne'er 
More  haughty  gniced  Saint  Cuthbert's  chajr; 
Canons  and  deacons  were  placed  below, 
In  due  denree  and  lengthen'd  row. 
Unmoved  and  silent  each  sat  there, 
Like  image  in  his  oaken  chair; 
Nor  head,  nor  hand,  nor  foot  they  stirr'd, 
Nor  lock  of  hair,  nor  tress  of  beard  ; 
And  of  their  eyes  severe  alone 
The  twinkle  show'd  they  were  not  stone. 


The  Prelate  was  to  speech  address'd. 
Each  head  sunk  reverent  on  each  breast; 
But  ere  his  voice  was  heard — without 
Arose  a  wild  tumultuous  shout. 
Offspring  of  wonder  mix'd  with  fear, 
Such  as  in  crowded  streets  we  hear 
Hailing  the  flames,  that,  bursting  out. 
Attract  yet  scare  the  nibble  rout. 
Ere  it  had  ceased,  a  giant  hand 
Shook  oaken  dour  and  iron  band, 
Till  oak  and  iron  both  gave  way, 
Clash'd  the  long  bulls,  the  hinges  bray. 
And.  ere  upon  angel  or  s:nnt  they  can  call. 
Stands  Harold  the  Dauntless  in  midst  of  the 
hall. 

IV. 

"  Now  save  ye,  my  masters,  both  rocket  and 

rood. 

From  Bishop  with  mitre  to  Deacon  with  hood  ! 
For  here  stands  Count  Harold,  old  Wjtikind's 

son, 
Come  to  sue  for  the  lands  which  his  ancestors 

The  Prelate  look'd  round  him  with  sore  trou- 
bled eye. 

Unwilling  to" grant,  yet  afraid  to  deny; 

While  each  Canon  and  Deacon  who  heard  the 
Dane  speak. 

To  be  safely  at  home  would  have  fasted  a 
week  : — 

Then  Aldmgar  roused  him,  and  answer'd 
again. 

•'  Thou  suest  for  a  boon  which  thou  canst  not 
obtain ; 

37* 


The  Church  hath  no  fiefs  for  an  unchristen'd 

Dane. 
Thy  fai  her  was  wise,  and  his  treasure  hath 

given. 
That  the  priests  of  a  chantry  might  hymn  him 

to  heaven ; 
And  the  fiefs  which  whilome  he  possess'd  as 

his  due, 
Have  lapsed  to  the  Church,  and  been  granted 

anew 

To  Anthony  Cnnyers  and  Alheric  Vere, 
For  the  service  Saint  Cuthbert's  bless 'd  ban- 
ner to  bear, 
When  the  bands  of  the  North  come  to  foray 

the  Wear ; 
Then  disturb  not  our  conclave  with  wrangling 

or  blame. 
But  in  peace  and  in  patience  pass  hence  as  ye 


came. 


V. 


Loud  laugh'd  the  stern  Pagan,—"  They're  free 

from  the  care 
Of  fief  and   of  service,  both  Conyers    and 

Vere.— 

Six  feet  of  your  chancel  is  all  they  will  need, 
A  buckler  of  stone  and  a  corslet  of  lead. — 
Ho,  Gunnar! —  the  tokens;"  —  and,  sever'd 

anew, 

A  head  and  a  hand  on  the  altar  he  threw. 
Then  shudder'd  with  terror  both  Canon  and 

Monk, 

They  knew  the  glazed  eye  and  the  counte- 
nance shrunk, 

And  of  Anthony  Conyers  the  half-grizzled  hair, 
And  the  scar  on  the  hand  of  Sir  Albenc  Vere. 
There  was  not  a  churchman  or  priest  that 

was  there. 
But  grew  pale  at  the  sight,  and  betook  him  to 

prayer. 

VI. 

Count  Harold  laugh'd  at  their  looks  of  fear : 
••  Was  this  the  hand  should  your  banner  bear? 
Was  that  the  head  should  wear  the  casque 
In  battle  at  the  Church's  task  ? 
Was  it  to  such  you  gave  the  place 
Of  Harold  with  the  heavy  mace  ? 
Find  me  between  the  Wear  and  Tyne 
A  knight  will  wield  this  club  of  mine, — 
Give  him  my  fiefs,  and  I  will  say 
There's  wit  beneath  the  cowl  of  grey." 
He  raised  it,  rough  with  many  a  stain, 
Caught  from  crush 'd  skull  and  spouting  brain ; 
He  wheel'd  it  that  it  shrilly  sung. 
And  the  aisles  echo'd  as  it  swung. 
Then  dash'd  it  down  with  sheer  descent. 
And  split  King  Osnc's  monument. — 
"  How  like  ye  this  music?    How  trow  ye  the 

hand 
That  c;in  wield  such  a  mace  may  be  reft  of  its 

land  ? 

No  answer  ? — I  spare  ye  a  space  to  agree. 
And  Saint  Cuthbert  inspire  you,  a  saint  if 

he  be. 
Ten  strides  through  your  chancel,  ten  strokes 

on  your  bell. 
And  again  I  am  with  you  — grave  father's, 

farewell !" 

VII. 
He  turn'd  from  their  presence,  he  clash'd  the 

oak  door. 
And  the  clang  of  his  stride  died  away  on  the 

floor ; 


438 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  ha  head  from  his  bosom  the  Prelate  up- 
rears 

With  a  ghost-seer's  look  when  the  ghost  dis- 
appears. 

"  Ye  Priests  of  Saint  Cuthbert,  now  give  me 
your  rede. 

For  never  of  counsel  had  Bishop  more  need  ! 

Were  the  arch-fiend  incarnate  in  flesh  and  in 
bone. 

The  language,  the  look,  and  the  laugh  were 
his  own. 

In  the  hounds  of  Saint  Cuthbert  there  is  not  a 

kotetat 

Dare  rou  front  in  our  quarrel  yon  goblin  in 

fiaht ; 

Then  rede  me  aright  to  his  claim  to  reply. 
'Tis  unlawful  to  grant,  and  'tis  death  to  deny." 

vnz 

On  ven'son  and  malmsie  that  morning  had 

fed 
The  Cellarer  Vinsauf—  'twas  thus  that  he 

said: 

"Delay  till  to-morrow  the  Chapter's  reply: 
Let  the  feast  he  spread  fair,  and  the  wine  be 

pour'd  high  : 
If  he's  mortal  he  drinks,— if  he  drinks,  he  is 

ours — 

His  bracelets  of  iron. — his  bed  in  our  towers." 
This  man  had  a  laughing:  eye, 
Trust  not,  fnends.  when  such  you  spy; 
A  beaker's  depth  he  well  could  drain, 
Revel,  sport,  and  jest  amain — 
The  haunch  ot  the  deer  and  the  grape's  bright 

dye 

Never  hard  loved  them  belter  than  I ; 
But  sooner  than  Vmsauf  fill'd  me  my  wine, 
Pass'd  me  his  jest,  and  laugh'd  at  mine. 
Though  the  buck  were  of  Bearpark,  of  Bour- 

deaux  the  vine, 

With  the  dullest  hermit  I'd  rather  dine 
On  an  oaken  cake  and  a  draught  of  the  Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn  the  leech  spoke  next— he  knew 
Each  plant  that  loves  the  sun  and  dew, 
But  special  those  whose  juice  can  gain 
Dominion  o'er  the  blood  and  brain; 
The  peasant  who  saw  him  by  pale  moonbeam 
Gathering  such  herbs  by  bank  and  stream, 
Deem'd  his  thin  form  and  soundless  tread 
Were  those  of  wanderer  from  the  dean. — 
"  Vmsauf,  thy  wine."  he  said.  "  hath  power, 
Our  ey ves  are  heavy,  strong  our  tower ; 
Yet  three  drops  from  this  flask  of  mine. 
More  strong  than  dungeons,  gyves,  or  wine, 
Shall  eive  him  prison  under  ground 
More  dark,  more  narrow,  more  profound. 
Short  rede,  good  rede,  lei  Harold  have — 
A  dog's  death  and  a  heathen's  grave." 
I  have  lain  on  .a  sick  man's  bed. 
Watching  for  hours  for  the  leech's  tread, 
As  if  I  deern'd  that  his  presence  alone 
Were  ot  power  to  bid  my  pain  begone ; 
I  have  listed  his  words  of  comfort  given. 
As  if  to  oracles  flora  heaven : 
I  have  counted  his  steps  from  my  chamber 

door. 
And  bless'd  them  when  they  were  heard  no 

more ; — 
But  sooner  than   Walwayn  my  sick    couch 

should  nigh. 
My  choice  were,  by  leech-craft  unaided,  to 

die. 


Such  service  done  in  fervent  zeal 
Hie  Church  may  pardon  and  conceal," 
The  doohiful  Prelate  said,  "  hut  ne'er 
The  counsel  ere  the  art  should  hear. — 
Anselm  of  Jarrow,  advise  us  now, 
The  stamp  of  wisdom  is  on  thy  brow ; 
Thy  days,  thy  nights,  in  cloister  pent, 
Are  still  to  mystic  learning  lent; — 
Anselm  of  Jarrow,  in  thee  is  my  hope, 
Thou  well  mayst  give  counsel  to  Prelate  or 

Pope.'' 

XI. 

Answer'd  the  Prior— "Tis  wisdom's  use 
Still  to  delay  what  we  dare  not  refuse  ; 
Ere  granting  the  boon  he  comes  hither  to  ask, 
Shape  for  the  giant  gigantic  task  ; 
Let  us  see  how  a  step  so  sounding  can  tread 
In  paths  of  darkness,  danger,  and  dread ; 
H«  may  not,  he  will  not.  impugn  our  decree, 
That  calls  hut  for  proof  of  his  chivalry ; 
And  were   Guy  to  return,  or  Sir  Bevis   the 

Strong, 
Our  wilds  have  adventure  might  cumber  them 

long— 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields" "  Kind  An- 
selm. no  more ! 
The  step  of  the  Pagan  approaches  the  door." 
The  churchmen  were  hush'd. — In  his  mantle 

of  skin. 
With  his  mace  on  his  shoulder,  Count  Harold 

strode  in. 
There  was  foam  on  his  lips,  there  was  fire  in 

his  eye, 

For,  chafed  by  attendance,  his  fury  was  nigh. 
"  Ho !  Bishop,"  he  said,  ••  dost  thou  grant  me 

my  claim  ? 
Or  must  I  assert  it  by  falchion  and  flame  ?" — 

XII. 

"  On  thy  suit,  gallant  Harold,"  the  Bishop  re- 
plied, 

In  accents  which  trembled,  "we  may  not  de- 
cide, 
Until  proof  of  your  strength  and  your  valour 

we  saw — 
'Tis  not  that  we  doubt  them,  but  such  is  the 

law."— 
"And  would  you,  Sir  Prelate,  have  Harold 

make  sport 
For  the  cowls  and  the  shavelings  that  herd  in 

thy  court  ? 
Say  what  shall  he  do  ?— From  the  shrine  shall 

he  tear 
The  lead  bier  of  thy  patron,  and  heave  it  in 

air. 
And  through  the  long  chancel  make  Cuthbert 

take  wine, 
With  the  speed  of  a  bullet  dismiss 'd  from  the 

sling  ?"— 
"Nay,  spare  such  probation,"  the  Cellarer 

said, 
"From  the  mouth  of  our  minstrels  thy  task 

shall  be  read. 
While  the  wine  sparkles  high  in  the  goblet  of 

gold, 
And  the  revel  is  loudest,  thy  task  shall  be 

told; 
And  thyself,  gallant  Harold,  shall,  hearing  it, 

tell 
That  the  Bishop,  his  cowls,  and  his  shavelings, 

meant  well.'' 


HAROLD    THE    DAUNTLESS. 


439 


XIII. 
Loud  revell'd  the  guests,  and  the  goblets  loud 

rang. 
But   louder   the  minstrel,  Hugh  Meneville, 

sang ; 
And  Harold,  the  hurry  and  pride  of  whose 

soul, 

E'en  when  verging  to  fury,  owrAl  music's  con- 
trol. 

Still  bent  on  the  harper  his  hroad  sable  eye, 
And  often  untasted  the  goblet  pass'd  by; 
Than  wine,  or  than  wassail,  to  him  was  more 

dear 
The  minstrel's  high  tale  of  enchantment  to 

hear; 
And  the  Bishop  that  day  might  of  Vinsauf 

complain 
That  Ins  art  had  but  wasted  his  wine-casks  in 

vain. 

XIV. 

THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  SEVEN 
SHIELDS. 

A     BALLAD. 

The  Druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven, 
Their  skill  could  call  the  moon  from  heaven; 
So  fair  their  forms  and  so  high  their  fame, 
That  seven  proud  kings  for  their  suitors  came. 

King  Ma'lor  and  Rhys  came  from  Powis  and 

Wales, 
CJnshorn  was  their  hair,  and  unpruned  were 

their  nails; 
From  Strath-Clwyde  was  Ewain,  and  Ewain 

was  lame, 
And  the  red  bearded  Donald  from  Galloway 

came. 

Lot,  King  of  Lodon,  was  hunchback'd  from 

youth ; 

Dunmail  of  Cumbria  had  never  a  tooth , 
But  Adolf  of  Bambrough,  Northumberland's 

heir, 
Was  gay  and  was  gallant,  was  young  and  was 

fair. 

There  was  strife  'mongst  the  sisters,  for  each 
one  would  have 

For  husband  King  Adolf,  the  gallant  and 
brave ; 

And  envy  hred  hate,  and  hate  urged  them  to 
blows. 

When  the  firm  earth  was  cleft,  and  the  Arch- 
fiend arose ! 

He  swore  to  the  maidens  their  wish  to  fulfil — 
They  swore  to  the  foe  they  would  work  by  his 

will. 

A  spindle  and  distaff  to  each  hath  he  given. 
'•  Now  hearken  my  spell,"  said  the  Outcast  of 

heaven. 

"Ye  shall  ply  these  spindles  at  midnieht  hour. 
And  for  every  spindle  shall  rise  a  tower. 
Where  the  right  shall  be  feeble,  the  wrong 

shall  have  power. 

And  there  shall  ye  dwell  with  your  para- 
mour." 

Beneath  the  pale  moonlight  they  sate  on  the 

wold. 
And  the  rhymes  which  they  chanted  must 

never  be  told ; 


And  as  the  black  wool  from  the  distaff  they 

sped, 
With  blood  from  their  bosom  they  moisten'd 

the  thread. 

As  light  danced  the  spindles  beneath  the  cold 
gleam. 

The  castle  arose  like  the  birth  of  a  dream — 

'1  he  seven  towers  ascended  like  mist  from  the 
ground. 

Seven  portals  defend  them,  seven  ditches  sur- 
round. 

Within  that  dread  castle  seven  monarchs  were 

wed. 
But  six  of  the  seven  ere  the  morning  lay 

dead ; 
With  their  eyes  all  on  lire,  and  their  daggers 

all  red. 
Seven  damsels  surround  the  Northumbrian's 

bed. 

"Six  kingly  bridegrooms  to  death  we  have 

done. 

Six  gallant  kingdoms  King  Adolf  hath  won, 
Six  lovely  brides  all  his  pleasure  to  do, 
or  the  bed  of  the  seventh  shall  be  husband- 
less  too." 

Well  chanced  it  that  Adolf  the  night  when  he 

wed 
Had  confess'd  and  had  sain'd  him  ere  boune 

to  his  bed ; 
He  sprung  from  the  couch  and  his  broadsword 

he  drew, 
And  there  the  seven  daughters  of  Urien  he 

slew. 

The  gate  of  the  castle  he  bolted  and  seal'd. 
And  hung  o'er  each  arch-stone  a  crown  and  a 

shield  ; 
To  the  cells  of  Saint  Dunstan  then  wended 

his  way. 
And  died  in  his  cloister  an  anchorite  grey. 

Seven  monarchs'  wealth  in  that  castle  lies 
stow'd, 

The  foul  fiends  brood  o'er  them  like  raven 
and  toad. 

Whoever  shall  guesten  these  chambers  with- 
in, 

From  curfew  till  matins,  that  treasure  shall 
win. 

But  manhood  grows  faint  as  the  world  waxes 
old! 

There  lives  not  in  Britain  a  champion  so  bold, 

So  dauntless  of  heart,  and  so  prudent  of  brain. 

As  to  dare  the  adventure  that  treasure  to  gam. 

The  waste  ridge  of  Cheviot  shall  wave  with 

the  rye, 
Before  the  rude  Scots  shall  Northumberland 

fly, 

And  the  Sint  clifts  of  Bambro'  shall  melt  in 

the  sun, 
Before  that  adventure  be  peril'd  and  won. 

XV. 
And  is  this  my  probation?"  wild  Harold  he 

said, 

Within  a  lone  castle  to  press  a  lone  bed  * — 
Good  even,  my  Lord  Bishop,— Saint  Cuthbert 

to  borrow, 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields  receives  me  to- 
morrow." 


440 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sauntlcss. 


CANTO   FIFTH. 


Denmark's  sage  courtier  to  her  princely  youth, 
Granting  his  cloud  an  ouzel  or  a  whale, 
Spoke,  though  unwittingly,  a  partial  truth  ; 
For  Fantasy  embroiders  Nature's  veil 
The  tints  of  ruddy  eye,  or  dawning  pale, 
Of  the  swart  thunder-cloud,  or  silver  haze. 
Are  but  the  eround-work  of  the  rich  detail 
Which  Fantasy  with  pencil  wild  portrays. 
Blending  what  seems   and  is,  in  the  wrapt 
m user's  gaze. 

Nor  are  the  stubhorn  forms  of  earth  and  stone 
Less  to  the  Sorceress's  empire  gnen; 
For  not  with  unsubstantial  hues  alone. 
Caught   from    the  varying  surge,  or  vacant 

heaven. 
From    bursting   sunbeam,  or   from   flashing 

levin. 

She  limns  her  pictures :  on  the  earth,  as  air, 
Arise  her  castles,  and  her  car  is  driven : 
And  never  gazed  the  eye  on  scene  so  fair, 
But  of  its  boasted  chitrms  gave  Fancy  half  the 
share. 

II. 

Cp  a  wild  pass  went  Harold,  bent  to  prove. 
Hush  Meneville.  the  adventure  of  thv  lay; 
Gunnar  pursued  his  steps  in  faith  and  love, 
Ever  companion  of  his  master's  way. 
Midward  their  path,  a  rock  of  granite  grey 
From  the  adjoinins  cliff  had  made  descent,— 
A  barren  mass—yet  with  her  drooping  spray 
Had  a  young  birch-tree  crown'd  its  battle- 
ment, 

Twisting  her  fibrous  roots  through  cranny, 
flaw,  and  rent. 

This  rock  and  tree  could  Gunnar's  thought 

engage 

Till  Fancy  brought  the  tear-drop  to  his  eye. 
And  at  his  master  ask'd  the  timid  Page. 
••  What  is  the  emblem  that  a  bard  should  spy 
In  that  rude  rock  and  its  green  canopy?" 
And  Harold  said,  "  Like  to  the  helmet  brave 
Of  warrior  slain  in  tight  it  seems  to  lie, 
And  these  same  drooping  boughs  do  o'er  it 

wave 
Not  all  unlike  the  plume  his  lady's  favour 

gave." — 

"  Ah,  no !"  replied  the  Page ;  "  the  ill-starrM 

love 

Of  some  poor  maid  is  in  the  emblem  shown. 
Whose  fates  are  with  some  hero's  interwove, 
And  rooted  on  a  heart  to  love  unknown ; 
And  as  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven  alone 
Nourish  those  drooping  boughs,  and  as  the 

scathe 

Of  the  red  lightning  rends  both  treo  and  stone, 
So  fares  it  with  her  unrequited  faith, — 
Her  sole    relief  is  tears  —  her  only  refuge 

death."— 

III. 

"Thon  art  a  fond  fantastic  boy," 
Harold  replied,  "  to  females  coy, 

Yet  prating  still  of  love ; 
Even  so  amid  the  clash  of  war 


I  know  thou  lovest  to  keep  afar, 
Though  destined  by  thy  evil  star 

With  one  like  me  to  rove. 
Whose  business  and  whose  joys  are  found 
Upon  the  bloody  battle-around. 
Yet,  foolish  trembler  ;is  tliou  art, 
Thou  hast  a  nook  of  my  rude  heart, 
And  thou  and  \  will  never  part ; — 
Harold  would  wrap  the  world  in  flame 
Ere  injury  on  Gunnar  came  !'' 

IV. 

The  grateful  Page  made  no  reply. 
But  turn'd  to  Heaven  his  gentle" eye, 
And  clasp'u  his  hands,  as  one  who  said. 
"  My  toils— my  wanderings  are  o'erpaid !" 
Then  in  a  gayer,  lighter  strain. 
Cumpell'd  himself  to  speech  again  ; 

And.  as  they  flow'd  along. 
His  words  took  cadence  soft  and  slow, 
And  liquid,  like  dissolving  snow, 

They  melted  into  song. 

V. 

"  What  though  through  fields  of  carnage  wide 
I  may  not  follow  Harold's  stride, 
Yet  who  with  faithful  Gunnar's  pride 

Lord  Harold's  feats  can  see  ? 
And  dearer  than  the  rouch  of  pride, 
He  loves  the  bed  of  grey  wolf's  hide. 
When  slumbering  by  Lord  Harold's  side 

In  forest,  field,  or  lea." — 


'•Break  off!"  said  Harold,  in  a  tone 
Where  hurry  and  surprise  were  shown, 

With  some  slight  touch  of  fear.— 
"  Break  off.  we  are  not  here  alone  ; 
A  Palmer  form  comes  slowly  on  ! 
By  cowl,  and  staff,  and  mantle  known, 

My  monitor  is  near. 
Now  mark  him,  Gunnar,  needfully; 
He  pauses  by  the  blighted  tree- 
Dost  see  him.  youth  f— Thon  couldst  not  see 
When  in  the  vale  of  Galilee 

1  first  beheld  his  form, 
Nor  when  we  met  that  other  while 
In  Cephaloma's  rocky  isle, 

Before  the  fearful  storm. — 
Dost  see  him  now  ?" — The  Page,  distraught 
With  terror,  answer'd,  "  I  see  nought, 

And  there  is  nought  tn  see, 
Save  that  the  oak's  scathed  boughs  fling  down 
Upon  the  path  a  shadow  brown, 
That,  like  a  pilgrim's  dusky  gown. 

Waves  with  the  waving  tree." 

VII. 

Count  Harold  gazed  upon  the  oak 
As  if  his  eyestrings  would  have  broke, 

And  then  resolvedly  said. — 
"  Be  what  it  will  yon  phantom  grey — 
Nor  heaven,  nor  hell,  shall  ever  say 
That  for  their  shadows  from  his  way 

Count  Harold  turn'd  dismay'd  : 
I'll  speak  him.  though  his  accents  fill 
My  heart  with  that  unwonted  thrill 

Which  vulgar  minds  call  fear. 
I  will  subdue  it !'' — Forth  he  strode, 
Paused  where  the  blighted  oak-tree  show'd 
Its  sable  shadow  on  the  road, 
And.  folding  on  his  bosom  broad 

His  arms,  said,  "Speak— I  hear." 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


441 


VIII. 

The  Deep  Voice  said,  "  O  wild  of  will, 
Furious  thy  purpose  to  fulfil — 
Heart-Mart)  and  unrepentant  still. 
How  long.  O  Harold,  shall  thy  tread 
Disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  dead  ? 
Each  step  in  thy  wild  way  thou  makest, 
The  ashes  of  the  dead  thou  wakest ; 
And  shout  in  triumph  o'er  thy  path 
The  fiends  of  bloodshed  and'ot  wrath. 
In  this  Ihine  hour,  yet  turn  and  hear! 
For  life  is  brief  and  judgment  near." 

IX. 

Then  ceased  The  Voice  —The  Dane  replied 
In  tones  where  awe  and  inborn  pride 
For  mastery  strove, — ''In  vain  ye  chide 
The  wolf  for  ravaging  the  flock, 
Or  with  its  hardness  taunt  the  rock,— 
1  am  as  they — my  Danish  strain 
Sends  streams  of  fire  Ihrough  every  vein. 
Amid  thy  realms  of  eoule  and  ghost, 
Say.  is  the  fame  of  Eric  lost. 
Or  Witikind's  the  Waster,  known 
Where  fame  or  spoil  was  to  be  won ; 
Whose  galleys  ne'er  bore  off  a  shore 

They  left  not  black  with  flame  ? — 
He  was  my  sire. — and,  sprung  of  him, 
That  rover  merciless  and  grim, 

Can  1  be  soft  and  tame  1 

Part  hence,  and  with  my  crimes  no  more  up- 
braid me, 
I  am  that  Waster's  son,  and  am  but  what  he 

made  me." 

X. 
The  Phantom  groau'd ;  —  the  mountain  shook 

around. 

The  fawn  and  wild-doe  started  at  the  sound, 
The  gorse  and  fern  did  wildly  round  them 

wave. 

As  if  some  sudden  storm  the  impulse  save. 
'•  All  thou  hast  said  is  truth— Yet  on  the  head 
Of  that  bad  sire  let  not  the  charge  be  laid, 
That  he,  like  thee,  with  unrelenting  pace. 
From  grave  to  cradle  ran  the  evil  race  : — 
Relentless  in  his  avarice  and  ire, 
Churches  and  towns  he  gave  to  sword  and 

fire; 

Shed  blooil  like  water,  wasted  every  land. 
Like  the  destroying  angel's  burning  brand ; 
FulfUl'd  whate'erof  ill  might  be  invented, 
Yes  —  all  these  things  he  did  —  he  did,  but  he 

repented ! 

Perchance  it  is  part  of  his  punishment  still. 
That  his  offspring  pursues  his  example  of  ill. 
But  thou,  when  thy  tempest  of  wrath  shall 

next  shake  thee, 
Gird  thy  loins  for  resistance,  my  son,  and 

awake  thee ; 

If  thou  yield's!  to  thy  fury,  how  tempted  so- 
ever, 
The  gate  of  repentance  shall  ope  for  thee 

never !" — 

XI. 
"  He  is  gone,"  said  Lord  Harold,  and  gazed  as 

he  spoke ; 
"  There  is  nought  on  the  path  but  the  shade 

of  the  oak. 
He  is  gone,  whose  strange  presence  my  feeling 

oppress'd. 
Like  the  night-hag  that  sits  on  the  slumberer's 

breast. 


My  heart  beats  ns  thick  as  a  fugitive's  tread, 
And  cold  dews  drop  from  my  brow  and  my 

head.— 

Ho!  Guunar,  the  flasket  yon  almoner  gave; 
He  said  that  three  drops  would  recall  from  the 

grave. 
For  the  first  time  Count  Harold  owns  leech- 

crnt't  has  power, 
Or,  his  courage  to  aid,  lacks  the  juice  of  a 

flower !" 
The  page  gave  the  flasket,  which  Walwayn 

had  fill'd 
With  the  juice  of  wild  roots  that  his  art  had 

distill'd— 
So  baneful  their  influence  on  all  that  had 

breath, 
One  drop  hud  been  frenzy,  and  two  had  been 

death. 
Harold  took  it,  but  drank  not;   for  jubilee 

shrill, 
And  music  and  clamour  were  heard  on  the 

hill. 
And  down  the  steep  pathway,  o'er  stock  and 

o'er  stone, 

The  train  of  a  bridal  came  hlilhsomely  on  ; 
There  was  song,  there  was  pipe,  there  was 

timbrel,  and  still 
The  burden  was,  "  Joy  to  the  fair  Metelill!" 

XII. 

Harold  might  see  from  his  high  stance, 
Himself  unseen,  that  trum  advance 

With  rnirth  and  melody : — 
On  horse  and  foot  a  mingled  throng, 
Measuring  Iheir  steps  to  bridal  song 

And  bridal  minstrelsy ; 
And  ever  when  the  blilhsome  rout 
Lent  to  the  song  their  choral  shout, 
Redoubling  echoes  roll'd  about, 
While  echoing  cave  and  cliff  sent  out 

The  answering  symphony 
Of  all  those  mimic  notes  which  dwell 
In  hollow  rock  and  sounding  dell. 

XIII. 

Joy  shook  his  torch  above  the  band, 
By  many  a  various  passion  fann'd  ; — 
As  elemental  sparks  can  feed 
On  essence  pure  and  coarsest  weed, 
Gentle,  or  stormy,  or  refined, 
Joy  takes  the  colours  of  the  mind. 
Lightsome  and  pure,  but  unrepress'd. 
He  fired  the  bridegroom's  gallant  breast; 
More  feebly  strove  with  maiden  fear. 
Yet  still  joy  glimmer'd  through  the  tear 
On  the  bride's  blushing  cheek,  that  shows 
Like  dewdrop  on  the  budding  rose; 
While  Wulfslane's  gloomy  smile  declared 
The  glee  that  selfish  avarice  shared, 
And  pleased  revenge  and  malice  high 
Joy's  semblance  took  in  Jiutu's  eye 
On  dangerous  adventure  sped, 
The  witch  deem'd  Harold  with  the  dead, 
For  thus  that  morn  her  Demon  said  : — • 
"  If,  ere  the  set  of  sun.  he  tied 
The  knot  'twixt  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 
The  Dane  shall  have  no  power  of  ill 
O'er  William  and  o'er  Metelill." 
And  the  pleased  witch  made  answer,  "Then 
Must  Harold  have  pass'd  from  the  paths  of 

men .' 

Evil  repose  may  his  spirit  have,— 
May  hemlock  and  mandrake  find  root  in  his 

grave,— 


442 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


May  his  death-sleep  be  dogged  by  dreams  of 

dismay. 
And  his  waking  be  worse  at  the  answering 


day." 


XIV. 


Such  was  their  various  mood  of  glee 

Blent  in  one  shout  of  ecstasy. 

But  stiil  when  Joy  is  brimming  highest, 

Of  Surruw  and  Misfortune  Highest, 

Of  terror  with  her  ague  cheek. 

And  lurking  Danger,  sages  speak : — 

These  haunt  each  path,  but  chief  they  lay 

Their  snares  beside  the  primrose  way. — 

Thus  found  that  bridal  band  Ibeir  path 

Beset  hy  Humid  in  his  wrath. 

Trembling  beneath  his  maddening  mood, 

High  on  a  rock  ihe  giant  stood  : 

His  shout  was  like  the  doom  of  death 

Spoke  o'er  their  heads  that  pass'd  beneath. 

His  destined  victims  might  not  spy 

The  reddening  terrors  of  his  eye, — 

The  frown  of  rage  that  writhed  his  face. — 

The  lip  that  foam'd  like  boar's  in  chase ; — 

But  all  could  see — and.  seeing,  all 

Bore  back  to  shun  the  threaten'd  fall— 

The  fragment  which  their  giant  foe 

Kent  frum  the  cliff  and  heaved  to  throw. 

XV. 
Backward  they  bore  : — yet  are  there  two 

For  ball  le  who  prepare : 
No  pause  of  dread  Lord  William  knew 

Ere  his  good  Wade  was  hare, 
Ar.O  Wulfstane  bent  his  fatal  vew, 
But  ere  the  silken  cord  be  drew. 
As  hurl'd  from  Hecla's  thunder,  flew 

That  ruin  throush  the  air ! 
Full  on  the  outlaw's  front  it  came. 
And  all  that  late  had  human  name. 
And  human  fare,  and  human  frame, 
That  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  free  will 
To  choose  the  path  of  good  or  ill, 

Is  to  iis  reckoning  gone  ; 
And  nought  of  Wulfstane  rests  behind, 

Save  that  beneath  that  stone, 
Half-turned  in  the  dinted  clay, 
A  red  and  shapeless  mass  there  lay 

Of  mingled  flesh  and  hone ! 

XVI. 
As  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky 

The  eagle  darts  amain, 
Three  bounds  from  yonder  summit  high 

Placed  Harold  on  the  plain. 
As  the  scared  wild-fowl  scream  and  fly, 

So  fled  the  bridal  train : 
As  'gainst  the  eagle's  peerless  might 
The  noble  falcon  dares  the  fight. 

But  dares  the  fight  in  vain. 
So  fought  the  bridegroom  ;  from  his  hand 
The  Dane's  rude  mace  has  struck  his  brand, 
Its  glittering  fragments  strew  the  sand, 

Its  lord  lies  on  the  plain. 
Now,  Heaven  !  take  noble  William's  part, 
And  melt  that  yet  unmelted  heart, 
Or,  ere  his  bridal  hour  depart. 

The  hapless  bridegroom's  slain! 

XVII. 

Connt  Harold's  frenzied  rage  is  high. 
There  is  a  death-fire  in  his  eye, 
Deep  furrows  on  his  brow  are  trench'd. 
His  teeth  are  set.  his  bund  is  clench'd, 


The  foam  upon  his  lip  is  white, 

His  deadly  arm  is  up  to  smite! 

Bui.  as  the  mace  aloft  lie  swung, 

To  stop  the  blow  young  Gunimr  sprurjg, 

Around  his  master's  knees  he  clung, 

And  cned.  "  In  mercy  spare ! 
J.  think  upon  the  words  of  fear 
3poke  hy  that  visionary  Seer, 
The  crisis  he  foreiold  is  here. — 

Grant  mercy, — or  despair !" 
This  word  suspended  Harold's  mood, 
Yet  still  with  arm  upraised  he  stood, 
And  visage  like  the  headsman's  rude 

That  pauses  for  the  sizn. 
O  mark  thee  with  the  blessed  rood." 
The  Page  implored ;  "  Speak  word  of  good, 
Resist  the  fiend,  or  he  subdued !" 

He  sign'd  the  cross  divine — 
Instant  his  eye  hath  human  light, 
Less  red.  less  keen,  less  fiercely  bright; 
His  brow  relax'd  the  obdurate  frown, 
The  fatal  mace  sinks  gently  down, 

He  turns  and  strides  away ; 
Yet  oft.  like  revellers  who  leave 
Ihifinish'd  feast,  looks  back  to  grieve, 
As  it  repenting  ihe  reprieve 

He  granted  to  his  prey. 
Yet  still   of  forbearance   one  sign   hath  he 

given. 

And  fierce  Witikind's  son  made  one  step  to- 
wards heaven. 

XVIII. 

But  though  his  dreaded  footsteps  part, 
Death  is  behind  and  shakes  his  dart; 
Lord  William  on  the  plain  is  lying. 
Beside  him  Metelill  seems  dying ' — 
Brine  odours — essences  in  haste — 
And  lo !  a  flasket  richly  chased, — 
But  Jntta  the  elixir  proves 
Ere  ponring  it  for  those  she  loves- 
Then  Walwayn's  potion  was  not  wasted, 
For  when  three  drops  the  hag  had  tasted, 

So  dismal  was  her  yell, 
Each  bird  of  evil  omen  woke. 
The  raven  gave  his  fatal  croak, 
And  shriek'd  the  night-crow  from  the  oak. 
The  screech-owl  from  the  thicket  broke, 

And  fluttered  down  the  dell ! 
So  fearful  was  the  sound  and  stern. 
The  slumbers  of  the  full-gorged  erne 
Were  startled,  and  from  furze  and  fern 

Of  forest  and  of  fell. 
The  fox  and  fannsh'd  wolf  replied. 
(For  wolves  then  prowl'd  the  Cheviot  side) — 
From  mountain  head  to  mountain  head 
The  unhallow'd  sounds  around  were  sped ; 
But  when  their  latest  echo  fled. 
The  sorceress  011  the  ground  lay  dead. 

XIX. 

Such  was  the  scene  of  blood  and  woes, 
With  which  the  bridal  morn  arose 

Of  William  and  of  Meteljl! ; 
But  oft,  when  dawning  'eins  to  spread, 
The  summer  morn  peeps  ilim  and  red 

Above  the  eastern  hill. 
Ere.  bright  and  fair,  upon  his  road 
The  King  of  Splendour  walks  abroad; 
So.  when  this  clond  had  pass'd  away, 
Bright  was  the  noontide  of  their  day, 
And  all  serene  its  setting  ray. 


HAROLD    THE    DAUNTLESS. 


443 


JBfcuoIfc  tlje  Sauntlcss. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


Wei]  do  I  hupe  that  this  my  minstrel  tale 
Will  tempt  no  traveller  from  southern  fields, 
Whether  in  lilhnrv.  barouche,  or  mail. 
To  view  the   Castle  of  these   Seven   Proud 

Shields. 

Small  confirmation  its  Rendition  yields 
To  Meneville's  high  lay. — No  towers  are  seen 
On   the   wild   heath,   hut   those    that   Fancy 

builds. 
And,  save  a  fosse  that  tracks  the  moor  with 

green, 
Is  nought  remains  to  tell  of  what  may  there 

have  been. 

And  yet  erave  authors,  with  the  no  small 

wasie 

Of  their  erave  time,  have  dignified  the  spot 
By  theories,  to  prove  the  fortress  placed 
By  Roman  bands,  to  curb  the  invading  Scot. 
Hii'chinson,  Horslev.  Camden.  I  might  quote. 
But  rather  choose  the  theory  less  civil 
Of  hours,  who,  oriarin  of  things  forgot, 
Kefer  still  to  the  origin  of  evil, 
And  for  their  master-mason  choose  that  mas- 
ter-fiend, the  Devil. 

II. 

Therefore,  I  say.  it  was  on  fiend-built  towers 
That  stout  Count  Harold  bent  his  wondering 

gaze. 

When  evening  dew  was  on  the  heather  flow- 
ers. 
And  the  last  sunbeams  made  the  mountain 

blaze. 

And  tinned  the  battlements  of  other  days 
Wjth  the  bright  level  light  ere  sink  me;  down. — 
Illumined  thus,  the  Dauntless  Dane  surveys 
The  Seven  Proud  Shields  that  o'er  the  portal 

frown. 

And  on  their  blazons  traced  high  marks  of  old 
renown. 

A  wolf  North  Wales  had  on  his  armour-coat, 
And  Rhys  of  Powis-land  a  conchant  stas; 
Strath-Clwyd's  strange  emblem  was  a  stranded 

boat, 

Donald  of  Galloway's  a  trotting  nag; 
A  corn-sheaf  gilt  was  fertile  Lodori's  brag: 
A  dudgeon-dagger  was  by  Dunmail  worn  ; 
Northumbrian  Adolf  gave  a  sea-beat  crag 
Surmounted    by   a  cross  — such   signs  were 

borne 
Upon  these  antique  shields,  all  wasted  now 

and  worn. 

III. 

These  scann'd.  Count  Harold  sought  the  cas- 
tle door, 

Whose  ponderous  bolts  were  rusted  to  decay ; 
Yet  till  that  hour  adventurous  knight  forbore 
The  iinnhMlrncted  passage  to  essay. 
More  strong  than  armed  warders  in  nrray, 
And  obstacle  more  sure  than  bolt  or  bar, 
Sate  in  the  portal  Terror  and  Dismay, 


While  Superstition,  who  forbade  to  war 
With  fues  of  other  mould  than  mortal  clay, 
Cast  spells  across  the  gate,  and  barr'd  the  on- 
ward way. 

Vain  now  those  spells ;  for  soon  with  heavy 

clank 

The  feelily-fasten'd  gate  was  inward  pnsh'd. 
And,  as  it  oped,  through  that  emblazoii'd  rank 
Of  antique  shields,  the  wind  of  evening  ru.-h'd 
With  sound  most  like  a  groan,  and  then  was 

hush'd. 
Is  none  who  on  such  spot  such  sounds  could 

hear 

But  to  his  heart  the  blood  had  faster  rush'd  ; 
Yet  to  bold  Harold's  breast  that  throb  was 

dear- 
It  spoke  of  danger  nigh,  but  had  no  touch  of 

fear. 

IV. 

Yet  Harold  and  his  Page  no  signs  have  traced 
Within  the  castle,  that  of  danger  show'd ; 
For  still  the  halls  and  courts  were  wild  and 

waste, 
As  throush  their  precincts  the  adventurers 

trode. 
The  seven  huge  towers  rose  stately,  tall,  and 

broad. 

Each  tower  presenting  to  their  scrutiny 
A  hall  in  which  a  king  might  make  abode, 
And   fast  beside,  garnish'd   both   proud   and 

hieh, 
Was  plared  a  bower  for  rest  in  which  a  king 

might  lie. 

As  if  a  bridal  there  of  late  had  been, 
Deck'd  stood  the  table  in  each  gorgeous  hall ; 
And  yet  it  was  two  hundred  years,  I  ween, 
Since  dale  of  that  unhallow'd  festival. 
Flagons,  and  ewers,  and  standing  cups,  were 

Of  tarnish'd  gold,  or  silver  nothing  clear. 

With  throne  begilt.  and  canopy  of  pall. 

And  tapestry  clothed  the  walls  with  fragments 

sear — 
Frail  as  the  spider's  mesh  did  that  rich  woof 

appear. 

In  every  bower,  as  round  a  hearse,  was  hung 
A  dusky  crimson  curtain  o'er  the  bed, 
And  on  each  couch  in  ghastly  wise  were  flung 
The  wasted  relics  of  a  monarch  dead  ; 
Barbaric  ornaments  around  were  spread. 
Vests  twined  with  gold,  and  chains  of  pre- 
cious stone, 

And  golden  circlets,  meet  for  monarch's  head  ; 
While  grinn'd,  as  if  in  scorn  amongst  them 

thrown. 

The  wearer's  fleshless  skull,  alike  with  dust 
bestrown. 

For  these  were  they  who,  drunken  with  de- 
light. 

On  pleasure's  opiate  pillow  laid  their  head. 

For  whom  the  bride's  shy  footstep,  slow  and 
litrlit. 

Was  changed  ere  morning  to  the  murderer's 
tread. 

For  human  bliss  and  woe  in  the  frail  thread 

Df  human  life  are  all  so  closely  twined. 

That  till  the  shears  of  Fate  the  texture  shred. 

The  close  succession  cannot  he  disjom'd. 

Nor  dare  we,  from  one  hour,  judge  that  which 
comes  behind. 


444 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


vr. 

But  where  the  work  of  vengeance  had  been 

done. 

In  that  seventh  chamber,  was  a  sterner  sight; 
There  of  the  witch-brides  lay  each  skeleton, 
Siill  in  the  posture  as  to  death  when  dight. 
For  this  lay  prone,  by  one  blow  slain  oui  right; 
And  that,  as  one  who  struggled  Ion?  in  dying  ; 
One  bony  hand  held  knife,  as  if  to  smite ; 
One  bent  on  flesh less  knees,  as  mercy  dying; 
One  lav  across  the  door,  as  kill'd  in  act  of 

flying. 

The  stern  Dane  smiled  this  charnal-house  to 

see, — 

For  his  chafed  thought  retnrn'd  to  Metelill ; — 
And  "  Well."  he  said,  ••  hath  woman's  perfidy, 
Empty  as  air,  as  water  volatile. 
Been  here  avenged — The  origin  of  ill 
Through  woman  rose,  the  Christian  doctrine 

sailh : 

Nor  deem  I,  Gnnnar.  that  thy  minstrel  skill 
Can  show  example  where  a  woman's  breath 
Hath  made  a  true-love  vow,  aud,  tempted, 

kept  her  faith." 

VII. 

The  minstrel-boy  half  smiled,  half  sigh'c], 
And  his  half-filling  eyes  he  dried. 
And  said,  "The  theme  I  should  but  wrong, 
Unless  it  were  my  dying  song, 
(Our  Scalds  have  said,  in  dying  hour 
The  Northern  harp  has  treble  power 
Else  could  I  tell  of  woman's  faith, 
Defying  danger,  scorn,  and  death. 
Firm  was  that  faith. — as  diamond  stone 
Pure  and  unflaw'd. — her  love  unknown, 
And  unrequited  ; — firm  and  pure. 
Her  stainless  faith  could  all  endure ; 
From  clime  to  clime.— from  place  to  place, — 
Through  want,  and  danger,  and  disgrace, 
A  wanderer's  wayward  steps  could  trace. — 
And  this  she  did. "and  guerdon  none 
Required,  save  that  her  burial-stone 
Should  make  at  length  the  secret  known, 
•Thus  hath  a  faithful  woman  done.'— 
Not  in  ear.h  breast  sur.h  truth  is  laid, 
But  Eivir  was  a  Danish  maid." — 

vm. 

"Thou  art  a  wild  enthusiast,''  said 
Count  Harold,  "for  thy  Danish  maid; 
And  yet.  young  Gunnar,  I  will  own 
Hers  were  n  faith  to  rest  upon. 
But  Eivir  sleeps  beneulli  her  stone. 
And  all  resembling  her  are  gone. 
What  maid  e'er  show'd  such  constancy 
In  plighted  faith,  like  thine  to  me  ? 
But  couch  thee,  boy ;  the  darksome  shade 
Falls  thickly  round,  nor  be  dismay'd 

Because  the  dead  are  by. 
They  were  as  we  ;  our  little  day 
O'erspent,  and  we  shall  be  as  they. 
Yet  near  me.  Gunuar,  be  thon  laid, 
Thy  couch  upon  my  mantle  made, 
That  t  lion  niaysl  think,  should  fear  invade, 

Thy  master  slumbers  nigh." 
Thus  couch'd  they  in  that  dread  abode, 
Until  the  beams  of  dawning  gtow'd. 

IX. 

An  alter'd  man  Lord  Harold  rose, 
When  he  beheld  that  dawn  unclose — 


There's  trouble  in  Ins  eyes. 
And  traces  on  his  brow  and  cheek 
Of  mingled  awe  and  wonder  speak  • 

"  My  page."  he  said.  "  arise  ;— 
Leave  we  this  place,  my  page  "—No  more 
He  ntter'd  till  ihe  castle  door 
They  cross'd— hut  there  he  paused  and  said, 
"My  wildness  hath  awaked  the  dead- 
Disturb  'd  the  sacred  tornb! 
Met  nought  this  night  I  stood  on  high 
Where  Hecla  roars  in  middle  sky. 
And  in  her  cavern'd  gulf*  coj.u  spy 

The  central  place  of  doom  ; 
And  there  before  my  mortal  eye 
Souls  of  the  dead  came  flitting  by. 
Whom  fiends,  with  many  a  fiendish  cry. 

Bore  to  that  evil  den  ! 
My  eyes  grew  dizzy,  and  my  brain 
Was  wilder'd,  as  the  elvish  train. 
With  shriek  and  howl,  dragg'd  on  amain 
Those  who  had  late  been  men. 


"  With  haggard  eyes  and  streaming  hair, 

Jutta  the  Sorceress  was  there. 

And  there  pass'd  Wullstane.  lately  slain, 

All  crnsh'd  and  foul  with  bloody  stajn  — 

More  hail  I  seen,  but  that  uprose 

A  whirlwind  wild,  and  swept  the  snows; 

And  with  such  sound  as  when  at  need 

A  champion  spurs  his  horse  to  speed, 

Three  armed  knights  rusli  on,  who  lead 

Capanson'd  a  sable  steed. 

Sable  their  harness,  and  there  came 

Through  their  closed  visors  sparks  of  flame. 

The  first  proclaim'd.  in  sounds  of  fear, 

'Harold  the  Dauntless,  welcome  here  !' 

The  next  cned,  'Jubilee  !  we've  won 

Count  Witikind  the  Waster's  son  !' 

And  the  third  rider  sternly  spoke, 

4  Mount,  in  the  name  of  Zernehock  !— 

From  us,  O  Harold,  were  thy  powers, — 

Thy  strength,  thy  dauntlessriess,  are  ours ; 

Nor  think,  a  vassal  thou  of  hell. 

With  hell  can  strive.'   The  fiend  spoke  true ! 

My  inmost  soul  the  summons  knew, 

As  captives  know  the  knell 
That  says  the  headsman's  sword  is  bare, 
And,  with  an  accent  of  despair, 

Commands  them  quit  their  cell. 
I  felt  resistance  was  in  vain. 
My  foot  had  that  fell  stirrup  ta'en, 
My  hand  was  on  the  fatal  mane. 

When  to  my  rescue  sped 
That  Palmer's  visionary  form, 
And — like  the  pa.ssmg  of  a  storm — 
The  demons  yell'd  and  fled ! 

XL 

"His  sahle  cowl,  flung  back,  reveal'd 
The  features  it  before  oonreal'd ; 

And,  tinnnar.  I  could  find 
In  him  whose  counsels  strove  to  stay 
So  oft  my  course  on  wilful  way, 

Mv  father  Witikind! 

Doom'd  for  his  sins,  and  doom'd  for  mine, 
A  wanderer  upon  earth  to  pine 
Until  his  son  shall  turn  to  grace. 
And  smooth  for  him  a  resting  place.— 
Unnnar.  he  must  not  haunt  in  vain 
Tins  world  of  wretchedness  and  pain: 
I'll  tame  my  wilful  heart  to  live 
In  peace — to  pity  and  forgive — 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


445 


And  thou,  for  so  the  Vision  s;iid. 
Must  in  thy  Lord's  repeal iinee  aid. 
Thy  mother  WHS  a  prophetess. 
He  sail],  who  by  her  skill  could  guess 
How  close  the  fatal  textures  join 
Which  knit  thy  thread  of  life  with  mine; 
Then.  dark,  he  hinted  of  disguise 
She  framed  to  cheat  too  curious  eyes, 
That  not  a  moment  might  divide 
Thy  fated  footsteps  from  my  side. 
Methought  while  thus  my  sire  did  teach, 
I  naught  the  meaning  of  Ins  speech, 
Yet  seems  its  purport  doubtful  now." 
His  hand  then  sought  his  thoughtful  brow, 
Then  lirst  lie  mark'd,  that  in  the  tower 
His  glove  was  left  at  waking  hour. 

XII. 

Trembling  at  first,  and  deadly  pale. 
Had  Gunuar  heard  the  vision'd  tale; 
But  when  he  learn'd  the  dubious  close, 
He  blush'd  like  any  opening  rose. 
And,  glad  to  hide  his  tell-tale  cheek, 
Hied  hack  that  glove  of  mail  to  seek  ; 
When  soon  a  shriek  of  deadly  dread 
Suniinoii'd  his  master  to  his  aid. 

XIII. 
What  sees  Count  Harold  in  that  bower, 

So  late  his  resting-place  7 — 
The  semblance  of  the  Evil  Power, 

Adored  by  all  his  race  ! 
Odin  in  living  form  stood  there, 
His  cloak  the  spoils  of  Polar  bear; 
For  plumy  crest  a  meteor  shed 
Its  gloomy  radiance  o'er  his  head, 
Yet  veil'd  its  haggard  majesty 
To  the  wild  lightnings  of  his  eye. 
Such  height  was  his,  as  when  in  stone 
O'er  Upsal's  giant  altar  shown : 

So  flow'd  his  hoary  beard  ; 
Such  was  his  lance  of  mountain-pine, 
So  did  his  sevenfold  buckler  shine ; — 

But  when  his  voice  he  rear'd, 
Deep,  without  harshness,  slow  and  strong, 
The  powerful  accents  roll'd  along. 
And,  while  he  spoke,  his  hand  was  laid 
On  captive  Guimar's  shrinking  head. 

XIV. 

'•  Harold,"  he  said.  "  what  rage  is  thine, 
To  quit  the  worship  of  thy  line. 

To  leave  thy  Warrior-God  7— 
With  me  is  glory  or  disgrace, 
Mine  is  the  onset  and  the  chase, 
Embattled  hosts  before  my  face 

Are  wither'd  by  a  nod. 
Wilt  thou  then  forfeit  that  high  seat 
Deserved  by  many  a  dauntless  feat, 
Among  the  heroes  of  thy  line, 
Eric  and  fierv  Thorarine  7 — 
Thou  wilt  not.    Only  I  can  give 
The  joys  for  which  the  valiant  live, 
Victory  and  vengeance — only  I 
Can  give  the  joys  for  which  they  die 
Trie  immortal  tilt— the  banquet  full. 
The  brimming  draught  from  foeman's  skull. 
Mine  art,  Ihou.  witness  this  thy  glove, 
The  faithful  pledge  of  vassal's  love." — 

XV: 

"Tempter,"  said  Harold,  firm  of  heart, 
"  I  charge  thee,  hence !  whate'er  thou  art. 


I  do  defy  thee — and  resist 

The  kindling  frenzy  of  my  breast. 

Waked  by  thy  words;  and  of  my  mail. 

Nor  glove,  nor  buckler,  splent,  nor  nail, 

Shall  rest  with  thee — that  youth  release, 

And  Gitd,  or  Demon,  part  in  peace." — 

•'  Eivir."  the  Shape  replied.  '•  is  mine, 

Mark'd  in  the  birth-hour  with  my  sign. 

Think'st  thou  that  priest  with  drops  of  spray 

Could  wa-h  that  blood-red  mark  away  7 

Or  that  a  borrow'd  sex  and  name 

Can  abrogate  a  Godhead's  claim  7" 

Thrill'd  this  strange  speech  through  Harold's 

brain. 

He  clench'd  his  teeth  in  high  disdain, 
For  not  his  new-born  faith  subdued 
Some  tokens  of  his  ancient  mood  — 
"  Now,  by  the  hope  so  lately  given 
Of  better  trust  and  purer  heaven, 
I  will  assail  thee,  fiend  !"— Then  rose 
His  mace,  and  with  a  storm  of  blows 
The  mortal  and  the  Demon  close. 

XVI. 

Smoke  roll'd  above,  fire  flash'd  aronnd, 
Darken'd  the  sky  and  shook  the  ground; 

But  not  the  artillery  of  hell. 
The  bickering  lightning,  nor  the  rock 
Of  turrets  to  the  earthquake's  shock. 

Could  Harold's  courage  quell. 
Sternly  the  Dane  his  purpose  kept. 
And  blows  on  blows  resistless  heap'd, 

Till  Qiiail'd  that  Demon  Form, 
And— for  his  power  to  hurt  or  kill 
Was  bounded  by  a  higher  will— 

Evamsh'd  in  the  storm. 
Nor  paused  the  Champion  of  the  North, 
But  raised,  and  bore  his  Eivir  forth, 
From  that  wild  scene  of  fiendish  strife. 
To  light,  to  liberty,  and  life ! 

XVII. 
He  placed  her  on  a  bank  of  moss, 

A  silver  runnel  bubbled  by, 
And  new-born  thoughts  his  soul  engross. 
And  tremors  yet.  unknown  across 

His  stubborn  sinews  fly. 
The  while  with  timid  hand  the  dew 
Upon  her  brow  and  neck  he  threw. 
And  mark'd  how  life  with  rosy  hue 
On  her  pale  cheek  revived  anew, 

And  gliinmer'd  in  her  eye. 
Inly  he  said.  "That  silken  tress, — 
What  blindness  mine  that  could  not  guess! 
Or  how  could  page's  rugeed  dress 

That  bosom's  pride  belie  7 
0,  dull  of  heart,  through  wild  and  wave 
In  search  of  blood  and  death  to  rave, 

With  such  a  partner  nigh  !" 

XVIII. 

Then  in  the  mirror'd  pool  he  peer'd, 
Blamed  his  rough  loc«s  and  shaggy  beard, 
The  stains  of  recent  conflict  clear'd, — 

And  thus  the  Champion  proved, 
That  he  fears  now  who  never  fear'd, 

And  loves  who  never  loved. 
And  Kivir — life  is  on  her  cheek. 
And  yet  she  will  not  move  or  speak, 

ISor  will  her  eyelid  fully  ope  ; 
Perchance  it  loves,  that  half-shut  eye, 
Through  its  long  fringe,  reserved  and  shy 


446 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Affection's  opening  dawn  to  spy ; 
And  the  deep  blush,  which  hiils  its  dye 
O'er  cheek,  and  brow,  and  bosom  fly, 
Speaks  shame-facedness  and  hope. 

XIX. 

But  vainly  seems  the  Dane  to  seek 
for  terms  his  new-liorn  love  to  speak. — 
For  words,  save  those  of  wrath  and  wrong:, 
Till  now  were  strangers  to  his  tongue  ; 
So,  when  he  raised  the  blushing  maid, 
In  blunt  and  honest  terms  he  said, 
('Twere  well  that  maids,  when  lovers  woo, 
Heard  none  more  soft,  were  all  as  true,} 
"  tJ vir  !  since  thou  for  many  a  day 
Hast  follow'd  Harold's  wayward  way, 
It  is  but  meet  that  in  the  line 
Of  after-life  I  follow  thine. 
To-morrow  is  Saint  Cuthbert's  tide, 
And  we  will  grace  his  altar's  side. 
A  Christian  knight  and  Christian  bride ; 


And  of  Wjtikind's  son  shall  the  marvel  he 

said, 
That  on  the  same  mum  he  was  chrislen'd  and 

wed." 


CONCLUSION. 

And  now.  Ennui,  what  ails  thee,  weary  maid  t 
And  why  these  listless  looks  of  yawuins  sor- 
row? 

No  need  to  turn  the  pase,  as  if  'twere  lead. 
Or  fling  aside  the  volume  till  to-morrow. — 
Be  cheer'd — 'tis  ended — and  I  will  not  borrow, 
To  try  thy  patience  more,  one  anecdote 
From  Bartholme,  or  Perinskmld.  or  Snorro. 
Then   pardon   thou  thy  minstrel,  who  hath 

wrote 

A  Tale  six  cantos  long,  yet  scorn'd  to  add  a 
DOM. 


fiutrq, 


AND   ON   THE 

VARIOUS  COLLECTIONS  OF  BALLADS  OF  BRITAIN,  PARTICULARLY 
THOSE  OF  SCOTLAND. 


The  Introduction  originally  prefixed  to  "  The 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  was  rather 
of  a  historical  than  a  literary  nature ;  and  the 
remarks  which  follow  have  been  added,  to 
afford  Ihe  general  reader  some  information 
upon  the  character  of  Ballad  Poetry. 

It  would  be  throwing  away  words  to  prove, 
what  all  must  admit,  the  general  taste  and 
propensity  of  nations  in  their  early  state,  to 
cultivate  some  species  of  rude  poetry.  When 
the  organs  and  faculties  of  a  primitive  race 
have  developed  themselves,  each  for  its  pro- 
per and  necessary  use.  there  is  a  natural  ten- 
dency lo  employ  them  in  a  more  refined  and 
regulated  manner  for  purposes  of  amusement. 
The  savage,  after  proving  the  activity  of  his 
limbs  in  the  chase  or  the  battle,  trams  them 
to  more  measured  movements,  to  dance  at  the 
festivals  of  his  tnbe.  or  lo  perform  obeisance 
before  the  altars  of  his  deity.  From  Ihe  same 
impulse,  he  is  disposed  to  refine  the  ordinary 
speech  which  forms  the  vehicle  of  social  com- 
munication betwixt  him  and  his  brethren, 
until,  by  a  mo:e  orna'e  diction,  modulated  bv 
certain  rules  of  rhythm,  cadence,  assonance 
of  termination,  or  recurrence  of  sound  or 
letter,  he  obtains  a  dialect  more  solemn  in 
expression,  to  record  the  laws  or  exploits  of 


his  tribe,  or  more  sweet  in  sound,  in  which  to 
plead  his  own  cause  to  his  mistress. 

This  primeval  poetry  must  have  one  genernl 
character  in  all  nations,  both  as  to  its  merits 
and  its  imperfections.  The  earlier  p<>ets  have 
the  advantage,  and  it  is  not  a  small  one,  of 
having  the  first  choice  out  of  the  stock  of 
materials  which  are  proper  to  the  art;  and 
thus  they  compel  later  authors,  if  they  would 
avoid  slavishly  imitating  the  fathers  of  verse, 
into  various  devices,  often  more  ingenious 
than  elegant,  that  they  may  establish,  if  not 
an  absolute  claim  'o  originality,  at  least  a 
visible  distinction  betwixt  themselves  xnd 
their  predecessors.  Thus  it  happens,  tha' 
early  poets  almost  uniformly  display  a  bold, 
rude,  original  cast  of  genius  :md  expression. 
They  have  walked  at  free-will,  and  with  iin- 
cons'ti  amed  steps.along  the  wilds  of  Parnassus, 
while  their  followers  move  with  constrained 
ges'nresand  forced  attitudes. in  order  to  avoid 
placing  their  feet  where  their  predecessors 
have  stepped  before  them  The  first  hard  who 
compared  his  hero  to  a  lion,  struck  a  boid  »nd 
ronirenial  note,  though  the  simile,  in  a  nation 
of  hunters,  be  a  very  obvious  one  •  but  every 
subsequent  poet  who  shall  use  it,  must  either 
struggle  hard  to  give  his  lion,  as  heralds  say, 


REMARKS 


POPULAR    POETRY. 


447 


with  a  differrnce,  or  lie  under  the  imputation 
of  being  a  servile  imitator. 

It  is  not  probable  that,  by  any  researches  of 
modern  times,  we  sliall  ever  reach  back  to  an 
earlier  model  of  poetry  than  Homer;  but  as 
there  lived  heroes  before  Agamemnon,  so,  un- 
questionably, poets  existed  before  the  iimnoi- 
tal  Bard  who  gave  the  King  of  kings  his  fame  ; 
and  he  whom  all  civilized  nations  now  ac- 
knowledge as  the  father  of  Poetry,  must  have 
himself  looked  hack  to  an  ancestry  of  poetical 
predecessors,  and  is  only  held  original  because 
we  know  not  from  whom  he  copied.  Indeed, 
though  much  must  he  ascribed  to  the  riches 
of  his  own  individual  genius,  the  poetry  of 
Homer  argues  a  degree  of  perfection  in  an  art 
which  practice  had  already  rendered  regular, 
and  concerning  which,  his  frequent  mention 
of  the  bards,  or  chanters  of  poetry,  indicates 
plainly  that  it  was  studied  by  many.'and  known 
and  admired  by  all. 

It  is  indeed  easily  discovered,  that  the  qua- 
lities necessary  for  composing  such  poems  are 
not  the  portion  of  every  man  in  the  tribe: 
that  the  bard,  to  reach  excellence  in  his  art. 
must  possess  something  more  than  a  full  com- 
mand of  words  and  phrases,  and  the  knack 
of  arranging  them  in  such  form  as  ancient  ex- 
amples have  fixed  upon  as  the  recognised 
structure  of  national  verse.  The  tribe  speedily 
become  sensible,  that  besides  this  degree  of 
mechanical  facility,  which  (like  making  what 
are  called  at  schcx>l  nonsense  verses)  may  be 
attained  by  dint  of  memory  and  praciice,  much 
higher  qualifications  are  demanded.  A  keen 
and  active  power  of  observation,  capable  of 
perceiving  at  a  glance  the  leadinz  circum- 
stances from  which  the  incident  described 
derives  its  character;  quick  and  powerful 
feelings,  to  enable  the  bard  to  comprehend 
and  delineate  those  of  the  actors  in  his  piece ; 
and  a  command  of  language,  alternately  soft 
and  elevated,  and  suited  to  express  the  con- 
ceptions winch  he  had  formed  in  his  mind, 
are  all  necessary  to  eminence  in  the  poetical 
art. 

Above  all,  to  attain  the  highest  point  of  his 
profession,  the  poet  must  have  that  original 
power  of  embodying  and  detailing  circum- 
stances, which  can  place  before  the  eyes  of 
others  a  scene  which  only  exJsts  in  his  own 
imagination.  This  last  high  and  creative 
faculty,  namely,  that  of  impressing  the  mind 
of  the  hearers  with  scenes  and  sentiments 
having  no  existence  save  through  their  art, 
lias  procured  for  the  bards  of  Greece  the  term 
of  Iloti/TTjj,  which,  as  it  sineularly  happens, 
is  literally  translated  by  the  Scottish  epithet 
for  the  same  class  of  persons,  whom  they 
termed  the  Makers.  The  French  phrase  of 
Trouveurs.  or  Troubadours,  namely,  the  Find- 
ers, or  Inventors,  has  the  same  reference  to 
the  quality  of  original  conception  and  inven- 
tion proper  to  the  poetical  art,  and  without 
which  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist  to  any 
pleasing  or  useful  purpose. 

The  mere  arrangement  of  words  into  poeti- 
cal rhythm,  or  combining  them  according  to  a 
technical  rule  or  measure,  is  so  closely  con- 
nected with  the  art  of  music,  that  an  alliance 
between  these  two  fine  arts  is  very  soon 
closely  formed.  It  is  fruitless  to  enquire 
which  of  them  has  been  first  invented,  since 


doubtless  the  precedence  is  accidental ;  and 
t  signifies  little  whether  the  musician  adapts 
irerses  to  a  rude  tune,  or  whether  the  primi- 
tive poet,  in  reciting  his  productions,  falls 
naturally  into  a  chant  or  >ong.  With  this 
additional  accomplishment,  the  poet  becomes 
aotoos,  or  the  man  of  song,  and  his  character 
is  complete  when  the  additional  accompani- 
menr  of  a  lute  ur  harp  is  added  to  his  vocal 
performance. 

Here,  therefore,  we  have  the  history  of  early 
poetry  in  all  nations.  But  it  is  evident  that, 
though  poetry  seems  a  plant  proper  to  almost 
all  soils,  yet  not  only  is  it  of  various  kinds,  ac- 
cording to  the  climate  and  country  in  which  it 
has  its  origin,  but  the  poetry  of  different  na- 
tions differs  still  more  widely  in  the  decree  of 
excellence  which  it  attains.  This  must  de- 
pend in  some  measure,  no  doubt,  on  the  tem- 
per and  manners  of  the  people,  or  their  proxi- 
mity to  those  spirit-siirring  events  which  are 
naturally  selected  as  the  subject  of  poetrv, 
and  on  the  more  comprehensive  or  energetic 
character  of  the  language  spoken  by  the  tribe. 
But  the  progress  of  the  art  is  far  more  de- 
pendent upon  the  rise  of  some  highly  gifted 
individual,  possessing  in  a  pre-eminent  and 
uncommon  degree  the  powers  demanded, 
whose  talents  influence  the  taste  of  a  whole 
nation,  and  entail  on  their  posterity  and  lan- 
guage a  character  almost  indelibly  sacred. 
In  this  respect  Homer  stands  alone  and  un- 
rivalled, as  a  light  from  whose  lamp  the 
genius  of  successive  ages,  and  of  distant  na- 
tions, has  caught  fire  and  illumination ;  and 
who.  though  the  early  poet  of  a  rude  age.  has 
purchased  for  the  era  lie  has  celebrated,  so 
much  reverence,  that,  not  daring  to  bestow 
on  it  the  term  of  barbarous,  we  distinguish  it 
as  the  heroic  period. 

No  other  poet  (sacred  and  inspired  authors 
excepteil)  ever  did.  or  ever  will,  possess  the 
same  influence  over  posterity,  in  so  many  dis- 
tant lands,  as  has  been  acquired  by  the  blind 
old  man  of  Chios;  yet  we  are  assured  that 
Ins  works,  collected  hy  the  pious  care  of 
Pisistratus,  who  caused  to  be  united  into  their 
present  form  those  divine  poems,  would  other- 
wise, if  preserved  at  all.  have  appeared  to 
succeeding  generations  in  the  humble  state 
of  a  collection  of  detached  ballads,  connected 
only  as  referring  to  the  same  age,  Ihe  same 
general  subjects,  and  the  same  cycle  of  he- 
roes, like  the  metrical  poems  of  the  Cid  in 
Spain,  or  of  Robin  Hood  in  England. 

In  other  countries,  less  favoured,  either  in 
language  or  in  picturesque  incident,  it  cannot 
he  supposed  that  even  the  genius  of  Homer 
could  havesoared  tosnch  exclusive  eminence, 
since  he  must  at  once  have  been  deprived  of 
the  subjects  and  themes  so  well  adapted  fur 
his  muse,  and  of  the  lofty,  melodious.  ;tnd 
flexible  language  in  which  he  recorded  them. 
Other  nations,  during  the  formation  of  their 
ancient  poetry,  wanted  the  genius  of  Homer, 
as  well  as  Ins  picturesque  scenery  and  lolly 
language.  Yet  the  investigation  of  the  early 
poetry  of  every  nation,  even  tlie  rudest,  car- 
ries with  it  an  object  of  curiosity  and  interest. 
It  is  a  chapter  in  Ihe  history  of  the  childhood 
of  society,  and  its  resemblance  to,  or  dissimi- 
larity from,  the  popular  rhymes  of  other  na- 
tions in  the  same  stage,  must  needs  illustrate 


448 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL,  WORKS. 


the  ancient  history  of  states;  their  slower  or 

ifter  progress  towards  civilisation ;  their 
gradual  or  more  rapid  adoption  of  manners, 
seiittinents.  and  religion.  The  study,  there- 
fore, of  lays  rescued  from  the  gulf  of  oblivion, 
must  in  every  rase  possess  considerable  in- 
terest for  the  moral  philosopher  and  general 
historian. 

The  historian  of  an  individual  nation  is 
equally  or  more  deeply  interested  in  the  re- 
searches into  popular  poetry,  since  he  must 
not  disdain  to  gather  from  the  tradition  con- 
veyed in  ancient  ditties  and  ballads,  the  in- 
formation necessary  to  confirm  or  correct  in- 
telligence collected  from  more  certain  sources. 
And  although  the  poets  were  a  fabling  race 
from  the  very  beginning  of  time,  and  so  much 
addicted  to  exaggeration,  that  their  accounts 
are  seldom  to  be  relied  on  without  corrobora- 
tive evidence,  yet  instances  frequently  occur 
where  the  statements  of  poetical  tradition  are 
unexpectedly  confirmed. 

To  the  lovers  and  admirers  of  poetry  as  an 
art,  it  cannot  be  uninteresting  to  have  a 
glimpse  of  the  National  Muse  in  her  cradle, 
or  to  hear  her  babbling  the  earliest  attempts 
at  the  formation  of  the  tuneful  sounds  with 
which  she  was  afterwards  to  charm  posterity. 
And  1  may  venture  to  add,  that  among  poetry, 
which,  however  rude,  was  a  gift  of  Nature's 
first  fruits,  even  a  reader  of  refined  taste  will 
find  his  patience  rewarded,  by  passages  in 
which  the  rude  minstrel  rises  into  sublimity 
or  melts  into  pathos.  These  were  the  merits 
which  induced  the  classical  Addison  to  write 
an  elaborate  commentary  upon  the  ballad  of 
Chevy  Chase, and  which  roused,  like  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet,  me  heroic  blood  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney. 

It  is  true  that  passages  of  this  high  character 
seldom  ocimr;  for.  during  the  infancy  of  the 
art  of  poetry,  the  bards  have  been  generally 
satisfied  with  a  rude  and  careless  expression 
of  their  sentiments:  and  even  when  a  more 
felicitous  expression,  or  loftier  numbers,  have 
been  dictated  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  com- 
position, the  advantage  came  unsought  for, 
and  perhaps  unnoticed,  either  by  the  minstrel 
or  the  audience 

Am  it  her  cause  contributed  to  the  tenuity  of 
thought  and  poverty  of  expression,  by  which 
old  ballads  are  too  often  distinguished.  The 
apparent  simplicity  of  the  ballad  stanza  carried 
with  it  a  strong  temptation  to  loose  and  trivial 
composition.  The  collection  of  rhymes,  ac- 
cumulated by  the  earliest  of  the  craft,  appear 
to  have  been  considered  as  forming  a  joint 
stock  for  the  common  use  of  the  profession  : 
and  not  mere  rhymes  only,  but  verses  and 
stanzas,  have  been  used  as  common  property, 
so  as  to  give  an  appearance  of  sameness  and 
crudity  to  the  whole  series  of  popular  poetry. 
Such,  for  instance,  is  the  salutation  so  often 
repealed, — 

"  Now  Heaven  thee  save,  thou  brave  young 

knight, 
Now  Heaven  thee  save  and  see." 

And  such  the  usual    expression   for  taking 
counsel  with : 

"  Rede  me,  rede  me,  brother  dear, 
My  rede  shall  rise  at  thee." 


Such  also  is  the  unvaried  account  of  the  rose 
and  the  brier,  wliirh  are  said  10  spring  out  uf 
the  grave  of  the  hero  and  heroine  of  these 
metrical  legends,  with  little  e(Ti>rt  at  a  varia- 
tion of  the  expressions  in  which  I  he  incident 
is  prescnptively  told.  The  least  acquaintance 
with  the  subject  will  recall  a  great  number 
of  commonplace  verses,  which  each  ballad- 
maker  has  unceremoniously  appropriated  to 
himself;  thereby  greatly  facilitating  Ins  own 
task,  and  at  the  same  lime  degrading  his  art 
by  his  slovenly  use  of  oversciitched  phrases. 
From  the  same  indolence,  the  ballad-mongers 
of  most  nations  have  availed  themselves  of 
every  opportunity  of  prolonging  Uieir  pieces, 
of  the  same  kind,  without  the  labour  of  actual 
composition  If  a  message  is  to  be  delivered, 
the  poet  saves  himself  a  little  trouble,  by 
using  exactly  tlie  same  words  in  which  it  was 
originally  couched,  to  secure  its  being  trans- 
mitted to  the  person  for  whose  ear  it  was  in- 
tended. The  bards  of  ruder  climes,  and  less 
favoured  languages,  may  indt-ed  claim  the 
countenance  of  Homer  for  such  repetitions; 
hut  wh'ilst,  in  the  Father  of  Poetry,  they  give 
the  reader  an  opportunity  to  pause,  and  look 
back  upon  the  enchanted  ground  over  which 
they  have  travelled,  they  afford  nothing  to  the 
modern  bard,  save  facilitating  the  power  of 
stupifying  the  audience  with  stanzas  of  dull 
and  tedious  iteration. 

Another  cause  of  the  flatness  and  insipidity. 
,  which  is  the  great  imperfection  of  ballad 
poetry,  is  to  be  ascribed  less  to  the  composi- 
tions in  their  original  state,  when  rehearsed 
by  their  authors,  than  to  the  ignorance  and 
errors  of  the  reciters  or  transcribers,  by  whom 
they  have  been  transmitted  to  us.  The  more 
popular  the  composition  of  an  ancient  poet,  or 
Maker,  became,  the  greater  chance  there  was 
of  its  being  corrupted  ;  fora  poem  transmitted 
through  a  number  of  reciters,  like  a  book  re- 
printed in  a  multitude  of  editions,  incurs  the 
risk  of  impertinent  interpolations  from  the 
conceit  of  one  rehearser,  unintelligible  blun- 
ders from  the  stupidity  of  another,  and  omis- 
sions equally  to  be  regretted,  from  the  want 
of  memory  in  a  third.  This  sort  of  injury  is 
felt  very  early,  and  the  render  will  find  a 
curious  instance  in  the  Introduction  to  the 
Romance  of  Sir  Tristram.  Robert  de  Brumie 
there  complains,  that  though  the  Romance  of 
Sir  Tristrem  was  the  best  which  had  ever 
been  made,  if  it  could  be  recited  as  composed 
by  the  author,  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  yet  that 
it  was  written  in  such  an  ornate  style  of  lan- 
guage, and  such  a  difficult  strain  of  versifica- 
tion, as  to  lose  all  value  in  the  mouths  of  or- 
dinary minstrels,  who  could  scarcely  repeat 
one  stanza  without  omitting  some  part  of  it, 
and  marring,  consequently,  both  the  sense  and 
the  rhythm  of  the  passage.  This  deterioration 
could  not  be  limited  to  one  author  alone ; 
others  must  have  suflered  from  the  same 
cause,  in  the  same  or  a  greater  degree.  Nay, 
we  are  authorised  to  conclude,  that  in  propor- 
tion to  the  care  bestowed  by  the  author  upon 
any  poem,  to  attain  what,  his  hge  misrht  sup- 
pose to  be  the  highest  graces  of  poetry,  the 
greater  was  the  damage  which  it  sustained  by 
Ihe  inaccuracy  of  reciters,  or  their  desire  to 
humble  both  the  sense  and  diction  of  the 
poem  to  their  powers  of  recollection,  and  Ihe 
comprehension  of  a  vulgar  audience.  It  can- 


REMARKS    ON    POPULAR    POETRY. 


449 


not  he  expected  that  compositions  subjecte 
in  tins  way  to  mutilation  and  corruptjoi 
should  continue  to  present  their  origin; 
sense  or  diction;  and  tlie  accuracy  of  ou 
editions  of  popular  poetry,  unless  in  the  rar 
event  of  recovering  original  or  early  copies,  i 
lessened  in  proportion. 

But  the  chance  of  these  corruptions  is  in 
calculahly  increased,  when  we  consider  tlia 
the  ballads  have  been,  not  in  one,  but  innu 
meratile  instances  of  transmission,  liable  t( 
similar  alterations,  through  a  Ions;  course  o 
centuries,  during  which  they  have  been  hiindec 
from  one  ignorant  reciter  to  another,  ead 
discarding  whatever  original  words  or  phrase 
time  or  fashion  had.  in  bis  opinion,  renileret 
obsolete,  and  substituting  anachronisms  by 
expressions  taken  from  the  customs  of  his 
own  day.  And  here  it  may  l>e  remarked,  tha 
the  desire  of  the  reciter  to  be  intelligible 
however  natural  and  laudable,  has  been  one 
of  the  greatest  causes  of  the  deterioration  ol 
ancient  poetry.  The  minstrel  who  endea- 
voured to  recite  with  fidelity  the  words  of  the 
author,  misht  indeed  fall  into  errors  of  souni 
and  sense,  and  substitute  corruptions  for 
words  he  did  not  understand  But  the  inge- 
nuity of  a  skilful  critic  could  often,  in  that 
case,  revive  and  restore  the  original  meaning , 
while  the  corrupted  words  became,  in  sue! 
cases,  a  warrant  for  the  authenticity  of  the 
whole  poem. 

In  general,  however,  the  later  reciters  ap- 
pear to  have  been  far  less  desirous  to  speak 
the  author's  words,  than  to  introduce  amend- 
ments and  new  readings  of  their  own.  which 
have  always  produced  the  effect  of  modern- 
izing, and  usually  that  of  degrading  and  vul- 
garizing, the  rugged  sense  ami  spirit  of  the 
antique  minstrel.  Thus,  undergoing  from  age 
to  age  a  gradual  process  of  alteration  and  re- 
composition,  our  popular  and  oral  minstrelsy 
has  lost,  in  a  great  measure,  its  original  ap- 
pearance; and  the  strong  touches  by  which 
it  had  been  formerly  characterised,  have  been 
generally  smoothed  down  and  destroyed  by  a 
process  similar  to  that  by  which  a  coin,  pass- 
ing from  hand  to  hand,  loses  m  circulation  all 
the  finer  marks  of  the  impress. 

The  very  fine  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase  is  an 
example  of  this  degrading  species  of  alchymy. 
by  which  the  ore  of  antiquity  is  deteriorated 
and  adulterated.  While  Addison,  in  an  age 
which  had  never  attended  to  popular  poetry, 
wrote  his  classical  criticism  on  that  ballad, 
he  naturally  took  for  his  text  the  ordinary 
stall-copy,  although  he  might,  and  ought  to 
have  suspected,  that  a  ditty  couched  in  the 
language  nearly  of  his  own  time,  could  not  be 
the  same  with  that  which  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
more  than  one  hundred  years  before,  had 
spoken  of,  as  being  "evil  apparelled  in  the 
dust  and  cobwebs  of  an  uncivilized  age  "  The 
venerable  Bishop  Percy  was  the  firsl  to  correct 
this  mistake,  by  producing  a  copy  of  the  song, 
as  old  at  least  as  the  reign  of  Henry  VII , 
bearing  the  name  of  the  author  or  transcriber, 
Richard  Sheale.  But  even  I  he  Rev.  Editor 
himself  fell  under  the  mistake  of  supposing 
the  modern  Chevy  Chase  to  be  a  new  cnpy  of 
the  original  ballad,  expressly  modernized  by 
some  one  later  bard  On  the  contrary,  the 
current  version  is  now  universally  allowed  to 
have  been  produced  by  the  gradual  alterations 


of  numerous  reciters,  during  two  centuries 
m  the  course  of  which  the  ballad  has  beer 
gradually  moulded  into  a  composition  hearing 
only  a  general  resemblance  to  the  original- 
expressing  the  same  events  and  sentiments  in 
much  smoother  language,  and  more  flowing 
and  easy  versification ;  but  losing  in  poetical 
n  re  and  energy,  and  in  the  vigour  and  pithiness 
of  the  expression,  a  great  deal  more  than  i 
has  gained  in  suavity  of  diction.  Thus  :— 

"  The  Percy  owt  of  Northumberland, 
And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 

That  he  wolde  hunte  m  the  mountayns 
Off  Cheviot  within  dayes  thre. 

In  the  manger  of  doughty  Dougles, 
And  all  that  ever  with  him  be," 

Becomes 

"  The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 
Three  summer  days  to  take,"  &c. 

From  this,  and  other  examples  of  the  same 
ind,  of  which  many  might  be  quoted,  we 
must  often  expect  to  find  the  remains  of  Min- 
strel poetry,  composed  originallv  for  the  courts 
of  princes  and  halls  of  nobles,  disguised  in  the 
nore  modern  and  vulgar  dialect  in  which  they 
lave  been  of  late  sung  to  the  frequenters  of 
ihe  rustic  ale-bench.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
nention  more  than  one  other  remarkable  and 
tumbling  instance,  printed  in  the  curious 
ollection  entitled,  a  Ballad- Book,  where  we 
find,  in  the  words  of  the  ingenious  Editor,  a 
stupid  ballad,  printed  as  it  was  sung  in  Annan- 
dale,  founded  on  the  well-known  story  of  the 
Prince  of  Salerno's  daughter,  but  with  the 
uncouth  change  of  Dysmal  for  Ghismoiida.and 
iuiscard  transformed  into  a  greasy  kitchen- 
boy. 

"  To  what  base  uses  may  we  not  return !" 

Sometimes  a  still  more  material  and  syste- 
matic difference  appears  between  the  poems 
if  antiquity,  as  they  were  originally  composed, 
rind  as  they  now  exist.  Tins  occurs  in  cases 
where  the  longer  metrical  romances,  which 
were  in  fashion  during  the  middle  ages,  were 
educed  to  shorter  compositions,  in  order  that 
hey  might  be  chanted  before  an  inferior  au- 
ience.  A  ballad,  for  example,  of  Thomas  of 
OrrelcJoiine.  and  his  intrigues  with  the  Queen 
f  Faery-Land,  is.  or  has  been,  long  current 
n  Teviotdale,  and  other  parts  of  Scotland, 
'wo  ancient  copies  of  a  poem,  or  romance, 
n  the  same  subject,  and  containing  very  often 
ic  same  words  and  turns  of  expression,  are 
reserved  in  the  libraries  of  the  Cathedral  of 
jneoln  and  Peterborough.  We  are  left  to 
onjecture  whether  the  originals  of  such  bal- 
ads  have  been  gradually  contracted  into  their 
xidern  shape  by.the  impatience  of  later  au- 
iences.  combined  with  the  lack  of  memory 
isplayed  by  more  modern  reciters,  or  whe- 
ler,  in  particular  cases,  some  ballad-maker 
lay  have  actually  set  himself  to  work  to  re- 
•ench  the  old  details  of  the  minstrels,  and 
egularlv  and  systematically  to  modernize,  and 
"the  phrase  be  permitted,  to  balladize,  a 

etrical  romance.  We  are  assured,  however, 
laf'Roswal  and  Lilian"  was  sung  through 
he  streets  of  Edinburgh  two  generations 


450 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


since :  and  we  know  that  the  Romance  of  I  Scotland,  Berwickshire,  namely,  and  the  Lo- 
"Sir  Eger.  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir  Greysteil,"  had  |  thians.  over  the  more  mountainous;  lastly,  hy 
also  its  own  particular  cliant,  or  tune.  '1'helthe  superiority  which  a  language  like  the 
stall-copies  of  both  these  romances,  as  they  Anglo-Saxon,  considerably  n rined.  Ion?  since 


DOW  exist,  are  very  much  abbreviated,  and 
probably  exhibit  them  when  they  were  un- 
dergoing, or  had  nearly  undergone,  the  pro- 
cess of  being  cut  down  into  ballads. 

Taking  into  consideration  the  various  indi- 
rect channels  by  which  the  popular  poetry  of 
our  ancestors  has  been  transmitted  to  their 
posterity,  it  is  nothing  surprising  that  it  should 
reach  us  in  a  mutilated  and  degraded  state, 
and  thai  it  should  little  correspond  with  the 
ideas  we  are  apt  to  form  of  the  first  produc- 
tions of  national  genius  ;  nay.  it  is  more  to  be 


reduced  to  writing,  and  capable  of  expressing 
the  wants,  wishes,  and  sentiments  of  tlie 
speakers,  must  have  possessed  over  the  jargon 
of  various  tribes  of  Irish  and  British  origin, 
limited  and  contracted  in  every  varying  dia- 
lect, and  differing,  at  the  same  time,  from  each 
other.  This  superiority  being  considered,  and 
a  fair  length  of  time  being  allowed,  it  is  no 
wonder  that,  while  the  Scottish  people  re- 
tained their  Celtic  music,  and  many  of  their 
Celtic  customs,  together  with  their  Celtic 
dynasty,  they  should  nevertheless  have  adopt- 


'ondered  at  that  we  possess  so  many  ballads  !  ed,  throughout  the  Lowlands,  the  Saxon  lun- 
of  considerable   merit,  than  that  the  much  |  guage.  while  in  the  Highlands  they  retained 


greater  number  of  them  which   must  have 
once  existed,  should  have  perished  before  our 
time. 
Having  given  this  brief  account  of  ballad 


the  Celtic  dialect,  along  with  the  dress,  arms, 
manners,  and  government  of  their  fathers. 

There  was,  for  a  time,  a  solemn  national 
recognisance   that  the   Saxon   language   and 


poetry  in  general,  the  purpose  of  the  present  poetry  had  not  originally  been  that  of  the 
prefatory  remarks  will  be  accomplished,  by  royal  family.  For,  at  the  coronations  of  the 
shortly  noticing  the  popular  poetry  of  Scot-  kings  of  Scotland,  previous  to  Alexander  III., 
land,  and  some  of  the  efforts  which  have  been  •  it  was  a  part  of  the  solemnity,  that  a  Celtic 
made  to  collect  and  illustrate  it.  !  bard  stepped  forth,  so  soon  as  ihe  king  as- 

It  is  now  generally  ail  milted  that  the  Scots  sumed  his  seat  upon  the  fated  stone,  and 
and  Picts,  however  differing  otherwise,  were  i  recited  the  genealogy  of  the  monarch  in 
each  by  descent  a  Celtic  race  ;  that  they  ad-  Celtic  verse,  setting  forth  his  descent,  and  the 
vanced  in  a  coarse  of  victory  somewhat  far-  j  right  which  he  had  by  binh  to  occupy  the 
ther  than  the  present  frontier  between  Eng-j  place  of  sovereignty.  For  a  time,  no  doubt, 
land  and  Scotland,  and  about  the  end  of  the  ',  the  Celtic  songs  and  poems  remained  current 
eleventh  century  subdued  and  rendered  tribu-j  in  the  Lowlands,  while  any  remnant  of  the 
tary  the  Britons  of  Strathcluvd,  who  were  also  language  yet  lasted.  The  Gaelic  or  Irish 
a  Celtic  race  like  themselves.  Excepting,  bards,  we  are  also  aware,  occasionally  strolled 
therefore,  the  provinces  of  Berwickshire  and  into  the  Lowlands,  where  their  music  might 
the  Lothians,  which  were  chiefly  inhabited  by  i  be  received  with  favour,  even  after  their  reci- 
an  Anglo-Saxon  population,  the  whole  of  Scot-  j  tation  was  no  longer  understood.  But  though 


land  was  peopled  by  different  tribes  of  the 
same  aboriginal  race, — a  race  passionately  ad- 
dicted to  music,  as  appears  from  the  kindred 
Celtic  nations  of  Irish,  Welsh,  and  Scottish, 
preserving  each  to  this  day  a  style  and  charac- 
ter of  music  peculiar  to  their  own  country, 
though  all  three  bear  marks  of  general  re- 
semblance to  each  other.  That  of  Scotland, 
in  particular,  is  early  noticed  and  extolled  by 
ancient  authors,  and  its  remains,  to  which  the 
natives  are  passionately  attached,  are  slill 
found  to  afford  pleasure  even  to  those  who 
cultivate  the  art  upon  a  more  refined  and  va- 
ried system. 

This  skill  in  music  did  not,  of  course,  exist 
without  a  corresponding  degree  of  talent  for  a 
species  of  poetry,  adapted  to  the  habits  of  the 
country,  celebrating  the  victories  of  triumphant 
clans,  pouring  forth  lamentations  over  fallen 


these  aboriginal  poets  showed  themselves  at 
festivals  and  other  places  of  public  resort,  it 
does  not  appear  that,  as  in  Homer's  time,  they 
were  honoured  wilh  high  places  at  the  board, 
and  savoury  morsels  of  the  chine ;  hut  they 
seem  rather  to  have  been  accounted  fit  com- 
pany for  the  feigned  fools  and  sturdy  beggars, 
with  whom  they  were  ranked  by  a  Scottish 
statute. 

Time  was  necessary  wholly  to  eradicate  one 
language  and  introduce  another;  but  it  is  re- 
markable that,  at  the  death  of  Alexander  the 
Third,  the  last  Scottish  king  of  the  pure  Celtic 
race,  the  popular  lament  for  his  death  was 
composed  in  Scoto-English, and.  though  closely 
resembling  the  modern  dialect,  is  the  earliest 
example  we  have  of  that  language,  whether 
in  prose  or  poetry.'  About  the  same  lime 
flourished  the  celebrated  Thomas  the  Khymer, 


heroes,  and  recording  such  marvellous  advtm- 1  whose  poem,  written  in  English,  or  Lowland 
tures  as  were  calculated  to  amuse  individual  i  Scottish,  with  the  most  anxious  attention  both 
families  around  their  household  fires,  or  the  |  to  versification  and  alliteration,  forms,  even  as 
whole  tribe  when  regaling  in  the  hall  of  the 
chief.  It  happened,  however,  singularly 
enough,  that  while  the  music  continued  to  be 
Celtic  in  its  general  measure,  the  language  of 
Scotland,  most  commonly  spoken,  began  to  he 
that  of  their  neighbours,  the  English,  intro- 
duced by  the  multitude  of  Saxons  who  throng- 
ed to  the  court  of  Malcolm  Canmore  and  his 
successors ;  by  the  crowds  of  prisoners  of  war, 
whom  the  repeated  ravages  of  the  Scots  in 
Northumberland  carried  off  as  slaves  to  their 
country ;  by  the  influence  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  richest  and  most  populous  provinces  in 


it  now  exists,  a  very  curious  specimen  of  the 
early  romance.  Such  complicated  construc- 
tion was  greatly  too  concise  for  the  public 
ear,  which  is  best  amused  hy  a  looser  diction, 
in  which  numerous  repetitions,  and  prolonged 
descriptions,  enable  the  comprehension  of  the 
audience  to  keep  up  with  the  voice  01  i  .- 
singer  or  reciter,  and  supply  the  gaps  which 


Wca  Scotland  led  in  lu 


REMARKS    ON    POPULAR    POETRY. 


451 


in  general  must  have  taken  place,  either 
through  a"  failure  of  attention  in  the  hearers, 
or  of  voice  and  distinct  enunciation  on  the 
part  of  the  minstrel. 

The  usual  stanza  which  was  selected  as  the 
most  natural  to  the  language  and  the  sweetest 
to  the  ear.  after  the  complex  system  of  the 
more  courtly  measures,  used  by  Thomas  of 
Eiceldoune.  was  laid  aside,  was  that  which, 
when  originally  introduced,  we  very  often  find 
arranged  m  two  lines,  thus  :— 

'•  Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed,  most 

like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company,  whose  armour 

shone  like  gold ;" 

hut  which,  after  being  divided  into  four,  con- 
stitutes what  is  now  generally  called  the 
ballad  stanza, — 

"  Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company. 
Whose  armour  shone  like  gold." 

The  breaking  of  the  lines  contains  a  plainer 
intimation  how  the  stanza  ought  to  be  read, 
than  every  one  could  gather  from  the  original 
mode  of  writing  out  the  poem,  where  the  posi- 
tion of  the  caesura,  or  inflection  of  voice,  is 
left  to  the  individual's  own  taste.  This  was 
sometimes  exchanged  for  a  stanza  of  six  lines, 
the  third  and  sixth  rhyming  together.  For 
works  of  more  importance  and  pretension,  a 
more  complicated  versification  was  still  re- 
tained, and  may  lie  found  in  the  tale  of  Ralph 
Coilzear,  the  Adventures  of  Arthur  at  the 
Tarn-Wathelyn,  Sir  Gawain,  and  Sir  Gologras, 
and  other  scarce  romances.  A  specimen  of 
this  structure  of  verse  has  been  handed  down 
to  our  times  in  the  stanza  of  Christ  Kirk  on 
the  Green,  transmitted  by  King  James  I.,  to 
Allan  Ramsay  and  to  Burns.  The  excessive 
passion  for  alliteration,  which  formed  a  rule 
of  the  Saxon  poetry,  was  also  retained  in  the 
Scottish  poems  of  a  more  elevated  character, 
though  the  more  ordinary  minstrels  and  bal- 
lad-makers threw  off  the  restraint. 

The  varieties  of  stanza  thus  adopted  for 
popular  poetry  were  not,  we  may  easily  sup- 
pose, left  long  unemployed.  In  frontier  re- 
gions, where  men  are  continually  engaged  in 
active  enterprise,  betwixt  the  task  of  defend- 
ing themselves  and  annoying  their  neighbours, 
they  may  be  said  to  live  m  an  atmosphere  of 
danger,  the  excitation  of  which  is  peculiarly 
favourable  to  the  encouragement  of  poetry. 
Hence,  the  expressions  of  Lesly  the  historian, 
quoted  in  the  following  Introduction,  in  which 
he  paints  the  delight  taken  by  the  Borderers 
in  their  peculiar  species  of  music,  and  the 
rhyming  ballads  in  which  they  celebrated  the 
feats  of  their  ancestors,  or  recorded  their  own 
ingenious  stratagems  in  predatory  warfare. 
In  the  same  Introduction,  the  reader  will  lind 
the  reasons  alleged  why  the  taste  for  song  was 
and  must  have  been  longer  preserved  on  the 
Border  than  in  the  interior  of  the  country. 

Having  thus  made  some  remarks  on  early 
poetry  in  general,  and  on  that  of  Scotland  in 
particular,  the  Editor's  purpose  is,  to  mention 
the  fate  of  some  previous  attempts  to  collect 
ballad  poetry,  and  the  principles  of  selection 
and  publication  which  have  been  adopted  by 


various  editors  of  learning  and  information; 
and  although  the  preseni  work  chiefly  regards 
ihe  Ballads  of  Scotland,  yet  the  investigation 
must  necessarily  include  some  of  the  principal 
collections  among  the  English  also. 

Of  manuscript  records  of  ancient  ballads, 
very  few  have  been  yet  discovered.  It  is  pro- 
bable that  the  minstrels,  seldom  knowing 
either  how  to  read  or  write,  trusted  to  their 
well-exercised  memories  jior  was  it  a  diffi- 
cult task  to  acquire  a  sufficient  stock  in  trade 
for  their  purpose,  since  Ihe  Editor  has  mil 
only  known  many  persons  capable  of  retaining 
a  very  large  collection  of  legendary  lore  of 
tins  kind,  but  there  was  a  period  in  his  own 
life,  when  a  memory  that  ought  to  have  been 
charged  with  more  valuable  matter,  enabled 
him  to  recollect,  as  many  of  these  old  songs  as 
would  have  occupied  several  days  in  the  reci- 
tation. 

The  press,  however,  at  length  superseded 
the  necessity  of  such  exertions  of  recoiled  ion, 
and  sheafs  of  ballads  issued  from  it  weekly, 
for  the  amusement  of  the  sojourners  at  the 
alehouse,  and  the  lovers  of  poetry  in  granae 
and  hall,  where  such  of  the  audience  as  could 
not.  read,  had  it  at  least  read  unto  them.  These 
fugitive  leaves,  generally  printed  upon  broad- 
sides, or  in  small  miscellanies  called  Garlands, 
and  circulating  amongst  persons  of  loose  and 
careless  habits  —  so  far  as  hooks  were  con- 
cerned—  were  subject  to  destruction  from 
many  causes;  and  as  the  editions  in  the  early 
age  of  printing  were  probably  much  limited, 
even  those  published  as  chap-books  in  the 
early  part  of  the  18th  century,  are  rarely  met 
with. 

Some  persons,  however,  seem  to  have  had 
what  their  contemporaries  probably  thought 
the  bizarre  taste  of  gathering  and  preserving 
collections  of  this  fugitive  poetry.  Hence  the 
great  body  of  ballads  in  Ihe  Pepysian  collec- 
tion at  Cambridge,  made  by  that  Secreiary 
Pepys,  whose  Diary  is  so  very  amusing;  and 
hence  the  still  more  valuable  deposit,  in  three 
volumes  folio,  in  which  the  late  Duke  John  of 
Roxburghe  took  so  much  pleasure,  that  he 
was  often  found  enlarging  it  with  fresh  acqui- 
sitions, which  he  pasted  in  and  registered  with 
his  own  hand. 

The  first  attempt,  however,  to  reprint  a 
culled  ion  of  ballads  for  a  class  of  readers 
distinct  from  those  for  whose  use  the  stall- 
copies  were  intended,  was  that  of  an  anony- 
mous editor  of  three  I2mo  volumes,  which 
appeared  m  London,  with  engravings.  These 
volumes  came  out  in  various  years,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  18th  century.  The  editor  writes 
with  some  flippancy,  but  with  the  air  of  a  per- 
son superior  to  the  ordinary  drudgery  ofa  mere 
collector.  His  work  appears  to  have  been  got 
up  at  considerable  expense,  and  the  general 
introductions  and  historical  illustrations  which 
are  prefixed  to  the  various  ballads,  are  written 
with  an  accuracy  of  which  such  a  subject  hud 
not  till  then  been  deemed  worthy.  The  prin- 
cipal part  of  the  collection  consists  of  stall- 
ballads,  neither  possessing  much  poetical 
merit,  nor  any  particular  rarity  or  curiosity. 
Still  this  original  Miscellany  holds  a  consider- 
able value  amongst  collectors;  and  as  the 
three  volumes  —  being  published  at  different 
times  —  are  seldom  found  together,  they  sell 
for  a  high  price  when  complete. 


452 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


We  may  now  turn  our  eyes  to  Scotland, 
where  the  facility  of  Itie  dialect,  wliioli  cuts 
off  I  he  consonants  in  the  termination  of  the 
words,  so  as  greatly  to  simplify  the  task  of 
rhyming,  and  the  habits,  dispositions,  and 
manners  of  the  people,  were  of  old  so  favour- 
able lo  the  composition  of  ballad-poetry,  that, 
had  the  Scottish  songs  been  preserved,  there 
1*  mi  doubt  a  very  curious  history  might  have 
been  composed  by  means  of  minstrelsy  only, 
from  the  reign  of  Alexander  lit.  in  1285,  down 
to  the  clise  of  the  Civil  Wars  in  1745.  That 
materials  for  such  a  collection  existed,  cannot 
be  disputed,  since  the  Scottish  historians  often 
refer  to  old  ballads  as  authorities  for  general 
tradition.  But  their  regular  preservation  was 
not  to  be  hoped  for  or  expected.  Successive 
garlands  of  song  sprung,  flourished.  Aided. 
and  were  forgotten,  in  their  turn;  and  the 
names  of  a  few  specimens  are  onlv  preserved, 
to  show  us  how  abundant  the  display  of  these 
wild  flowers  had  been. 

Like  the  natural  free  gifts  of  Flora,  these 
poetical  garlands  can  only  be  successfully 
sought  for  where  the  land  is  uncultivated  ; 
and  civilisation  and  increase  of  learning  are 
sure  to  banish  them,  as  the  plough  of  the 
agriculturist  bears  do\vn  the  mountain  daisy. 
Yet  it  is  lo  be  recorded  with  some  interest, 
that  the  earliest  surviving  s(>ecimen  of  the 
Scottish  press,  is  a  Miscellany  of  Millar  and 
Chapman,  which  preserves  a  considerable 
fund  of  Scottish  popular  poetry,  and  among 
oilier  things,  no  bad  specimen  of  the  gests  of 
Robin  Hood, "  the  English  ballad-maker's  joy," 
and  whose  renown  seems  to  have  been  as 
freshly  preserved  in  the  north  as  on  the  south- 
ern shores  of  the  Tweed.  There  were  proba- 
bly several  collections  of  Scottish  ballads  and 
metrical  pieces  during  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. A  very  tine  one,  belonging  to  Lord  Mon- 
tagu, perished  in  the  fire  which  consumed 
Ditton  House,  about  twenty  years  ago. 

Jiimes  Watson,  in  17(Jb.  published,  at  Edin- 
burgh, a  miscellaneous  collection  in  three 
parts,  containing  some  ancient  poetry.  But 
the  first  editor  who  seems  to  have  made  a 
determined  effort  to  preserve  our  ancient 
|«ipular  poetry,  was  the  well-known  Allan 
Ramsay,  in  his  Evergreen,  containing  chiefly 
extracts  from  the  ancient  Scottish  .Makei>. 
whose  poems  have  been  preserved  in  the 
Bauuat  yue  Manuscript,  but  exhibiting  amongst 
them  some  popular  ballads.  Amongst  these 
is  the  Battle  of  Harlaic,  apparently  from  a 
modernized  «aipy,  being  probably  the  most 
ancient  Scottish  historical  ballad  of  any  length 
now  in  existence. '  He  also  inserted  in  the 
same  collection,  the  genuine  Scottish  Border 
ballad  of  Johnnie  Armstrong,  copied  from  the 
recitation  of  a  descendant  of  the  unfortunate 
hero,  in  the  sixth  generation.  This  poet  also 
included  in  the  Evergreen.  Hardyknute,  which, 
though  evidently  modern,  is  a  most  spirited 
and  beautiful  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad. 
In  a  subsequent  collection  of  lyrical  pieces, 
called  the  Tea-Table  Miscellany,  Allan  Kam- 
say inserted  several  old  ballads,  such  as  Cruel 
Barbara  Allan.  TV  Bonnie  Earl  of  Murray. 
Tlure  came  a  Ghost  to  Margaret's  door,  and  two 
or  three  others.  But  his  unhappy  plan  of 
writing  new  words  to  old  tunes,  without  at 


1  See  Appendix.  Note  A. 


2  Ibid,  Note  B. 


the  same  time  preserving  ihe  ancient  verses, 
led  him.  with  the  assistance  of  "some  inge- 
nious young  gentleman.''  to  throw  aside  many 
original*,  the  preservation  of  which  would 
have  been  much  more  interesting  than  any- 
thing which  has  been  substituted  in  their 
stead." 

In  fine,  the  task  of  collecting  and  illustrating 
;inrieiit  popular  poetry,  whether  in  England 
or  Scotland,  was  never  executed  by  a  compe- 
tent person,  possessing  the  necessary  powers 
of  selection  and  annotation,  till  it  was  under- 
taken by  Dr.  Percy,  afterwards  Bishop  of 
Dnunore  in  Ireland.  This  reverend  gentle- 
man, himself  a  poet,  and  ranking  high  among 
the  literati  of  the  day,  commanding  access  lo 
the  individuals  and  institutions  which  could 
best  afford  him  materials,  save  the  public  the 
result  of  his  researches  in  a  work  entitled 
'•  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry,"  in  three 
volumes,  published  in  London  1765,  which  has 
since  gone  through  four  editions.  The  taste 
with  which  the  materials  were  chosen,  the 
extreme  felicity  with  which  they  were  illus- 
trated, the  display  at  once  of1  antiquarian 
knowledge  and  classical  reading  which  the 
collection  indicated,  render  it  difficult  to  imi- 
tate, and  impossible  to  excel,  a  work  which 
must  always  be  held  among  the  first  of  its 
class  in  point  of  merit,  though  not  actually 
the  foremost  in  point  of  time.  But  neither 
the  high  character  of  the  work,  nor  the  rank 
and  respectability  of  the  author,  could  protect 
him  or  his  labours,  from  the  invidious  attacks 
of  criticism. 

The  most  formidable  of  these  were  directed 
by  Joseph  Kitson,  a  man  of  acute  observation, 
profound  research,  and  great  labour.  These 
valuable  attributes  were  unhappily  combined 
with  an  eager  irritability  of  temper,  which 
induced  him  to  treat  antiquarian  trifles  with 
tne  same  seriousness  which  men  of  the  world 
reserve  for  matters  of  importance,  and  dis- 
posed him  to  drive  controversies  into  personal 
quarrels,  by  neglecting,  in  literary  debate,  the 
courtesies  of  ordinary  society  3  It  ought  to  be 
said,  however,  by  one  who  knew  him  well, 
that  this  irritability  of  disposition  was  a  con- 
stitutional and  physical  infirmity;  and  that 
Ritson's  extreme  attachment  to  'the  severity 
of  truth,  corres|K>nded  to  the  rigour  of  his 
criticisms  upon  the  labours  of  others.  He 
seems  to  have  attacked  Bishop  Percy  with  the 
greater  animosity,  as  bearing  no  good-will  to 
the  hierarchy,  in  which  that  prelate  held  a 
distinguished  place. 

Ritson's  criticism,  in  which  there  was  loo 
much  horse-play,  was  grounded  on  two  points 
of  accusation.  The  first  point  rejarded  Dr. 
Percy's  definition  of  the  order  and  office  of 
minstrels,  which  Ritson  considered  as  design- 
edly overcharged,  for  the  sake  of  giving  an 
undue  importance  to  his  subject.  The  second 
objection  respected  the  liberties  which  Dr. 
Percy  had  taken  with  his  materials,  in  adding 
to,  retrenching,  and  improving  them,  so  as  to 
bring  them  nearer  to  the  taste  of  his  own 
period.  We  will  take  some  brief  notice  of 
both  topics. 

First.  Dr.  Percy,  in  the  first  edition  of  his 
work,  certainly  laid  himself  open  to  the  charge 
of  having  given  an  inaccurate,  and  somewhat 

>  Set  Appendix,  Note  C. 


REMARKS    ON    POPULAR    POETRY. 


453 


exasperated  account,  of  the  English  Minstrels, 
whom  he  defined  to  be  an  "order  of  men  in 
the  middle  ages,  who  subsisted  by  the  aris  of 
poetry  and  music,  and  sung  to  the  harp  the 
verses  which  they  themselves  composed." 
The  reverend  editor  of  the  Reliques  produced 
in  support  of  this  definition  many  curious 
quotations,  to  show  that  in  many  instances 
the  persons  of  these  minstrels  had  been  ho- 
noured and  respected,  their  performances  ap- 
plauded and  rewarded  by  the  great  and  the 
courtly,  and  their  craft  imitated  by  princes 
themselves. 

Against  both  these  propositions,  Ritson  made 
a  determined  opposition.  He  contended,  and 
probably  with  justice,  that  the  minstrels  were 
not  necessarily  poets,  or  in  the  regular  habit 
of  composing  the  verses  which  they  sung  to 
the  harp ;  and  indeed,  that  the  word  minstrel. 
in  its  ordinary  acceptation,  meant  no  more 
than  musician 

Dr.  Percy,  from  an  amended  edition  of  his 
Essay  on  Minstrelsy,  prefixed  to  the  fourth 
edilion  of  the  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry, 
seems  to  have  been,  to  a  certain  point,  con- 
vinced by  the  critic's  reasoning;  for  he  IKIS 
extended  the  definition  impugned  by  Ritson, 
and  the  minstrels  are  thus  described  as  singing 
verses  "composed  by  themselves  or  others." 
This  we  apprehend  to  be  a  tenable  position ; 
for.  as  on  the  one  hand  it  seems  too  broad  an 
averment  to  say  that  all  minstrels  were  by 
profession  poets, soon  the  other,  it  is  extrava- 
gant to  affirm,  that  men  who  were  constantly 
in  the  habit  of  reciting  verse,  should  not  fre- 
quently have  acquired  that  of  composing  it, 
especially  when  their  bread  depended  on 
giving  pleasure;  and  to  have  the  power  of 
producing  novelty,  is  a  great  step  towards 
that  desirable  end.  No  unprejudiced  reader, 
therefore,  can  have  any  hesitation  in  adopting 
Bishop  Percy's  definition  of  the  minstrels,  and 
their  occupation,  as  qualified  in  the  fourth 
edilion  of  his  Essay,  implying  that  they  were 
sometimes  poets,  sometimes  the  mere  reciters 
of  the  poetry  of  others. 

On  the  critic's  second  proposition.  Dr.  Percy 
successfully  showed,  that  at  no  period  of 
history  was  the  word  minstrel  applied  to  in- 
strumental music  exclusively ;  and  he  has 
produced  sufficient  evidence,  that  the  talents 
of  the  profession  were  as  frequently  employed 
in  chanting  or  reciting  poetry  as  in  playing 
the  mere  tunes.  There  is  appearance  of  dis- 
tinction being  sometimes  made  between  min- 
strel recitations  and  minstrelsy  of  music  alone ; 
and  we  may  add  a  curious  instance,  to  those 
quoted  by  the  Bishop.  It  is  from  the  singular 
ballad  respecting  Thomas  of  Erceldoune, 
which  announces  the  proposition,  that  tonyue 
is  chief  of  minstrelsy. 

We  may  also  notice,  that  the  word  minstrel 
being  in  fact  derived  from  the  Minne-singer 
of  the  Germans,  means,  in  its  primary  sense, 
one  who  sinys  of  love,  a  sense  totally  inappli- 
cable to  a  mere  instrumental  musician. 

A  second  general  point  on  which  Dr.  Percy 
was  fiercely  attacked  by  Mr.  Ritson,  was  also 
one  on  which  both  the  parties  might  claim  a 
right  to  sing  Te  Dmm.  It  respected  the  rank 
or  status  which  was  held  by  the  minstrels  in 
society  during  the  middle  ages.  On  this  point 
the  editor  of  the  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry 
had  produced  the  most  satisfactory  evidence, 


that,  at  the  courts  of  the  Anglo -Norman 
princes,  the  professors  of  the  gay  science 
were  the  favourite  solacers  of  the  Insure 
hours  of  princes,  who  did  not  themselves 
disdain  to  share  their  tuneful  labours,  and 
imitate  their  compositions.  Mr  Ritson  re- 
plied to  this  with  great  inseuuity.  arguing, 
that  such  instances  of  respect  paid  to  French 
minstrels  recinng  in  their  native  language  in 
the  court  of  Norman  monarchs,  though  held 
in  Britain,  argued  nothing  in  favour  of  English 
artists  professing  the  same  trade;  and  of 
whose  compositions,  and  not  of  those  existing 
in  the  French  language,  Dr  Percy  professed 
to  form  his  collection.  The  reason  of  the 
distinction  betwixt  the  respectability  of  the 
French  minstrels,  and  the  degradation  of  the 
same  class  of  men  in  England.  Mr.  Ritson 
plausibly  alleged  to  be.  that  the  English  lan- 
guage, a  mixed  speech  betwixt.  Anglo-Saxon 
and  Norman-French,  was  not  known  at  the 
court  of  the  Anglo-Norman  kings  until  the 
reign  of  Edward  III. ; '  and  that,  therefore, 
until  a  very  late  period,  and  when  the  lays  of 
minstrelsy  were  going  out  of  fashion,  Knglish 
performers  in  that  capacity  must  have  con- 
fined the  exercise  of  their  talents  to  the 
amusement  of  the  vulgar.  Now,  as  it  must 
be  conceded  to  Mr.  Ritson.  that  almost  all 
the  English  metrical  romances  which  have 
been  preserved  till  the  present  day,  are  trans- 
lated from  the  French,  it  may  also  be  allowed, 
that  a  class  of  men  employed  chiefly  in  ren- 
dering into  English  the  works  of  others,  could 
not  hold  so  high  a  station  as  those  who  aspired 
to  original  composition ;  and  so  far  the  critic 
has  the  best  of  the  dispute.  But  Mr.  Ritson 
has  over-driven  his  argument,  since  there  was 
assuredly  a  period  ill  English  history,  when 
the  national  minstrels,  writing  in  the  national 
dialect,  were,  in  proportion  to  their  merit  in 
their  calling,  held  in  honour  and  respect. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  for  example,  a  min- 
strel who  flourished  in  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century,  was  not  only  a  man  of  talent  in  his 
art,  but  of  some  rank  in  society;  the  com- 
panion of  nobles,  and  himself  a  man  of  landed 
property.  He.  and  his  contemporary  Kendal, 
wrote,  a<  we  are  assured  by  Robert  de  Brunne, 
in  a  passage  already  alluded  to,  a  kind  of  Kng- 
iish,  which  was  designed  for  "pride  and  no- 
bleye,"  and  not  for  such  inferior  persons  as 
Robert  himself  addressed,  and  to  whose  com- 
prehension he  avowedly  lowered  his  language 
and  structure  of  versification  There  existed, 
therefore,  during  the  time  of  this  historian,  a 
more  refined  dialect  of  the  English  language, 
used  by  such  composers  of  popular  poetry  as 
moved  in  a  higher  circle;  ami  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  that  while  their  productions  were 
held  in  such  high  esteem,  the  authors  must 
have  been  honoured  in  proportion. 

The  education  bestowed  upon  James  I.  of 
Scotland,  when  brought  up  under  the  charge 
of  Henry  IV.,  comprehended  both  music  and 
the  art  of  vernacular  poetry  ;  in  other  words, 
Minstrelsy  in  both  branches.  That  poetry, 


1  That  monarch  Bret  uned  the  vernacular  English  dialect 
n  a  motto  which  he  displayed  on  his  shield  at  a  celebrated 
ournament.  The  legend  which  graced  the  representation 
if  a  wbite  swan  on  the  kiug't  buckler,  ran  thus  :— 


454 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


of  which  the  King  left  several  specimens.  \v:is. 
as  is  well  known.  English  :  nor  is  it  to  be  sup- 
posed that  a  prince,  upon  whose  education 
such  sedulous  care  was  bestowed,  would 
have  been  instructed  in  an  art  which,  if  we 
are  to  believe  Mr  Ritson,  was  degraded  to 
the  last  degree,  and  discreditable  to  its  pro- 
fessors. The  same  argument  is  strengthened 
by  the  poetical  exercises  of  the  Duke  of  Or- 
leans, in  English,  written  during;  his  captivity 
after  the  battle  of  Agincourt.  It  could  not 
be  supposed  that  the  noble  prisoner  was  to 
solace  his  hours  of  imprisonment  with  a  de- 
grading and  vulgar  species  of  composition. 

We  could  produce  other  instances  to  show 
that  this  acute  critic  has  carried  his  argument 
considerably  too  lar.  But  we  prefer  taking  a 
general  view  of  the  subject,  which  seems" to 
explain  clearly  how  contradictory  evidence 
should  exist  on  it.  and  why  instances  of  great 
personal  respect  to  individual  minstrels,  and  a 
high  esteem  of  the  art,  are  quite  reconcilable 
with  much  contempt  thrown  on  the  order  at 
large. 

All  professors  of  the  fine  arts  —  all  those 
who  contribute,  not  to  the  necessities  of  life, 
but  to  the  enjoyments  of  society,  hold  their 
professional  respectability  by  the  severe  tenure 
of  exhibiting  excellence  in  their  department. 
We  are  well  enough  satisfied  with  the  trades- 
man who  goes  through  his  task  in  a  work- 
manlike manner,  nor  are  we  disposed  to  look 
down  upon  the  divine,  the  lawyer,  or  the 
physician,  unless  they  display  gross  ignorance 
of  their  profession :  we  hold  it  enough,  that 
if  they  do  not  possess  the  highest  knowledge 
of  their  respective  sciences,  they  can  at  least 
instruct  us  on  the  points  we  desire  to  know. 
But 

"  mediooribus  esse  poetis 

Non  di,  non  homines,  non  concessere  colum- 
me." 

The  same  is  true  respecting  the  professors 
of  painting,  of  sculpture,  of  music,  and  the 
fine  arts  in  general.  If  they  exhibit  para- 
mount excellence,  no  situation  in  society  is 
too  high  for  them  which  their  manners  enable 
them  to  fill;  if  they  fall  short  of  the  highest 
point  of  aim,  they  degenerate  into  sign-pamt- 


of  mankind.  The  reason  of  this  is  evident 
Men  must  be  satisfied  with  such  a  supply  of 
their  actual  wants  as  can  be  obtained  in  the 
circumstances,  and  should  an  individual  want 
a  coat,  he  must  employ  the  village  tailor,  if 
Slultze  is  not  to  be  had.  But  if  he  seeks  for 
delight,  the  case  is  quite  different;  and  he 
that  cannot  hear  Pasta  or  Sontag,  would  be 
little  solaced  for  the  absence  of  these  sirens, 
by  the  strains  of  a  crack-voiced  ballad-singer. 
Nay.  on  the  contrary,  the  offer  of  such  inade- 
quate compensation  would  only  be  regarded 
as  an  insult,  and  resented  accordingly. 

The  theatre  alfords  the  most  appropriate 
example  of  what  we  mean.  The  first  circles 
in  society  are  open  to  persons  eminently  dis- 
tinguished in  the  drama;  and  their  rewards 
are.  in  proportion  to  those  who  profess  the 
useful  arts,  incalculably  higher.  JJut  those 
who  lag  in  the  rear  of  the  dramatic  art  are 

)  Set  Appendix,  Note  D. 


|  proportionally  poorer  and  more  degraded  than 
those  who  are  the  lowest  of  a  useful  trade  or 
profession.  Tin  se  instances  will  enable  us 
readily  to  explain  why  the  greater  part  of  the 
minstrels,  practising  tiieir  profession  in  scenes 
of  vulgar  mirth  and  debauchery,  humbling 
their  art  to  please  the  ears  of  drunken  clowns, 
and  living  with  the  dissipation  natural  to  men 
whose  precarious  subsistence  is,  according  to 
the  ordinary  phrase,  from  hand  to  mouth  only, 
should  fall  under  general  contempt,  while  the 
stars  of  the  profession,  to  useamodern  phrase, 
looked  down  on  them  from  the  distant  empy- 
rean, as  the  planets  do  upon  those  shooting 
exhalations  arising  from  gross  vapours  in  the 
nether  atmosphere. 

The  debate,  therefore,  resembles  the  apo- 
logue of  the  gold  and  silver  shield.  Dr.  Percy 
looked  on  the  minstrel  in  the  palmy  and  ex- 
alted state  to  winch,  no  doubt,  many  were 
elevated  by  their  talents,  like  those  who  pos- 
sess excellence  in  the  fine  arts  in  the  present 
day  :  and  Ritson  considered  the  reverse  of  the 
medal,  when  the  poor  and  wandering  glee- 
man  was  glad  to  purchase  his  bread  by  singing 
I  his  ballads  at  the  ale-house,  wearing  a  fan- 
j  tastic  habit,  and  latterly  sinking  into  a  mere 
crowder  upon  an  untuned  fiddle,  accompany- 
ing his  rude  strains  with  a  ruder  ditty,  the 
helpless  associate  of  drunken  revellers,  and 
marvellously  afraid  of  the  constable  and  pa- 
rish-beadle, i  The  difference  betwixt  those 
holding  the  extreme  positions  of  highest  and 
lowest  in  such  a  profession,  cannot  surely  lie 
more  marked  than  that  which  separated  David 
Garrick  or  John  Kemlile  from  the  outcasts  of 
a  strolling  company,  exposed  to  penury,  indi- 
gence, aiid  persecution  according  to  law. 2 

There  was  still  another  and  more  important 
subject  of  debate  between  Dr.  Percy  and  his 
hostile  critic.  The  former,  as  a  poet  and  a 
man  of  taste,  was  tempted  to  take  such  free- 
doms with  his  original  ballads  as  might  enable 
him  to  please  a  more  critical  age  than  that  in 
which  they  were  composed.  Words  were 
thus  altered,  phrases  improved,  and  whole 
verses  were  inserted  or  omitted  at  pleasure. 
Such  freedoms  were  especially  taken  with  the 
poems  published  from  a  folio  manuscript  in 
Dr.  Percy's  own  possession,  very  curious  from 
the  miscellaneous  nature  of  its  contents,  but 
unfortunately  having  many  of  the  leaves 
mutilated,  and  injured  in  other  respects,  by 
the  gross  carelessness  and  ignorance  of  the 
transcriber.  Anxious  to  avail  himself  of  the 
treasures  which  this  manuscript  contained, 
the  editor  of  the  Reliques  did  not  hesitate  to 
repair  and  renovate  the  songs  which  he  drew 
from  this  corrupted  yet  curious  source,  and  to 
accommodate  them  with  such  emendations 
as  might  recommend  them  to  the  modern 
taste. 

For  these  liberties  with  his  subject,  Kitson 
censured  Dr.  Percy  in  the  most  uncompro- 
mising terms,  accused  him.  in  violent  lan- 
guage, of  interpolation  and  forgery,  anil  in- 
sinuated that  there  existed  no  such  thing  in 
rerunt  natura  as  that  folio  manuscript,  so  often 
referred  to  as  the  authority  of  originals  in- 
serted in  the  Keliques.  ]n  this  charge,  the 
eagerness  of  Uilson  again  betrayed  him  far- 
ther than  judgment  and  discretion,  as  well  as 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 


REMARKS    ON    POPULAR    POETRY. 


455 


courtesy,  warranted.  It  is  no  doubt  highly 
desirable  that  the  u-rt  of  ancient  poetry  should 
he  given  untouched  and  uncorrupted.  But 
this  is  a  point  which  did  not  occur  to  the 
editor  of  the  Keliques  in  1765,  whose  object  it 
was  to  win  the  favour  of  the  public,  at  a  pe- 
riod when  the  great  difficulty  was  not  how  to 
secure  the  very  words  of  old  ballads,  but  how 
to  arrest  attention  upon  the  subject  at  all. 
That  great  and  important  service  to  national 
literature  would  probably  never  have  been 
attained  without  the  work  of  Dr.  Percy;  a 
work  which  first  fixed  the  consideration  of 
general  readers  on  ancient  poetry,  and  made 
it  worth  while  to  inquire  how  far  its  graces 
were  really  aniique,  or  how  far  derived  from 
the  taste  with  whicli  the  publication  had  been 
superintended  anil  revi-ed.  The  object  of  Dr. 
Percy  was  certainly  intimated  in  several  parts 
of  his  work,  where  he  ingenuously  acknow- 
ledges, that  certain  ballads  have  received 
emendations,  and  that  others  are  not  of  pure 
and  unmixed  antiquity;  that  the  beginning  of 
some  and  end  ot  others  have  been  supplied  ; 
and  upon  the  whole,  that  he  has,  in  many  in- 
stances, decorated  the  ancient  ballads  with 
the  graces  of  a  more  refined  period. 

This  system  is  so  distinctly  intimated,  that 
if  there  be  any  critic  still  of  opinion,  like  poor 
Kiison,  whose  morbid  temperament  led  him 
to  such  a  conclusion,  that  the  crime  of  literary 
imitation  is  equal  to  that  of  commercial  for- 
gery, he  ought  to  recollect  that  guilt,  in  the 
latter  case,  does  not  exist  without  a  corre- 
sponding charge  of  uttering  the  forged  docu- 
ment, or  causing  it  to  be  uttered,  as  genuine, 
without  which  the  mere  mutation  is  not  cul- 
pable, at  least  not  criminally  so.  Tins  quality 
is  to  ally  awanting  in  the  accusation  so  roughly 
brought  against  Dr.  Percy,  who  avowedly  in- 
dulged in  such  alterations  and  improvements 
upon  his  materials,  as  might  adapt  them  to 
the  taste  of  an  age  not  otherwise  disposed  to 
bestow  its  attention  on  them. 

We  have  to  add,  that,  in  the  fourth  edition 
of  the  Reliqiies.  Mr.  Thomas  Percy  of  St. 
John's  College,  Oxford,  pleading  the  cause  of 
his  uncle  with  the  most  gentlemanlike  mode- 
ration, and  with  every  respect  to  Mr.  Kitson's 
science  and  talents,  has  combated  the  critic's 
opinion,  without  any  attempt  to  retort  his 
injurious  language. 

It  would  be  now,  no  doubt,  desirable  to 
have  bad  some  more  distinct  account  of  Dr. 
Percy's  folio  manuscript  arid  its  contents;  and 
Mr.  Thomas  Percy,  accordingly,  gives  the 
original  of  the  Marriage  of  Sir  Gawain,  and 
collates  it  with  the  copy  published  in  a  com- 
plete state  by  his  uncle,  who  has  on  this  occa- 
sion given  entire  rein  to  his  own  fancy,  though 
the  rude  origin  of  most  of  his  ideas  is  to  be 
found  in  the  old  ballad.  There  is  also  given  a 
copy  of  that  elegant  metrical  tale,  ''The  Child 
of  Elle."  as  it  exists  in  the  folio  manuscript, 
which  goes  far  to  show  it  has  derived  all  its 
beauties  from  Dr.  Percy's  poetical  powers. 
Judging  from  these  two  specimens,  we  can 
easily  conceive  why  the  Reverend  Editor  of 
the  "  Keliques"  should  have  declined,  by  the 
production  of  the  folio  manuscript,  to  furnish 
Ins  severe  Ari>tarch  with  weapons  against 
him.  winch  he  was  sure  would  be  unsparingly 
used.  Yet  it  is  certain,  the  manuscript  con- 
tains much  that  is  really  excellent,  though 


mutilated  and  sophisticated.  A  copy  of  the 
tine  ballad  of  "Sir  Caulm"  is  found  in  a  Scot- 
tish shape,  under  the  name  of  "  King  Malcolm 
and  SirColvm,"  in  Buehan's  North  Country 
Ballads,  to  he  presently  mentioned.  It  is, 
therefore,  unquestionably  ancient,  though 
possibly  retouched,  and  perhaps  with  the  ad- 
dition of  a  second  part,  of  which  the  Scottish 
copy  has  no  vestiges.  It  would  be  desirable 
to  know  exactly  to  what  extent  Dr.  Percy  had 
used  the  license  of  an  editor,  in  these  and 
other  cases;  and  certainly,  at  this  period, 
lid  be  only  a  degree  of  justice  due  to  his 
memory. 

On  the  whole,  we  may  dismiss  the  "  Re- 
liques  of  Ancient  Poetry''  with  the  praise  and 
censure  conferred  on  it  by  a  gentleman,  him- 
self a  valuable  labourer  in  the  vineyard  of 
antiquities.  "It  is  the  most  elegant  compila- 
tion of  i.he  early  poetry  that  has  ever  appeared 
in  any  age  or  country.  But  it  must  he  frankly 
added,  that  so  numerous  are  the  alterations 
and  corrections,  that  the  severe  antiquary, 
who  desires  to  see  the  old  English  ballads  m 
a  genuine  state,  must  consult  a  more  accurate 
edi'iim  than  this  celebrated  work." 

Of  Kitson's  own  talents  as  an  editor  of  an- 
cient poetry,  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak 
hereafter.  The  first  collector  who  followed 
the  example  of  Dr.  Percy,  was  Mr.  T.  Evans, 
bookseller,  father  of  the  gentleman  we  have 
just  quoted.  His  -'Old  Ballads,  historical  and 
narrative,  with  some  of  modern  date,"  ap- 
peared in  two  volumes,  in  1777,  and  were 
eminently  successful.  In  1781,  a  second  edi- 
tion appeared,  extending  the  work  to  four 
volumes.  In  this  collection,  many  ballads 
found  acceptance,  which  Bishop  Percy  had 
not  considered  as  possessing  sufficient  merit 
to  claim  admittance  into  the  Reliques.  The 
8vo  Miscellany  of  1723  yielded  a  gieat  part  of 
the  materials.  The  collection  of  Evans  con- 
tained several  modern  pieces  of  great  merit, 
which  are  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and 
which  are  understood  to  be  the  productions 
of  Willmm  Julius  Mickle.  translator  of  the 
Lusiad.  though  they  were  never  claimed  by 
him,  nor  received  among  his  works.  Amongst 
them  is  the  elegiac  poem  of  Cumnor  Hall, 
which  suggested  the  fictitious  narrative  en- 
titled Ketiilworth.  The  Red -Cross  Knisht, 
also  by  Mickle,  which  has  furnished  words 
for  a  beautiful  glee,  first  occurred  in  the  same 
collection.  As  Mickle,  with  a  vein  of  great 
facility,  united  a  power  of  verbal  melody  which 
might  have  been  envied  by  bards  of  much 
greater  renown,'  he  must  be  considered  as 
very  successful  in  these  efforts,  if  the  ballads 
be  regarded  as  avowedly  modern.  If  they  are 
to  be  judged  of  as  accurate  imitations  of  an- 
cient poetry,  they  have  less  merit ;  the  decep- 
tion bi.ing  only  maintained  by  a  huge  store  of 
double  consonants,  strewed  at  random  into 
ordinary  words,  resembling  the  real  fashion 
of  antiquity  as  little  as  the  niches,  turrets, 
and  tracery  of  plaster  stuck  upon  a  modern 
front.  In  the  year  1810,  the  four  volumes  of 
1784  were  republished  by  Mr.  R.  H.  Evans, 
the  son  of  the  original  editor,  with  very  con- 
siderable alterations  and  additions.  In  this 
last  edition,  the  more  ordinary  modern  ballads 
were  judiciously  retrenched  m  number,  and 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 


456 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


large  and  valuable  additions  made  to  the  an- 
cient part  of  the  collection.  Being  in  some 
measure  a  supplement  to  the  Reliques  of  An- 
cient Poetry,  this  miscellany  cannot  he  dis- 
pensed with  on  the  shelves  of  any  bibliomaniac 
who  may  choose  to  emulate  Captain  Cox  of 
Coventry,  the  prototype  of  all  collectors  of 
popular  potitrv. 

While  Dr.  Percy  was  setting  the  example 
if  a  classical  publication  of  ancient  English 
poetry,  the  late  David  Herd  was,  in  modest 
retirement,  compiling  a  collection  of  Scottish 
Sonus,  which  he  has  happily  described  as 
"the  poetry  and  music,  of  the  heart."  The 
first  part  of  his  Miscellany  contains  heroic 
and  historical  ballads,  of  which  there  is  a 
respectable  and  well-chosen  selection.  Mr. 
Herd,  an  accountant,  as  the  profession  is 
called  in  Edinburgh,  was  known  and  generally 
esteemed  for  his  shrewd,  manly  common  sense 
and  antiquarian  science,  mixed  with  much 
good  nature  and  great  modesty.  His  hardy  and 
antique  mould  of  countenance,  and  his  vene- 
rable grizzled  locks,  procured  him,  amongst 
his  acquaintance,  the  name  of  Graysteil.  His 
original  collection  of  son's,  in  one  volume, 
appeared  in  1769 ;  an  enlarged  one,  in  two 
volumes,  came  out  in  1776.  A  publication  of 
the  same  kind,  being  Herd's  book  still  more 
enlarged,  was  printed  for  Lawrie  and  Syming- 
ton in  1791.  Some  modern  additions  occur  in 
this  latter  work,  of  which  by  far  the  most 
valuable  were  two  line  mutations  of  the  Scot- 
tish ballad  by  the  Killed  author  of  the  -'Man 
of  Feeling,"  —  (now,  alas!  no  mure,)  —  called 
"Duncan"  and  "Kenneth." 

John  Piukerton,  a  man  of  considerable 
learning,  and  some  severity  as  well  as  acute- 
ness  of  disposition,  was  now  endeavouring  to 
force  himself  into  public  attention;  and  his 
collection  of  Select  Ballads,  London.  1783 
contains  sufficient  evidence  that  he  under- 
stood, in  an  extensive  sense,  Horace's  maxim 
quiiihbft  atutendi.  As  he  was  possessed  of 
considerable  powers  of  poetry,  though  noi 
equal  to  what  he  was  willing  to  take  credit 
for,  he  was  resolved  to  enrich  his  collection 
with  all  the  novelty  and  interest  which  it 
could  derive  from  a  liberal  insertion  of  pieces 
dressed  in  the  garb  of  antiquity,  but  equippei 
from  the  wardrobe  of  the  editor's  imagina- 
tion. With  a  boldness,  suggested  perhaps  by 
the  success  of  Mr.  Macpherson,  he  included 
within  a  collection  amounting  to  only  twenty- 
one  tragic  ballads,  no  less  than  five,  of  which 
he  afterwards  owned  himself  to  have  been 
altogether,  or  in  great  part,  the  author.  The 
most  remarkable  article  in  this  .Miscellany 
was,  a  second  part  to  the  noble  ballad  of 
Hardylcnme,  which  has  some  good  verses.  It 
labours,  however,  under  this  great  defect 
that,  in  order  to  append  his  own  conclusion 
to  the  original  tale,  Mr.  Pmkerton  found  him- 
self under  the  necessity  of  altering  a  leading 
circumstance  in  the  old  ballad,  wnich  would 
have  rendered  his  catastrophe  inapplicable 
With  such  license,  to  write  continuations  an. 
conclusions  would  be  no  difficult  task.  In  the 
second  volume  of  the  Select  Ballads,  consist- 
ing of  comic  pieces,  a  list  of  fifty-two  article 
contained  nine  written  entirely  by  the  editor 
himself.  Of  the  manner  in  which  these  sup- 
posititious compositions  are  executed,  it  may 
be  briefly  stated,  that  they  are  the  work  of  a 


holar  much  better  acquainted  with  ancient 
Mioks  and  manuscripts,  than  with  oral  tradi- 
lon  and  popular  legends.  The  poetry  smell* 
>f  the  lamp;  and  it  may  he  truly  said,  that  if 
evrr  a  ballad  had  existed  in  such  quaint  lan- 
;uage  as  the  author  employs,  it  could  never 
mve  been  so  popular  as  to  be  preserved  by 
>ral  tradition  The  glossary  displays  a  much 
greater  acquaintance  with  learned  lexicons 
ban  with  the  familiar  dialect  still  spoken  by 
the  Lowland  Scottish,  and  it  is.  of  course,  full 
jf  errors.  Neither  was  Mr.  Pinkerton  more 
lappy  in  the  way  of  conjectural  illustration 
rle  chose  to  fix  on  Sir  John  P.ruce  of  Kinross 
tiie  paternity  of  the  ballad  of  Hardyknute.  and 
of  the  fine  poem  called  the  Vision.  The  first 
is  due  to  Mrs.  Halket  of  Wardlaw,  the  second 
:o  Allan  Ramsay,  although,  it  must  be  owned. 
it  is  of  a  character  superior  to  his  ordinary 
poetry.  Sir  John  Bruce  was  a  brave,  blunt 
soldier,  who  made  no  pretence  whatever  to 
literature,  though  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bruce 
of  Arnot.  had  much  talent,  a  circumstance 

Inch  may  perhaps  have  misled  the  anti- 
quary. 

Mr.  I'inkerton  read  a  sort  of  recantation,  in 
a  List  of  Scottish  Poets,  prefixed  to  a  Selec- 
tion of  Poems  from  the  Mail  hind  Manuscript, 
vol.  i.  1786.  in  which  he  acknowledges,  as  Ins 
own  composition,  the  pieces  of  spurious  anti- 
quity included  in  his  "  Select  Ballads."  with  a 
coolness  which,  when  his  subsequent  invec- 
tives against  others  who  had  taken  similar 
liberties  is  considered,  infers  as  much  auda- 
city as  the  studied  and  laboured  defence  of 
obscenity  with  which  he  disgraced  the  tame 
pages. 

In  the  meantime.  Joseph  Ritson.  a  man  of 
diligence  and  acumen  equal  to  those  of  Pin- 
kerton, but  of  the  most  laudable  accuracy 
and  fidelity  as  an  editor,  was  engaged  in  va- 
rious publications  respecting  poetical  antiqui- 
ties, in  which  he  employed  profound  research. 
A  select  collection  of  English  Songs  was  com- 
piled by  him.  with  great  care  and  considerable 
taste,  and  published  at  London.  1783.  A  new 
edition  of  this  has  appeared  since  Ritson's 
death,  sanctioned  by  the  name  of  the  learned 
and  indefatigable  antiquary,  Thomas  Park, 
and  augmented  with  many  original  pieces, 
and  some  which  Ritson  bad'prepared  for  pub- 
lication 

Kitson's  Collection  of  Songs  was  followed 
by  a  curious  volume,  entitled.  "Ancient  Songs 
from  the  time  of  Henry  III.  to  the  Revolution." 
1790;  "Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry," 
1792;  and  "A  Collection. of  Scottish  Songs, 
with  the  genuine  music."  London,  1791.  This 
last  is  a  genuine,  but  rather  meagre  collection 
of  Caledonian  popular  songs  Next  year  Mr. 
Ritson  published  ••  Robin  Hood,"  2  vols..  1795. 
being  "  A  Collection  of  all  the  Ancient  Poems, 
Songs,  and  Ballads  now  extant,  relative  to 
that  celebrated  Outlaw."  This  work  is  a  no- 
table illustration  of  the  excellencies  and  de- 
fects of  Mr.  Ritson's  system.  It  is  almost 
impossible  to  conceive  so  much  zeal,  research, 
and  industry  bestowed  on  a  subject  of  anti- 
quity. There  scarcely  occurs  a  phrase  or 
word  relating  to  Robin  HOIK),  whether  in  his- 
tory or  poetry,  in  law  hooks,  in  ancient  pro- 
verbs, or  common  parlance,  but  it  is  here 
collected  and  explained.  At  the  same  time, 
the  extreme  fidelity  of  the  editor  seems  driven 


REMARKS   ON    POPULAR   POETRY. 


457 


to  excess,  when  we  find  him  pertinaciously 
retaining  all  the  numerous  and  gross  errors 
which  repeated  recitations,  have  introducec 
into  the  text,  and  regarding  it  as  a  sacred  duty 
lo  prefer  the  worst  to  the  better  readings,  as 
if  their  inferiority  was  a  security  for  theii 
being  genuine.  In  short,  when  Kitson  copiet 
from  rare  books,  or  ancient  manuscripts,  there 
could  not  be  a  more  accurate  editor;  whei 
I  taking  his  authority  from  oral  tradition,  am 
judging  between  two  recited  copies,  he  was 
apt  to  consider  the  worst  as  most  genuine,  as 
if  a  poem  was  not  more  likely  to  be  deterio- 
rated than  improved  by  passing  through  the 
mouths  of  many  reciters.  In  the  Ballads  of 
Robin  Hood,  this  superstitious  scrupulosity 
was  especially  to  be  regretted,  as  it  tended  to 
enlarge  the  collection  with  a  great  number  of 
doggerel  compositions,  which  are  all  copies  of 
each  other,  turning  on  the  same  idea  of  Bolo 
Kobin  meeting  with  a  shepherd,  a  tinker,  a 
mendicant,  a  tanner,  <kc.  &c..  by  each  and  all 
of  whom  he  is  soundly  thrashed,  and  all  of 
whom  he  receives  into  his  band.  The  tradi- 
tion, which  avers  that  it  was  the  brave  out- 
law's custom  to  try  a  bout  at  quarter-staff 
with  his  young  recruits,  might  indeed  have 
authorized  one  or  two  sued  tales,  but  the 
greater  part  ought  to  have  been  rejected  as 
modern  imitations  of  the  most  paltry  kind, 
composed  probably  about  the  age  of  James  I. 
of  England.  By  adopting  this  spurious  trash 
as  part  of  Robin  Hood's  history,  he  is  repre- 
sented as  the  best  cudgelled  hero,  Don  Quixote 
excepted,  that  ever  was  celebrated  in  prose 
or  rhyme.  Kitson  also  published  several  gar- 
lands of  North  Country  songs. 

Looking  on  this  eminent  antiquary's  labours 
in  a  general  point  of  view,  we  may  deprecate 
the  eagerness  and  severity  of  his  prejudices, 
and  feel  surprise  that  he  should  have  shown 
so  much  irritability  of  disposition  on  such  a 
topic  as  a  collection  of  old  ballads,  which  cer- 
tainly have  little  in  them  to  affect  the  passions; 
and  we  may  be  sometimes  provoked  at  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  has  prelerred  bad 
readings  to  good.  But  while  industry,  re- 
search, and  antiquarian  learning,  are  recom- 
mendations to  works  of  this  nature,  few  edi- 
tors will  ever  he  found  so  competent  to  the 
task  as  Joseph  Ritson  It  must  also  be  added 
to  his  praise,  that  although  not  willing  to 
yield  his  opinion  rashly,  yet  if  he  saw  reason 
to  believe  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  any 
fact  or  argument,  he  resigned  his  own  opinion 
with  a  candour  equal  to  the  warmth  with 
which  he  defended  himself  while  confident 
he  was  in  the  right.  Many  of  his  works  are 
now  almost  out  of  print,  and  an  edition  of 
them  in  common  orthography,  and  altering 
the  bizarre  spelling  and  character  which  his 
prejudices  induced  the  author  to  adopt,  would 
be.  to  antiquaries,  an  acceptable  present. 

We  have  now  given  a  hasty  account  of 
various  collections  of  popular  poetry  during 
the  eighteenth  century ;  we  have  only  further 
to  observe,  that,  in  the  present  century,  this 
species  of  lore  has  been  sedulously  cultivated. 
The  "  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border"  first 
appeared  in  1802,  in  two  volumes ;  and  what 
may  appear  a  singular  coincidence,  it  was  the 
first  work  printed  by  Mr.  James  Ballanlyne, 
(then  residing  at  Kelso,)  as  it  was  the  first 
serious  demand  which  the  present  author 


made  on  the  patience  of  the  public.  The 
Border  Minstrelsy,  augmented  by  a  third  vo- 
lume, came  to  a  second  edition  in  1803.  In 
1803,  Mr.,  now  Sir  John  Grahame  Dalzell,  to 
whom  his  country  is  obliged  for  his  antiqua- 
rian labours,  published  "Scottish  Poems  of 
the  Sixteenth  Century,"  which,  among  other 
subjects  of  interest,  contains  a  curious  con- 
temporary ballad  of  Belrinnes,  which  has 
some  stanzas  of  considerable  merit. 

The  year  1806  was  distinguished  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  "  Popular  Ballads  and  Songs, 
from  Traditions,  Manuscripts,  and  Scarce 
Editions,  with  Translations  of  Similar  Pieces 
from  the  Ancient  Danish  Language,  and  a 
few  Originals  by  the  Editor,  Robert  Jamieson, 
A.M.,  and  F.A.S  "  This  work,  which  was  not 
greeted  by  the  public  with  the  attention  it  de- 
served, opened  a  new  discovery  respecting 
the  original  source  of  the  Scottish  ballads. 
Mr.  Janiieson's  extensive  acquaintance  with 
the  Scandinavian  literature,  enabled  him  to 
detect  not  only  a  general  similarity  betwixt 
these  and  the  Danish  ballads  preserved  in  the 
"  Kiempe  Viser."  an  early  collection  of  heroic 
ballads  in  that  language,  but  to  demonstrate 
that,  in  many  cases,  the  stories  and  songs 
were  distinctly  the  same,  a  circumstance 
which  no  antiquary  had  hitherto  so  much  as 
suspected.  Mr.  Jamieson's  annotations  are 
also  very  valuable,  and  preserve  some  curious 
illustrations  of  the  old  poets  His  imitations, 
though  he  is  not  entirely  free  from  the  affec- 
tation of  using  rather  too  many  obsolete 
words,  are  generally  highly  interesting.  The 
work  fills  an  important  place  in  the  collection 
of  those  who  are  addicted  to  this  branch  of 
antiquarian  study. 

Mr.  John  Finlay,  a  poet  whose  career  was 
cut  short  by  a  premature  death,  published  a 
short  collection  of  "Scottish  Historical  and 
Romantic  Ballads,"  in  1808.  The  beauty  of 
some  imitations  of  the  old  Scottish  ballad, 
with  the  good  sense,  learning,  and  modesty 
of  the  preliminary  dissertations,  must  make 
all  admirers  of  ancient  lore  regret  the  earlj 
loss  of  this  accomplished  young  man. 

Various  valuable  collections  of  ancient  bal- 
lad-poetry have  appeared  of  late  years,  some 
of  which  are  illustrated  with  learning  and 
acuteness,  as  those  of  Mr.  Motherwell  and  of 
Mr.  Kinloch  intimate  much  taste  and  feeling 
for  this  species  of  literature.  Nor  is  there 
any  want  of  editions  of  ballads,  less  designed 
for  public  sale,  than  to  preserve  floating  pieces 
of  minstrelsy  which  are  in  immediate  danger 
of  perishing.  Several  of  those,  edited,  as  we 
:iave  occasion  to  know,  by  men  of  distin- 
guished talent,  have  appeared  in  a  smaller 
form  and  more  limited  edition,  and  must  soon 
3e  among  the  introuvabtes  of  Scottish  typo- 
graphy. We  would  particularize  a  duodecimo, 
under  the  modest  title  of  a  "Ballad  Book," 
without  place  or  date  annexed,  which  indi- 
cates, by  a  few  notes  only,  the  capacity  which 
he  editor  possesses  for  supplying  the  most 
extensive  and  ingenious  illustrations  upon 
intiquarian  subjects.  Most  of  the  ballads  are 
of  a  comic  character,  and  some  of  them  ad- 
mirable specimens  of  Scottish  dry  humour. 
Another  collection,  which  calls  for  particular 
distinction,  is  in  the  same  size,  or  nearly  so, 
and  bears  the  same  title  with  the  preceding 
one,  the  date  being,  Edinburgh,  182V.  But  the 


458 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


contents  are  announced  as  containing  the 
budget,  or  stock-in-trade,  of  an  old  Aberdeen- 
shire  minstrel,  the  very  last,  probably,  of  the 
race,  who,  according  to  Percy's  definition  of 
the  profession,  sung  his  own  compositions, 
and  those  of  others,  through  the  capital  of 
the  country,  and  other  towns  in  that  country 
of  gentlemen.  This  man's  name  was  Charles 
Leslie,  hut  he  was  known  more  generally  by 
the  nickname  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie,  from 
a  singular  projection  of  his  under  lip.  His 
death  was  thus  announced  in  the  newspapers 
for  October.  1792:  — "Died  at  Old  Kain.  in 
Aberdeenshire,  aged  one  hundred  and  four 
years,  Charles  Leslie,  a  hawker,  or  ballad- 
singer,  well  known  in  that  country  by  the 
name  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie.  He  followed 
his  occupation  till  within  a  few  weeks  of  his 
death."  Charlie  was  a  devoted  Jacobite,  and 
so  popular  in  Aberdeen,  that  he  enjoyed  in 
that  city  a  sort  of  monopoly  of  the  minstrel 
calling,  no  other  person  being  allowed,  under 
any  pretence,  to  chant  ballads  on  the  cause- 
way, or  plain-stanes,  of  "the  brave  burgh." 
Like  the  former  collection,  most  of  Mussel- 
mou'd  Charlie's  songs  were  of  a  jocose  cha- 
racter. 

But  the  most  extensive  and  valuable  addi- 
tions which  have  been  of  late  made  to  this 
branch  of  ancient  literature,  are  the  collec- 
tions of  Mr.  Peter  Buchan  of  Peterhead.  a 
person  of  indefatigable  research  in  that  de- 
partment, and  whose  industry  has  been 
crowned  with  the  most  successful  results 
This  is  partly  owing  to  the  country  where 
Mr.  Buclitm  resides,  which,  full  as  it  is  of 
minstrel  relics,  has  been  but  little  ransacked 
by  any  former  collectors ;  so  that,  while  it  is 
a  very  rare  event  south  of  the  Tay,  to  recover 
any  ballad  having  a  claim  to  antiquity,  which 
has  not  been  examined  and  republished  in 
some  one  or  other  of  our  collections  of  ancient 
poetry,  those  of  Aberdeenshire  have  been 
comparatively  little  attended  to.  The  present 
Editor  was  the  first  to  solicit  attention  to 
these  northern  songs,  in  consequence  of  a 
collection  of  ballads  communicated  to  him  by 
his  late  respected  friend.  Lord  Woodhouslee. 
Mr.  Jamieson.  in  his  collections  of  "Songs 
and  Ballads,"  being  himself  a  native  of  Moray- 
shire,  was  able  to  push  this  inquiry  much 
farther,  and  at  the  same  time,  by  doing  so,  to 
illustrate  his  theory  of  the  connexion  between 
the  ancient  Scottish  and  Danish  ballads,  upon 
which  the  publication  of  Mr.  Biichan  throws 
much  light.  It  is.  indeed,  the  most  complete 
collection  of  the  kind  which  has  yet  appeared. 

Of  the  originality  of  the  ballads  in  Mr.  Bu- 
chau's  collection  we  do  not  entertain  the 
slightest  doubt.  Several  (we  may  instance 
the  curious  tale  of  "The  Two  Magicians") 
are  translated  from  the  Norse,  and  Mr.  Buchan 
is  probably  unacquainted  with  the  originals. 
Others  refer  to  points  of  history,  with  which 
the  editor  does  not  seem  to  be  familiar.  It  is 
out  of  no  disrespect  to  this  laborious  and  use- 
ful antiquary,  that  we  observe  his  prose  com- 
position is  rather  florid,  and  forms,  in  this 
respect,  a  strong  contrast  to  the  extreme  sim- 
plicity of  the  ballads,  which  eives  us  the 
most  distinct  assurance  that  he  has  delivered 
the  latter  to  the  public  in  the  shape  in  which 
he  found  them.  Accordingly,  we  have  never 


seen  any  collection  of  Scottish  poetrv  appear- 
in?,  from  internal  evidence,  so  decidedly  and 
indubitably  orisinal.  It  is  perhaps  a  pity  that 
Mr.  Buchan  did  not  remove  some  obvious 
errors  and  corruptions;  but,  in  truth,  though 
their  remaining  on  record  is  an  injury  to  the 
effect  of  the  ballads,  in  point  of  composition, 
it  is,  in  some  degree,  a  proof  of  their  authen- 
ticity. Besides,  although  the  exertion  of  this 
editorial  privilege,  of  selecting  readings,  is  an 
advantage  to  the  ballads  themselves,  we  are 
contented  rather  to  take  the  whole  in  their 
present,  though  imperfect  state,  than  that  the 
least  doubt  should  be  thrown  upon  them,  by 
amendments  or  alterations,  which  might  ren- 
der their  authenticity  doubtful.  The  historical 
poems,  we  observe,  are  few  and  of  no  remote 
date.  That  of  the  "  Bridge  of  Dee."  is  among 
the  oldest,  and  there  are  others  referring  to 
the  time?  of  the  Covenanters.  Some,  indeed, 
are  composed  on  still  more  recent  events ;  as 
the  marriaee  of  the  mother  of  the  late  illus- 
trious Byron,  and  a  catastrophe  of  still  later 
occurrence.  "The  Death  of  Leith-hall." 

As  we  wish  to  interest  the  admirers  of  an- 
cient minstrel  lore  in  this  cnrious  collection, 
we  shall  only  add,  that,  on  occasion  of  a  new 
edition,  we  would  recommend  to  Mr.  B'ichan 
to  leave  out  a  number  of  songs  which  he  has 
only  inserted  because  they  are  varied,  some- 
times for  the  worse,  from  sets  which  have 
appeared  in  other  publications.  This  restric- 
tion would  make  considerable  room  for  such 
as,  old  though  they  be,  possess  to  this  age  all 
the  grace  of  novelty. 

To  these  notices  of  late  collections  of  Scot- 
tish Ballads,  we  ought  to  add  some  remarks 
on  the  very  curious  "  Ancient  Legendary  Tales, 
printed  chiefly  from  Original  Sources,  edited 
by  the  Rev.  Charles  Henry  Hartshorne,  M.A. 
1829."  The  editor  of  this  unostentatious  work 
has  done  his  duty  to  the  public  with  much 
labour  and  care,  and  made  the  admirers  of 
this  species  of  poetry  acquainted  with  very 
many  ancient  legendary  poems,  which  were 
hitherto  unpublished  and  very  little  known. 
It  increases  the  value  of  the  collection,  that 
many  of  them  are  of  a  comic  turn,  a  species 
of  composition  more  rare,  and.  from  its  neces- 
sary allusion  to  domestic  manners,  more  cu- 
rious and  interesting,  than  the  serious  class 
of  Romances. 


We  have  thus,  in  a  cursory  manner,  gone 
through  the  history  of  English  and  Scottish 
popular  poetry,  and  noticed  the  principal  col- 
lections which  have  been  formed  from  time 
to  time  of  such  compositions,  and  the  princi- 
ples on  which  the  editors  have  proceeded.  It 
is  manifest  that,  of  late,  the  public  attention 
has  been  so  much  turned  to  the  subject  by 
men  of  research  anc!  talent,  that  we  may  well 
hope  to  retrieve  from  oblivion  as  much  of  our 
ancient  poetry  as  there  is  now  any  possibility 
of  recovering. 

Another  important  part  of  our  task  consists 
in  giving  some  account  of  the  modern  imita- 
tion of  the  English  Ballad,  a  species  of  lite- 
rary labour  which  the  author  has  himself 
pursued  with  some  success. 

Abbotsford,  1st  March,  1830. 


APPENDIX  TO  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY.     459 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  HARLAW. 

P.  452. 

That  there  was  such  an  ancient  ballad  is 
certain,  and  the  tune,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes, 
was  Ion?  extremely  popular,  and,  within  the 
remembrance  of  man.  the  first  which  was 
played  at  kirns  and  other  rustic  festivals.  But 
there  is  a  suspicious  praise  in  the  ballad  as  it  is 
published  by  Allan  Ramsay.  When  describing 
the  national  confusion,  the  bard  says, 

"Sen  the  days  of  auld  King  Harie, 
Such  slauchter  was  not  heard  or  seen." 

Query,  Who  was  the  "auld  Km?  Harie  here 
meant  ?  If  Henry  VIII.  be  intended,  as  is  most 
likely,  it  must  bring  the  date  of  the  poem,  at 
least  of  that  verse,  as  low  as  Queen  Mary's 
time.  The  ballad  is  said  to  have  been  printed 
in  1668.  A  copy  of  that  edition  would  be  a 
great  curiosity. 

See  the  preface  to  the  reprint  of  this  ballad, 
in  the  volume  of  "  Early  Metrical  Tales,"  ante 
referred  to. 


NOTE  B. 

ALLAN  RAMSAY'S  "EVERGREEN." 

P.  452. 

Green  be  the  pillow  ot  honest  Allan,  at 
whose  lamp  Burns  lighted  his  brilliant  torch  ! 
It  is  without  enmity  to  his  memory  that  we 
record  his  mistake  in  this  matter.  But  it  is 
impossible  not  to  regret  that  such  an  affecting 
tale  as  that  of  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray 
should  have  fallen  into  his  hands.  The 
southern  reader  must  learn,  (for  what  north- 
ern reader  is  ignorant  ?)  that  these  two  beau- 
tiful women  were  kinsfolk,  and  so  strictly 
united  in  friendship,  that  even  personal  jea- 
lousy could  not  interrupt  their  union.  They 
were  visited  by  a  handsome  and  agreeable 
young  man,  who  was  acceptable  to  them  both, 
but,  so  captivated  with  their  charms,  that, 
while  confident  of  a  preference  on  the  part 
of  both,  he  was  unable  to  make  a  choice  be- 
tween them.  While  this  singular  situation  of 
the  three  persons  of  the  tale  continued,  the 
breaking  out  of  the  plague  forced  the  two 
ladies  lo  take  refuge  in  the  beautiful  valley 
of  Lynedoch,  where  they  built  themselves  a 
bower,  in  order  to  avoid  humnii  intercourse 
and  the  danger  of  infection.  The  lover  was 
not  included  in  their  renunciation  of  society. 
He  visited  their  retirement,  brought  with  him 
the  fatal  disease,  and  unable  to  return  to 
Perth,  which  was  his  usual  residence,  was 
nursed  by  the  fair  friends  with  all  the  tender- 
ness of  affection.  He  died,  however,  having 


first  communicated  the  infection  to  his  lovely 
attendants.  They  followed  him  to  the  grave, 
lovely  in  their  lives,  and  undivided  in  their 
death.  Their  burial-place,  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  bower  which  they  built,  is  still  visible,  in 
the  romantic  vicinity  of  Lord  Lyndoeh's  man- 
sion, and  prolongs  the  memory  of  female 
friendship,  which  even  rivalry  could  not  dis- 
solve. Two  stanzas  of  the  original  ballad 
alone  survive : — 

"  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Grav, 

They  were  twa  bonme  lasses : 
They  bigged  a  bower  on  yon  burn  brae, 
And  theekit  it  ower  wi'  rashes. 

"They  wadna  rest  in  Methvin  kirk, 

Among  their  gentle  kin; 
But  they  wad  lie  in  Lednoch  braes, 
To  beek  against  the  sun." 

There  is,  to  a  Scottish  ear,  so  much  tender- 
ness and  simplicity  in  these  verses,  as  must 
induce  us  to  regret  that  the  rest  should  have 
been  superseded  by  a  pedantic  modern  song, 
tumins  upon  the  most  unpoetic  part  of  the 
legend,  the  hesitation,  namely,  of  the  lover, 
which  of  the  ladies  to  prefer.  One  of  the 
most  touching  expressions  in  the  song  is  the 
following  exclamation : 

"Oh,  Jove!  she*  like  thy  Pallas." 

Another  song,  of  which  Ramsay  chose  a  few 
words  for  the  theme  of  a  riJacimenlo,  seems  to 
have  been  a  curious  specimen  of  minstrel  re- 
citation. It  was  partly  verse,  partly  narrative, 
and  was  alternately  sung  and  repeated.  The 
story  was  the  escape  of  a  young  gentleman, 
pursued  by  a  cruel  uncle,  desirous  of  his 
estate ;  or  a  bloody  rival,  greedy  of  his  life ; 
or  the  relentless  fa!  her  of  his  lady-love,  or 
iome  such  remorseless  character,  having  sinis- 
ter intentions  on  the  person  of  the  fugitive. 
The  ohject  of  his  rapacity  or  revenge  being 
nearly  overtaken,  a  shepherd  undertakes  to 
mislead  the  pursuer,  who  comes  in  sight  just 
as  the  object  of  his  pursuit  disappears,  and 
greets  the  shepherd  thus  :— 

••  PURSUER. 
Good  morrow,  shepherd,  and  my  friend, 
Saw  you  a  young  man  this  way  riding : 
With  long  black  hair,  on  a  bob-tail'd  mare, 
And  I   know  that  I  cannot  be  far  behind 
him? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 
Yes  I  did  see  him  this  way  riding1. 

And  what  did  much  surprise  my  wit, 
The  man  and  the  mare  flew  up  ni  the  air, 

And  I  see,  and  I  see.  and  I  see  her  yet. 

Behind  yon  white  cloud  I  see  her  tail  wave. 

And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet 


460 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  tune  of  these  verses  is  an  extremely 
good  one,  and  Allan  Ramsay  has  adapted  a 
bacchanalian  song  to  it  with  some  success ; 
but  we  should  have  thanked  him  much  had 
he  taken  the  trouble  to  preserve  the  original 
legend  of  th-»  old  minstrel.  The  valuable  and 
learned  frieut]  to  whom  we  owe  this  mutilated 
account  of  it,  has  often  heard  it  sung  among 
the  High  Jinks  of  Scottish  lawyers  of  the  last 
generation. 

NOTE  C. 

JOSEPH  RITSOX. 

" Neglecting,  in  literary  'debate,  the  cour- 
tesies of  ordinary  society." — P.  452. 

For  example,  in  quoting  a  popular  song,  well 
known  by  the  name  of  Maggie  Lander,  the 
editor  of  the  Reliques  has  given  a  line  of  the 
Dame's  address  to  the  merry  minstrel,  thus : — 

"  Gin  ye  be  Rob,  I've  heard  of  you, 
You  dwell  upon  the  Border." 

Ritson  insisted  the  genuine  reading  was, 
"  Come  ye  frae  the  Border  ?" 

And  he  expatiates  with  great  keenness  on  the 
crime  of  the  Bishop's  having  sophisticated  the 
text,  (of  which  he  produces  no  evidence.)  to 
favour  his  opinion,  that  the  Borders  were  a 
favourite  abode  of  the  minstrels  of  both  king- 
doms. The  fact,  it  is  believed,  is  undoubted, 
and  the  one  reading  seems  to  support  it  as 
well  as  the  other.  —  [Joseph  Kitson  died  in 
1803.] 

NOTE  D. 

"A.  MERE  CHOWDER  UPON  AN  UNTUNED  FIDDLE." 

P.  451. 

Ill  Fletcher's  comedy  of  "  Monsieur  Tho- 
mas," such  a  fiddler  is  questioned  as  to  the 
ballads  he  is  best  versed  in.  and  replies, 

"Under  your  mastership's  correction  I  can 

sing, 

'The  Duke  of  Norfolk,'  or  the  merry  ballad 
Of  '  Divius  and  Lazarus :'  •  The  Rose  of 

England ;' 

4  In  Crete,  where  Dedimus  first  began ;' 
•Jonas  his  crving  out  against  Coventry.' 

Thomas.    Excellent ! 
Rare  matters  all. 

Fiddler.   '  Mawdlin  the  Merchant's  Daugh- 
ter;' 

'The  Devil  and  ye  Dainty  Dames.' 
Thomas.    Rare  still. 
Fiddler.    'The  Landing  of  the  Spaniards 

at  Bow. 
With  the  bloody  battle  at  Mile-end.' " 

The  poor  minstrel  is  described  as  accompany- 
ing the  young  rake  in  his  revels.  Launcelot 
describes 

"The   gentleman   himself,  young  Monsieur 

Thomas, 

Errant  with  his  furious  myrmidons; 
The  fiery  fiddler  and  myself— now  singing, 
Now  beanr.e  at  the  doors,"  &c. 


NOTE  E. 

MINSTRELS. 

P.  45t. 

The  "Song  of  the  Traveller."  an  ancient 

;iece  lately  discovered  in  the  Cathedral  Li- 
rary  of  Exeter,  and  published  by  the  Kev. 
Mr.  Coneybeare.  in  his  Illustrations  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  Poetry  (1836.)  furnishes  a  most  curious 
picture  of  the  life  of  the  Northern  Scald,  or 
Minstrel,  in  the  high  and  palmy  state  of  the 
profession.  The  reverend  editor  thus  trans- 
lates the  closing  lines : 

"  Ille  est  carissimus  Terra  mcolis 
Cui  Deus  addidit  Hommuin  miperium  geren- 

dum, 

Quum  ille  eos  [bardos]  habeat  caros. 
Ita  comeantes  cum  cantilenis  feruntur 
Bardi  hommum  per  terras  mnlras : 
Simut  eos  remuneratur  ob  cantilenas  pul- 

chras, 

Muneribus  immensis,  ille  qui  ante  nobiles 
Vult  judicium  suum  extollere,  dignitatem 

sustinere. 
Habet  ille  sub  raelo  stabilem  famam." 

P.  22. 

Mr.  Coneybeare  contrasts  this  "flattering  pic- 
ture" with  the  following  "  melancholy  speci- 
men" of  the  Minstrel  life  of  later  times  — 
contained  in  some  verses  by  Richard  Sheale 
(the  alleged  author  of  the  old  Chevy  Chase,) 
which  are  preserved  in  one  of  the  Ashmolean 

"Now  for  the  good  cheere  that  I  have  had 

here, 
I  give  you  hearty  thanks  with  bowing  of  my 

shankes, 
Desiring  you  by  petition  to  grant  me  such 

commission — 
Because  my  name  is  Sheale,  that  both  for 

meat  and  meale, 
To  yon  I  may  resort  sum  tyme  for  my  com- 

forte. 
For  I  perceive  here  at  all  tymes  is  good 

cheere, 
Both  ale,  wyne,  and  beere,  as  hyt  doth  now 

appere, 
I  perceive  without  fable  ye  keepe  a  good 

table. 

I  can  be  contente,  if  hyt  be  out  of  Lent, 
A  piece  of  beefe  to  take  my  honger  to 

aslake, 
Both  mutton  and  veale  is  goode  for  Rycharde 

Sheale ; 
Though  I  looke  so  grave,  I  were  a  veri 

knave, 
If  I  wold  thinke  skorne  ether  evenynge  or 

morne, 
Beyng  in  honger,  of  fresshe  samon  or  kon- 

gar, 
I  can  fynde  in  my  hearte,  with  my  frendis 

to  take  a  parte 
Of  such  as  Godde  shal  sende,  and  thus  I 

make  an  ende. 
Now  farewel,  good  myn  Hoste,  I  thank  youe 

for  youre  coste 
Untyl  another  tyme,  and  thus  do  I  ende  my 

ryrne." 

P.  28. 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD.         461 

NOTE  F. 

Through  the  pale  willows  faltering  whispers 
wake. 

WILLIAM  JULIUS  MICKLE. 

And  evening  comes  with  locks  bedropp'd 

P.  455. 

with  dew; 

In  evidence  of  what  is  stated  in  the  text,  the 

On  Desmond's  mouldering  turrets  slowly 

author  would  quote  the  introductory  stanza  to 
a  forgotten  poem  of  Mickle.  originally  pub- 

shake 
The  wither'd  ryegrass,  and  the  hairbell 

lished   under  the  injudicious  and   equivocal 
title  of  "The  Concubine,"  but  in  subsequent 

blue. 
And  ever  and  anon  sweet  Mulla's  plaints  1 

editions  called,  '•  Sir  Martyn,  or  The  Progress 

renew." 

of  Dissipation." 
"Awake,  ve  west  winds,  through  the  lonely 

Mickle's  facility  of  versification  was  so  great, 
that,  being  a  printer   by  profession,  he  fre- 

dale.' 

quently  put  his  lines  into  types  without  taking 

And.  Fancy,  to  thy  faery  hower  betake  ; 

the  trouble  previously  to  put  them  into  writ- 

Even now.  with  balmy  sweetness  breathes 

ing  ;  thus  uniting  the  composition  of  the  au- 

the gale. 

thor  with  the  mechanical  operation,  which. 

Dimpling  with  downy  wing  the  stilly  lake  ; 

typographers  call  by  the  same  name. 

ESSAY 

ON 

Smitfltians  nf  tljj  Slumnt  UallaL1 

The  invention  of  printing  necessarily  occa- 

collections for  general  sale,  the  authors  aimed 

sioned  the  downfall  of  the  Order  of  Minstrels, 

at  a  more  ornamental  and   regular  style  of 

already  reduced  to  contempt  by  their  own  bad 

poetry  than  had   been  attempted  by  the  old 

habits,  by  the  disrepute  attached  to  their  pro- 

minstrels, whose  composition,  if  not  extempo- 

fession, and  by  the  laws  calculated  to  repress 

raneous,  was  seldom  committed  to  writing. 

their  license.     When  the  Metrical  Romances 

and  was  not,  therefore,  susceptible  of  accu- 

were very  many  of  them  in  the  hands  of  every 

rate  revision.    This  was  the  more  necessary, 

one,  the  occupation  of  those  who  made  their 
living  by  recitme  them  was  in  some  degree 

as  even  the  popular  poetry  was  now  feeling 
the  effects  arising  from  the  advance  of  know- 

abolished, and  the  minstrels  either  disappear- 

ledge, and   the  revival  of  the  study  of  the 

ed  altogether,  or  sunk  into  mere  musicians. 

learned  languages,  with  all  the  elegance  and 

whose  utmost  acquaintance  with  poetry  was 

refinement  which  it  induced. 

being  able  to  sing  a  hallad.     Perhaps  old  An- 
thony, who  acquired,  from  the  song  which  he 
accounted  his  masterpiece,  the  name  of  An- 
thony Now  Now.  was  one  of  the  last  of  this 
class  in  the  capital  ;  nor  does  the  tenor  of  his 

In  short,  the  general  progress  of  the  country 
led  to  an  improvement  in  the  department  of 
popular  poetry,  tending  both  to  soften  and 
melodise  the  language  employed,  and  to  orna- 
ment the  diction   beyond   that  of  the  rude 

poetry  evince  whether  it  was  his  own  compo- 
sition or  that  of  some  other.2 
But  the  taste  for  popular  poetry  did  not  de- 

minstrels, to  whom  such  topics  of  composition 
had  been  originally  abandoned.     The  mono- 
tony of  the  ancient  recitals  was,  for  the  same 

cay  with  the  class  of  men  by  whom  it  had 
been  for  some  generations  practised  and  pre- 
served.   Not  onlv  did  the  simple  old  ballads 
retain  their  ground,  though  circulated  by  the 

causes,  altered  and  improved  upon.  The  eter- 
nal descriptions  of  battles,  and  of  love  dilem- 
mas, which,  to  satiety,  filled  the  old  romances  ; 
with  trivial   repetition,  was  retrenched.    If 

new  art  of  printing,  instead  of  being  preserved 

any  one  wishes  to  compare  the  two  eras  of 

by  recitation  ;  but  in  the  Garlands,  and  similar 

lyrical  poetry,  a  few  verses  taken  from  one 

1  Thi«  ™ay  was  written  in  April  1630,  and  form,  a  con- 

of  the  latest  minstrel  ballads,  and  one  of  the 
earliest  that  were  written  for  the  press,  will 

ttiiUMtioa  of  the  "  R*-m  irkn  on  Popular  Poelry  "  —  Ed. 
2  He  roiNhi  beMipixwed  a  coniemporary  of  Hecrjr  VIII., 

afford  him,  in  some  degree,  the  power  of  rio- 

monarch  is  of  hi*  own  composition,  and  spokrn  in  bin  own 

The  rude  lines  from   Anthony  Now  Now, 

person. 

which  we  have  just  quoted,  may,  for  example, 
be  compared,  as  Ritson  requests,  with  the  or- 

Aiid ihfii  IIP  »mi  to  \ntbony 

namented  commencement  of  the  ballad  of 

0  Anthony  now  now  now  " 

Fair  Rosamond  :  — 

462 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"  When  as  King  Henry  ruled  this  laud, 

The  second  of  that  name. 
Besides  his  queen  he  dearly  loved 
A  fair  and  comely  dame. 

"Most  peerless  was  her  beauty  found, 

Her  favour,  and  her  face : 
A  sweeter  creature  in  the  world 
Could  never  prince  embrace. 

"  Her  crisped  locks,  like  threads  of  gold 

Appear'd  to  each  man's  sizht ; 
Her  spark  liug  eyes,  like  orient  pearls, 
Did  cast  a  heavenly  light. 

"The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheeks 

Did  such  a  colour  drive. 
As  though  the  lily  and  the  rose 
For  mastership  did  strive."  1 

It  may  be  rash  to  affirm,  that  those  who 
lived  by  singing  this  more  refined  poetry,  were 
a  class  of  men  different  from  the  ancient  min- 
strels ;  but  it  appears,  that  both  the  name  of 
the  professors,  and  the  character  of  the  Min- 
strel poetry,  had  sunk  in  reputation. 

The  facility  of  versification,  and  of  poetical 
diction,  is  decidedly  in  favour  of  the  moderns, 
as  might  reasonably  be  expected  from  the  im- 
proved taste,  and  enlarged  knowledge,  of  an 
age  which  abounded  to  such  a  degree  in  poe- 
try, and  of  a  character  so  imaginative  as  was 
the  Elizabethan  era.  The  poetry  addressed 
to  the  populace,  and  enjoyed  by  them  alone, 
was  animated  by  the  spirit  that  was  breathed 
around.  We  may  cite  Shakspeare's  unques- 
tionable and  decisive  evidence  in  this  respect. 
In  Taxlfth  Night  he  describes  a  popular  ballad, 
with  a  beauty  and  precision  which  no  one  hut 
himself  could  have  affixed  to  its  character ; 
and  the  whole  constitutes  the  strongest  appeal 
in  favour  of  that  species  of  poetry  which  is 
written  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  public  in  ge- 
neral, and  is  most  naturally  preserved  by  oral 
tradition.  But  the  remarkable  part  of  the 
circumstance  is,  that  when  the  song  is  actually 
sung  by  Fest6  the  clown,  it  differs  in  almost 
all  particulars  from  what  we  might  have  been 
justified  in  considering  as  attributes  of  a  popu- 
lar ballad  of  that  early  period.  It  is  simple, 
doubtless,  both  in  structure  and  phraseology, 
hut  is  rather  a  love  song  than  a  minstrel  bal- 
lad— a  love  song.  also,  which,  though  its  ima- 
ginative figures  of  speech  are  of  a  very  simple 
atid  intelligible  character,  may  nevertheless 
be  compared  to  any  thing  rather  than  the 
boldness  of  the  preceding  age.  and  resembles 
nothing  less  than  the  ordinary  minstrel  ballad. 
The  original,  though  so  well  known,  may  be 
here  quoted,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  what 
was,  m  Shakspeare's  time,  regarded  as  the 
poetry  of  "the  old  age."  Almost  every  one 
has  the  passage  by  heart,  yel  I  must  quote  it, 
because  there  seems  a  marked  difference  be- 
tween the  species  of  poem  which  is  described, 
and  that  which  is  sung : 

"  Mark  it,  Caesario ;  it  is  old  and  plain  : 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  m  the  sun, 
And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  thread 

with  bones, 

Do  use  to  chant  it ;  it  is  silly  sooth, 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age." 


The  song,  thus  beautifully  prefaced,  is  as 
follows : 

"  Come  away,  cnme  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  sluck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it ; 

My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

"  Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet, 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be 

thrown : 
A  thousand,  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  0,  where 

Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave, 
To  v/eep  there.1'  2 

On  comparing  this  love  elegy,  or  whatever 
it  may  be  entitled,  with  the  ordinary,  and 
especially  the  earlier  popular  poetry,  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  a  great  difference  will  be 
!  observed  in  the  structure  of  the  verse,  the 
'  character  of  the  sentiments,  the  ornaments 
and  refinement  of  the  language.  Neither  in- 
deed, as  might  be  expected  from  the  progress 
1  of  human  affairs,  was  the  change  in  the  popu- 
;  lar  style  of  poetry  achieved  without  some 
disadvantages,  which  counterbalanced,  in  a 
certain  degree,  the  superior  art  and  exercise 
of  fancy  which  had  been  introduced  of  late 
times. 

j  The  expressions  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  an 
;  unquestionable  judge  of  poetry,  flourishing  in 
Elizabeth's  golden  reiirn,  and  drawing  around 
i  him,  like  a  magnet,  the  most  distinguished 
;  poets  of  the  age,  amongst  whom  we  need  only 
i  name  Shakspeare  and  Spenser,  still  show 
something  to  regret  when  he  compared  the 
highly  wrought  and  richly  ornamented  poetry 
of  his  own  time,  with  the  ruder  but  more 
energetic  diction  of  Chevy  Chase.  His  words, 
often  quoted,  cannot  yet  be  dispensed  with  on 
the  present  occasion.  They  are  a  chapter  in 
the  history  of  ancient  poetry.  ••  Certainly," 
says  the  brave  knight,  ••  I  must  confess  my 
own  barbarousness ;  I  never  heard  the  old 
song  of  Percy  and  Douglas,  that  I  found  not 
my  heart  more  moved  than  with  a  trumpet. 
And  yet  it  is  sung  by  some  blind  crowder. 
with  no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style,  which 
being  so  evil  apparelled  in  the  dust  and  cob- 
webs of  that  uncivil  age,  what  would  it  work, 
trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pin- 
dar.'^ 

If  we  inquire  more  particularly  what  were 
the  peculiar  charms  by  which  the  old  rmnsirel 
ballad  produced  an  effect  like  a  trumpet- sound 
\  upou  the  bosom  of  a  real  son  of  chivalry,  we 
,  may  not  be  wrong  in  ascribing  it  to  the  ex- 
treme simplicity  with  which  the  narrative 
moves  forward,  neglecting  all  the  more  minute 
ornaments  of  speech  and  diction,  to  the  grand 
object  of  enforcing  on  the  hearer  a  striking 
and  affecting  catastrophe.  The  author  seems 
too  serious  m  his  wish  to  affect  the  audience, 
to  allow  himself  to  be  drawn  aside  by  any 
thing  which  can,  either  by  its  tenor,  or  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  spoken,  have  the  per- 


3  Sir  Philip  Sidney'*  Defence  of  Poesy. 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


463 


verse  effect  of  distracting  attention  from  the 
catastrophe. 

Such  grand  and  serious  beauties,  however, 
occurred  but  rarely  to  the  old  minstrels ;  and 
in  order  to  find  them,  it  became  necessary  to 
struggle  through  Ion?  passages  of  monotony, 
languor,  and  inanity.  Unfortunately  it  also 
happened,  that  those  who,  like  Sidney,  could 
ascertain,  feel,  and  do  foil  justice  to  the  beau- 
ties of  the  heroic  ballad,  were  few.  compared 
to  the  numbers  who  cuuld  be  sensible  of  the 
trite  verbiage  of  a  bald  passage,  or  the  ludi- 
crous effect  of  an  absurd  rhyme.  In  England, 
accordingly,  the  popular  ballad  fell  into  con- 
tempt during  the  seventeenth  century  ;  and 
and  although  in  remote  counties  1  its  inspira- 
tion was  occasionally  the  source  of  a  few 
verses,  it  seems  to  have  become  almost  en- 
tirely obsolete  in  the  capital.  Even  the  Civil 
Wars,  which  gave  so  much  occasion  for  poe- 
try, produced  rather  song  and  satire,  than  the 
ballad  or  popular  epic.  The  curious  reader 
may  satisfy  himself  on  this  point,  should  he 
wish  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  allegation, 
by  looking  through  D'Urfey's  large  and  curious 
collection, 2  when  he  will  be  aware  that  the 
few  ballads  which  it  contains  are  the  most 
ancient  productions  in  the  book,  and  very  sel- 
dom take  their  date  after  the  commencement 
of  the  seventeenth  century. 

In  Scotland,  on  the  contrary,  the  old  min- 
strel ballad  long  continued  to  preserve  its 
popularity.  Even  the  last  contests  of  Jaco- 
bitism  were  recited  with  great  vigour  in  bal- 
lads of  the  time,  the  authors  of  some  of  which 
are  known  and  remembered ;  nor  is  there  a 
more  spirited  ballad  preserved  than  that  of 
Mr.  Skirvmg.3  (father  of  Skirving  the  artist.) 
upon  the  battle  of  Prestonpaus,  so  late  as 
1745.  But  this  was  owing  to  circumstances 
connected  with  the  habits  of  the  people  in  a 
remote  and  rude  country,  which  could  not 
exist  in  the  richer  and  wealthier  provinces  of 
England. 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  ancient  Heroic 
ballad,  as  it  was  called,  seemed  to  be  fast  de- 
clining among  the  more  enlightened  and  lite- 
rary part  of  both  countries;  and  if  retained 
by  the  lower  classes  in  Scotland,  it  had  in  Eng- 
land ceased  to  exist,  or  degenerated  in  dog- 
gerel of  the  last  degree  of  vileness. 

Subjects  the  most  interesting  were  aban- 
doned to  the  poorest  rhymers,  and  one  would 
have  thought  that,  as  in  an  ass-race,  the  prize 
had  been  destined  to  the  slowest  of  those  who 
competed  for  the  prize.  The  melancholy  fate 
of  Miss  Ray ,4  who  fell  by  the  hands  of  a  fran- 
tic lover,  could  only  inspire  the  Grub  Street 
muse  with  such  verses  as  these,  —  that  is,  if  I 
remember  them  correctly : 

"  A  Sandwich  favourite  was  this  fair, 

And  her  he  dearly  loved ; 
By  whom  six  children  had,  we  hear; 
This  story  fatal  proved. 

"A  clergyman.  0  wicked  one. 
In  Coveut  Garden  shot  her; 


No  time  to  cry  upon  her  God, 
It's  hoped  He's  not  forgot  her." 

If  it  be  true,  as  in  other  cases,  that  when 
things  are  at  the  worst  they  must  mend,  it 
was  certainly  time  to  expect  an  amelioration 
in  the  department  in  which  such  doggerel 
passed  current. 

Accordingly,  previous  to  this  time,  a  new 
species  of  poetry  seems  to  have  arisen,  which, 
in  some  cases,  endeavoured  to  pass  itself  as 
the  production  of  genuine  antiquity,  and.  in 
others,  honestly  avowed  an  attempt  to  emulate 
the  merits  and  avoid  the  errors  with  which 
the  old  ballad  was  encumbered ;  and  in  the 
effort  to  accomplish  this,  a  species  of  compo- 
sition was  discovered,  which  is  capable  of  be- 
ing subjected  to  peculiar  rules  of  criticism, 
and  of  exhibiting  excellences  of  its  own. 

In  writing  for  the  use  of  the  general  reader, 
rather  than  the  poetical  antiquary.  I  shall  he 
readily  excused  from  entering  into  any  inquiry 
respecting  the  authors  who  first  showed  the 
way  in  this  peculiar  department  of  modern 
poetry,  which  1  may  term  the  imitation  of  the 
old  ballad,  especially  that  of  the  latter  or 
Elizabethan  era.  One  of  the  oldest,  according 
to  my  recollection,  which  pretends  to  engraft 
modern  refinement  upon  ancient  simplicity,  is 
extremely  beautiful,  both  from  the  words,  and 
the  simple  and  affecting  melody  to  which  they 
are  usually  sung.  The  title  is  "Lord  Henry 
and  Fair  Catherine."  It  begins  thus : 

"  In  ancient  days,  in  Britain's  isle. 
Lord  Henry  well  was  known ; 
No  knight  in  all  the  land  more  famed, 
Or  more  deserved  renown. 

"His  thoughts  were  all  on  honour  bent, 

He  ne'er  would  stoop  to  love : 
No  lady  in  the  land  had  power 
His  frozen  heart  to  move." 

Early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  this  peculiar 
species  of  composition  became  popular.  We 
find  Tickell,  the  friend  of  Addison,  who  pro- 
duced the  beautiful  ballad  "Of  Leinster  famed 
for  maidens  fair,"  Mallet,  Goldsmith,  Shen- 
stone,  Percy,  and  many  others,  followed  an 
example  which  had  much  to  recommend  it, 
especially  as  it  presented  considerable  facili- 
ties to  those  who  wished,  at  as  little  exertion 
of  trouble  as  possible,  to  attain  for  themselves 
a  certain  degree  of  literary  reputation. 

Before,  however,  treating  of  the  professed 
imitators  of  Ancient  Ballad  Poetry,  I  ought  to 
say  a  word  upon  those  who  have  written  their 
imitatious  with  the  preconceived  purpose  of 
passing  them  for  ancient. 

There  is  no  small  degree  of  cant  in  the 
riolent  invectives  with  which  impostors  of 
.his  nature  have  been  assailed.  In  fact,  the 
case  of  each  is  special,  and  ought  to  be  sepa- 
rately considered,  according  to  its  own  cir- 
cumstances. If  a  young,  perhaps  a  female 
author,  chooses  to  circulate  a  beautiful  poem, 
we  will  suppose  that  of  Hardyknule,  under 
the  disguise  of  antiquity,  the  public  is  surely 


and  spirited  specimen  occurs  in  Cornwall, 
rial  of  the  Bishops  before  the  Revolution, 
of  the  Royal  Society  of  London  (Mr.  Davies 
>t  disdained  the  trouble  of  preserving  It  from 


Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy. 


3  See  Hogg's  Jacobite  Relic.,  vol.  i  —  Ed. 

4  Mi.s  Ray.  the  beautiful  mi.stres.  of  Ihe  Earl  of  Sand- 
wicn,  then  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  wan  assassinated 

Hackman,  ••  in  a  fit  of  frantic  jealous  lov«,"  ai 
loswe  ex|>re*«ed  it,  in  1779.  See  Ciokcr'a  Bo&wull,  vol. 
I  iv.  p.  264  —  Ed. 


464 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


more  enriched  by  the  contribution  tlian  in- 
jured by  the  deception. 1  It  is  hardly  possible. 
iudeed,  without  a  power  of  poetical  genius. 
and  acquaintance  with  ancient  language  and 
manners  possessed  by  very  few,  to  succeed  in 
deceiving  those  who  have  made  this  branch 
of  literature  their  study.  The  very  desire  to 
umie  modern  refinement  witli  the  verve  of  the 
ancient,  minstrels,  will  itself  betray  the  mas- 
querade. A  minute  acquaintance  with  ancient 
customs,  and  with  ancient  history,  is  also  de- 
manded, to  sustain  a  part  which,  as  it  must 
rest  on  deception,  cannot  be  altogether  an 
honourable  one. 

Two  of  the  most  distinguished  authors  of 
this  class  have,  in  this  manner,  been  detected ; 
being  deficient  in  the  knowledge  requisite  to 
support  their  genius  in  the  disguise  they  me- 
ditated Hardyknute,  for  instance,  already 
mentioned,  is  irreconcilable  with  all  chrono- 
logy, and  a  chief  with  a  Norwegian  name  is 
strangely  introduced  as  the  first  of  the  nobles 
brought  to  resist  a  Norse  invasion,  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Largs :  the  "  needlework  so  rare,"  intro- 
duced by  the  fair  authoress,  must  have  been 
certainly  long  posterior  to  the  reign  of  Alex- 
ander III.  In  Chattel-ton's  ballad  of  "Sir 
Charles  Baudwin,"  we  find  an  anxious  attempt 
to  represent  the  composition  as  ancient,  and 
some  entries  in  the  public  accounts  of  Bristol 
were  appealed  to  in  corrohoration.  But  nei- 
ther was  this  ingenious  but  most  unhappy 
young  man,  with  all  his  powers  of  poetry,  and 
with  the  antiquarian  knowledge  which  he  had 
collected  with  indiscrimmating  but  astonish- 
ing research,  able  to  impose  on  that  part  of 
the  public  qualified  to  judge  of  the  composi- 
tions, which  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  pass 
olf  as  those  of  a  monk  of  the  14th  century. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  in  each  word  doubled 
the  consonants,  like  the  sentinels  of  an  endan- 
gered army.  The  art  used  to  disguise  and 
mispell  the  words  only  overdid  what  was  in- 
tended, and  afforded  sure  evidence  that  the 
poems  published  as  antiques  had  been,  in  fact, 
tampered  with  by  a  modem  artist,  as  the 
newly  forged  medals  of  modern  days  stand 
convicted  of  imposture  from  the  very  touches 
of  the  file,  by  which  there  is  an  attempt  to 
imitate  the  cracks  and  fissures  produced  by 
the  hammer  upon  the  original.3 

I  have  only  met,  in  my  researches  into  these 
matters,  with  one  [Kiem,  which,  if  it  had  been 
produced  as  ancient,  could  not  have  been  de- 
tected on  internal  evidence.  It  is  the  "  War 
Song  upon  the  victory  at  Brunnaubnrg.  trans- 
lated from  the  Anglo-Saxon  into  Anglo-Nor- 
man." by  the  Right  Honourable  John  Hook- 
ham  Frere.  See  Ellis's  Specimens  of  Ancient 
English  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  32.  The  accomplish- 
ed Editor  tells  us.  that  this  very  singular  poem 
was  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  style  and 
language  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  was 
written  during  the  controversy  occasioned  by 
the  poems  attributed  to  Kowley.  Mr.  Ellis 
adds,  "the  reader  will  probably  hear  with 
some  surprise,  that  this  singular  instance  of 
critical  ingenuity  was  the  composition  of  an 
Eton  schoolboy." 

The  author  may  be  permitted  to  speak  as 

1  "  Hantyknnte  was  the  first  poem  that  I  ever  learnt — 
thf  laet  lhal  I  .hall  Corset."-  MS.  note  -r  Sir  Waller  Scotl 
on  a  leaf  at  Allan  Ranway'*  Tea-table  Mi«cell.iny. 


an  artist  on  this  occasion,  (disowning,  at  the 
same  time,  all  purpose  of  imposition,)  as  hav- 
ing written,  at  the  request  of  the  late  Mr. 
Ritson,  one  or  two  things  of  this  kind  ;  among 
others,  a  continuation  of  the  romance  or 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  the  only  one  which 
chances  to  be  preserved.'  And  he  thinks 
himself  entiled  to  state,  that  a  modern  poet 
engaged  in  such  a  task,  is  much  in  the  situa- 
tion of  an  architect  of  the  present  day,  who. 
if  acquainted  with  his  profession,  finds  no 
difficulty  in  copying  the  external  forms  of  a 
Gothic  castle  or  abbey ;  but  when  it  is  com- 
pleted, can  hardly,  by  any  artificial  tints  or 
cement,  supply  the  spots,  weather-stains,  and 
hues  of  different  kinds,  wilh  which  time  alone 
had  invested  the  venerable  fabric  which  he 
desires  to  imitate. 

Leaving  this  branch  of  the  subject,  in  which 
the  difficulty  of  passing  off  what  is  modern  for 
what  is  ancient  cannot  be  matter  of  regret, 
we  may  bestow  with  advantage  some  brief 
consideration  on  the  fair  trade  of  manufac- 
turing modern  antiques,  not  for  the  purpose 
of  passing  them  as  contraband  goods  on  the 
skilful  antiquary,  but  in  order  to  obtain  the 
credit  due  to  authors  as  successful  imitators 
of  the  ancient  simplicity,  while  their  system 
admits  of  a  considerable  infusion  of  modern 
refinement.  Two  classes  of  imitation  may  be 
referred  to  as  belonging  to  this  species  of 
composition.  When  they  approach  each  other, 
there  mav  he  some  difficulty  in  assigning  to 
individual  poems  their  peculiar  character,  but 
in  general  the  difference  is  distinctly  marked. 
The  distinction  lies  betwixt  the  authors  of 
ballads  or  legendary  poems,  who  have  at- 
tempted to  imitate  the  language,  the  manners, 
and  the  sentiments  of  the  ancient  poems 
which  were  their  prototypes;  and  those,  on 
the  contrary,  who.  without  endeavouring  to 
do  so,  have  struck  out  a  particular  path  for 
themselves,  which  cannot,  with  strict  pro- 
priety, be  termed  either  ancient  or  mo- 
dern. 

In  the  actual  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad. 
Dr.  Percy,  whose  researches  made  him  well 
acquainted  with  that  department  of  poetry, 
was  peculiarly  successful.  The  ••  Hermit  of 
W'arkworth."  the  "Childe  of  Elle."  and  other 
minstrel  tales  of  his  composition,  must  always 
be  remembered  with  fondness  by  those  who 
have  perused  them  in  that  period  of  life  when 
the  feelings  are  strong,  and  the  taste  for  poe- 
try, especially  of  this  simple  nature,  is  keen 
and  poignant.  This  learned  and  amiable  pre- 
late was  also  remarkable  for  his  power  of 
restoring  the  ancient  ballad,  by  throwing  in 
touches  of  poetry,  so  adapted  to  its  tone  and 
tenor,  as  to  assimilate  with  its  original  struc- 
ture, and  impress  every  one  who  considered 
the  subject  as  being  coeval  with  the  rest  of 
the  piece.  It  must  be  owned,  that  such  free- 
doms, when  assumed  by  a  professed  antiquary, 
addressing  himself  to  antiquaries,  and  for  the 
sake  of  illustrating  literary  antiquities,  are 
subject  to  great  and  licentious  abuse;  and 
herein  the  severity  of  Kitson  was  to  a  certain 
extent  justified.  But  when  the  license  is 
avowed,  and  practised  without  the  intention 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD.         465 

to  deceive,  it  cannot  be  objected  to  but  by  ,  were  perhaps  too  mystical  and  too  abrupt; 

scrupulous  pedantry.                                              yet  if  it  be  the  purpose  of  this  kind  of  ballad 

The  poet,  perhaps,  most  capable,  by  verses,   poetry  powerfully  to  excite  the  imagination, 
ines.  even  single  words,  to  relieve  and  height-    without  pretending  to  satisfy  it.  few  persons 

en  the  character  of  ancient  poetry,  was  the    have  succeeded  better  than  this  gifted  lady. 

Scottish  bard  Robert  Burns.   We  are  not  here    whose  volume  is  peculiarly  fit  to  be  read  in  a 

speaking  of  the  avowed  lyrical  poems  of  his    lonely  house  by  a  decaying  lamp. 

own  composition,  winch  he  communicated  to       As  we   have   already  hinted,  a  numerous 

Mr  George  Thomson,  but  of  the  manner  in   class  of  the  authors  (some  of  them  of  the 

which  he  recomposed  and  repaired  the  old    very  first  class)  who  condescend  to  imitate 

songs  and   fragments   for   the  collection  of    the  simplicity  of  ancient  poetry,  gave  them- 

ohnson  '   and  others,  when,  if  his  memory   selves   no  trouble   to  observe    the  costume, 

supplied  the  theme,  or  general  subject  of  the    style,  or  manner,  either  of  the  old  minstrel  or 

song,  such  as  it  existed  in  Scottish  lore,  his 

sallad-singer,  but  assumed  a  structure  of  a 

genius  contributed  that  part  which  was  to 

separate  and  peculiar  kind,  which  could  not 

give  life  and  immortality  to  the  whole.     If 

l)e  correctly  termed  either  ancient  or  modern, 

this  praise   should   be   thought   extravagant, 

although  made  the  vehicle  of  beauties  which 

the  reader  may  compare  his  splendid  lyric,   were  common  to  both.    The  discrepancy  be- 

"  My  heart's  in  the  Highlands."  with  the  tame    tween   the  mark   which  they   avowed   their 

and  scarcely  half-intelligible  remains  of  that    purpose  of  shooting  at.  and  that  at  which  they 

song  as  preserved  by  Mr.  Peter  Buchan.    Or, 

really  took  aim,  is  best  illustrated  by  a  pro- 

what is  perhaps  a  still  more  magnificent  ex- 

duction of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 

ample  of  what  we  mean,  "  Macpherson's  Fare- 

their number.    Goldsmith  describes  the  young 

well,"  with  all  its  spirit  and  grandeur,  as  re- 

amily  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  as  amusing 

aaired  by  Burns,  may  be  collated  with  the 

.hemselves  with  conversing  about  poetry.   Mr. 

original  poem  called  ••  Macpherson's  Lament,'1 

Burchell  observes,  that  the  British  poets,  who 

or  sometimes  the  •'  Ruffian's  Kant."    In  Burns' 

mitated  the  classics,  have  especially  contri- 

lirilliant rifacimento,  the  same  strain  of  wild 

buted  to  introduce  a  false  taste,  by  loading 

ideas  is  expressed  as  we  find  ill  the  original  ; 

their  lines  wilh  epithets,  so  as  to  present  a 

hut  wilh  an  infusion  of  the  savage  and  im- 

combination of  luxuriant  images,  without  plot 

passioned  spirit  of  Highland  chivalry,  which 

or  connexion.  —  a  string  of  epithets  that  im- 

gives a  splendour  to  the  composition,  of  which 

prove   the  sound,   without   carrying   on   the 

we  find  not  a  trace  in  the  rudeness  of  the  an- 

sense    But  when  an  example  of  popular  poe- 

cient ditty.     I  can  bear  witness  to  the  older 

try  is  produced  as  free  from  the  fault  which 

verses   having  been  current  while  I  was  a 

the  critic  has  just  censured,  it  is  the  well- 

child,  but  I  never  knew  a  line  of  the  inspired 

known  and  beautiful  poem  of  Edwin  and  An- 

edition of  the  Ayrsiiire  bard  until  the  appear- 

gelina! which,  in  felicitous  attention  to  the 

ance  of  Johnson's  Museum. 

language,  and  in  fanciful  omnmentof  imagery, 

Besides  Percy,  Burns,  and  others,  we  must 

is  as  unlike  to  a  minstrel  ballad,  as  a  lady 

not  omit  to  mention  Mr.  Finlay,  whose  beau- 

assuming the  dress  of  a  Shepherdess  for  a 

tiful  song, 

masquerade,  is  different  from  the  actual  Sisly 

of  Salisbury  Plain.    Tickell's  beautiful  ballad 

"There  came  a  knight  from  the  field  of  the 

is  equally  formed  upon  a  pastoral,  sentimental. 

slain," 

and  ideal  model,  not,  however,  less  beautifully 

is  so  happily  descriptive  of  antique  manners  ; 
or  Mickle,   whose   accurate    and   interesting 
imitations  of  the  ancient  ballad  we  have  al- 
ready   mentioned    with    approbation   in    the 
former  Essay  on  Ballad  Composition.     These, 
with  others  of  modern  date,  at  the  head  of 
whom  we  must  place  Thomas  Moore,  have 
aimed  at  striking  the  ancient  harp  with  the 

executed  ;    and    the    attention   of   Addison's 
friend  had  been  probably  directed  to  the  bal- 
lad stanza  (for  the  stanza  is  all  which  is  imi- 
tated) by  the  praise  bestowed  on  Chevy  Chase 
in  the  Spectator. 
Upon  a  later  occasion,  the  subject  of  Mallet's 
fine  poem,  Edwin  and  Emma,  being  absolutely 
rural  in  itself,  and  occurring  at  the  hamlet  of 
Bowes,  in  Yorkshire,  might  have  seduced  the 

same  bold  and  rough  note  to  which  it  was 
awakened  by  the  ancient  minstrels.    Southey. 
Wordsworth,  and  other  distinguished  names 
of  the  present  century,  have,  in  repeated  in- 
stances, dignified  this  branch  of  literature; 
but  no  one  more  than  Coleridge,  in  the  wild 
and  imaginative  tale  of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner," 
which   displays  so  much  beauty  with   such 
eccentricity.     We  should  act  most  unjustly  in 
this  department  of  Scottish  ballad  poetry,  not 
to  mention  the  names  of  Levilen,  Hjgg.  and 
Allan  Cunningham.    They  have  all  three  ho- 
noured their  country,  by  arriving  at  distinction 
from  a  humble  origin,  and  there  is  none  of 
them  under  whose  hand  the  ancient  Scottish 
harp  has  not  sounded  a  bold  and  distinguished 
lone.    Miss  Anne  Bannernian  likewise  should 
not  be  forgotten,  whose  ••  Tales  of  Superstition 
and   Chivalry"   appeared  about   1802.     They 

poet  from  the  beau  ideal  which  he  had  pic- 
tured to  himself,  into  something  more  imme- 
diately allied  to  common  life.    But  Mallet  was 
not  a  man  to   neglect  what  was  esteemed 
fashionable,  and  poor  Hannah  Railtoii  and  her 
lover  Wnghtson  were  enveloped  in  the  elegant 
but  tinsel  frippery  appertaining  to  Edwin  and 
Emma;  for  the  similes,  reflections,  and  sug- 
gestions of  the  poet  are,  in  fact,  too  intrusive 
and  too  well  said  to  suffer  the  reader  to  feel 
the  full  taste  of  the  tragic  tale.    The  verses 
are  doubtless  beautiful,  but  I  must  own  the 
simple  prose  of  the  Curate's  letter,  who  gives 
the  narrative  of  the  tale  as  it  really  happened, 
has  to  me  a  tone  of  serious  veracity  more 
affecting  than  the  ornaments  of  Mallet's  fic- 
tion.  The  same  author's  ballad,  "  William  and 
Margaret,"  has,  in  some  degree,  the  same 
fault.     A  disembodied  spirit  is  not  a  person 

1  Johnson's  "  Musical  Itatenm."  in  C  vols.,  wa»  lately 
reprinted  at  Edinburgh. 

before  whom  the  living  spectator  takes  leisure 
to  make  remarks  of  a  moral  kind,  as, 

2E 

466 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


'So  will  the  fairest  face  appear. 

When  youth  and  years  are  flown, 
And  such  the  robe  that  Kings  must  wear 
When  death  has  reft  their  crown." 

Upon  the  whole,  the  ballad,  thoush  the  best 
of  Mallet's  writing,  is  certainly  inferior  to  its 
original,  which  I  presume  to  be  the  very  fine 
and  even  terrific  old  Scottish  tale,  beginning, 

'  There  came  a  ghost  to  Margaret's  door." 

It  maybe  found  in  Allan  Ramsay's  "Tea-table 
Miscellany." 

We  need  only  stop  to  mention  another  very 
beautiful  piece  of  this  fanciful  kind,  by  Dr. 
Cartwnght,  called  Armin  and  Elvira,  contain- 


'•The  tender  infant,  meek  and  mild, 

Fell  down  upon  a  stone  : 
The  nurse  took  up  the  squalling  child. 
But  still  the  child  squull'd  on;" 

with  various  slipshod  imitations  of  the  same 
quality. 3  It  did  not  require  his  talents  to 
pursue  this  vein  of  raillery,  for  it  was  such  -.is 
most  men  could  imitate,  and  all  could  enjoy. 
It  is,  therefore,  little  wonderful  that  this  sort 
of  composition  should  be  repeatedly  laid  aside 
for  considerable  periods  of  time,  and  certainly 
as  little  so.  that  it  should  have  been  repeatedly 
revived,  like  some  forgotten  melody,  and  have 
again  obtained  some  desree  of  popularity, 
until  it  sunk  once  more  under  satire,  as  well 
as  parody,  but,  above  all,  the  effects  of  satiety. 


early  youth,  and  am  the  less  like1, 
taken,  as  he  was  the  first  living  poet  1  recol- 
lect to  have  seen  '     His  poem  had  the  distin- 


of  poetry,  has   more  than   once   arisen,  and 
more  than   once   subsided,  in    consequence. 


guished  honour  to  he  much  admired  by  our 
celebrated  philosopher,  Dugald  Stewart,  who    j_:l 
was  wont  to  quote  with  much  pathos,  the  pic- 
•e  of 


perhaps,  of  too  unlimited  indulgence.    That 
has  been  the  case  in  other  countries,  we 
v.  for  the  Spanish  poet,  when  he  found 
foilowTn-'stanza''--!  that  tne  **«i£\  Monsco  romances  were  ex- 


LUic  Ol    le&lglltlliuil   111   me  tuiiuviug  aiaii£.a  .  — 

eluding  all  other  topics,  confers  upo 
hearty  malediction.* 

"  And  while  his  eye  to  Heaven  he  raised. 
Its  silent  waters  stole  away."  * 

A  period  when  this  particular  tast 
popular  ballad  was  in  the  most  t-xt 

degree  of  fashion,  became  the  occasi 

After  enumerating  so  many  persons  of  un- 

pectedly indeed,  of  my  deserting  th 

doubted    genius,   who    have    cultivated    the 

sion  to  which  I  was  educated,  and  n 

Arcadian  style  of  poetry,  (for  to  such  it  may 

had  sufficiently  advantageous  prospe 

be  compared.)  it  would  be  endless  to  enume- 

person of  limited  ambition.   1  have,  in 

rate  the  various  Sir  Eldreds  of  the  hills  and 

publication,  undertaken  to  mention 

downs  whose  stories  were  woven  into  legend- 

cnmstance;   and  I  will  endeavour 

ary  tales  —  which  came  at  length  to  he  the 

with    becoming    brevity,  and   withe 

name  assienied  to  this  half-ancient  half-mo- 

egotism lhan  is  positively  exacted  b 

dern  style  of  composition. 

ture  of  the  story. 

In  general  I  may  observe,  that  the  supposed 
facility  of   this  species  of   composition,  the 

I  may,  in  the  first  place,  remark 
though  the  assertion  has  been  made 

alluring  simplicity  of  which  was  held  suffi- 
cient to  support  it.  afforded  great  attractions 

by  persons  who  seemed   satisfied  w 
authority.it  is  a  mistake  to  suppi.si 

for  those  whose  ambition  led  them  to  exercise 

situation  in  life  or  place  in  society  wt 

their  untried  talents  in  verse,  but  who  were 

rially  altered  by  such  success  as  I  at 

desirous  to  do  so  with  the  least  possible  ex- 

literary attempts.     My  birth,  witho 

pense  of  thought.    The  task  seems  to  present, 
at  least  to  the  inexperienced  acolyte  of  the 

the  least  pretension  to  distinction, 
of  a  gentleman,  and  connected  me  wit 

Muses,  the  same  advantages  which  an  instru- 

respectable  families  and   accompli;. 

ment  of  sweet  sound  and  small  compass  offers 

sons.     My  education   had   been   a   2 

to  those  who  begin  their  studies  in  music.    In 

although  I  was  deprived  of  its  full  1 

either  case,  however,  it  frequently  happens 

indifferent  health,  just  at  the  peri<K 

that  the  scholar,  getting  tired  of  the  palling 

ought  to  have   been  most   sedulou 

and  monotonous  character  of  the  poetry  or 

£  roving  it.    The  young  men  wiih  wh 

music  which  he  produces,  becomes  desirous 

rought  up.  and  lived  most  familia 

to  strike  a  more  independent  note,  even  at  the 

those,  who.  from    opportunities,    h 

risk  of  Us  being  a  more  difficult  one. 

talents,  might  be  expected  to  make  t 

The  same  simplicity  involves  an  inconve- 

est advances  in  the  career  for  which 

nience  fatal   to  the  continued  popularity  of 

all  destined  ;  and  I  have  the  pleasu 

any  species  of  poetry,  by  exposing  it  in  a  pe- 

preserve my  youthful  intimacy  witn 

culiar  degree  to  ridicule  and  to  parody.    Dr. 

siderable  number  of  them,  whom  th 

Johnson,  whose  style  of  poetry  was  of  a  very 
different  and  more  stately  description,  could 

has  carried  forward  to  the  highest 
of  their  profession.     Neither  was  I  i 

ridicule  the  ballads  of  Percy,  in  such  stanzas 

tion  to  be  embarrassed   by  the   re. 

as  these  :  — 

domi,  which  might  have  otherwise 

1  If  I  am  r:;ht  in  what  mint  he  a  Tory  early  recollection. 

:i  Percy  was  especially  annoyed,  accordia;* 

I  saw  Mr.  Cartwnght  (then  a  student  of  medicine  at  the 

with 

Edinburgh    University)    at    the    hotue    of   my    maternal 

"1  put  TUT  hat  open  DIT  head, 

grandfather,  John  Rutherford,  M.D, 

AnJ  wailed  iuio  the  Strand, 

And  there  1  met  another  maat 

3  Happily  altered  by  an  admiring  foreigner,  who  read 

With  h:*  hat  in  hi.  hand."—  Si 

**  T4«  silent  waters  stole  away  H 

4  See  the  Introduction  to  Lockout's  S|<an 
183S.  D  xxii. 

a  situa- 
am/itsla 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


467 


painful  additional  obstructions  to  u  path  in 
which  progress  is  proverbially  slow.  1  enjoyed 
a  moderate  degree  of  business  for  my  stand- 
ing, and  the  friendship  of  more  than  one  per- 
son of  consideration  and  influence  efficiently 
disposed  to  aid  my  views  in  life.  The  private 
fortune. also,  which  I  might  expect,  and  finally 
inherited,  from  my  family,  did  not,  indeed, 
amount  to  affluence,  but  placed  me  considera- 
bly beyond  all  apprehension  of  want.  I  men- 
tion these  particulars  merely  because  tliey 
are  true  Many  better  men  than  myself  have 
owed  their  rise  from  indigence  and  obscurity 
to  their  own  talenis.  which  were,  doubtless, 
much  more  adequate  to  the  task  of  raisin; 
them  than  any  which  I  possess.  But  although 
it  would  be  absurd  and  ungracious  in  me  to 
deny,  that  I  owe  to  literature  many  marks  of 
distinction  to  which  I  could  not  otherwise 
have  aspired,  and  particularly  that  of  securing 
the  acquaimance,  and  even  the  friendship,  of 
many  remarkable  persons  of  the  age.  to  whom 
I  could  not  otherwise  nave  made  my  way ;  it 
would,  on  the  other  hand,  be  ridiculous  to 
afl'ect  gratitude  U)  the  public  favour,  either 
for  my  general  position  in  society,  or  the 
means  of  supporting  it  with  decency,  matters 
which  had  been  otherwise  secured  under  the 
usual  chances  of  human  affairs.  Thus  much 
1  have  thought  it  necessary  to  say  upon  a 
subject,  which  is,  after  all,  of  very  little  con- 
sequence to  any  one  but  myself.  I  proceed  to 
detail  the  circumstances  which  engaged  ine  in 
literary  pursuits. 

During  the  last  ten  years  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  art  of  poeiry  was  at  a  remarkably 
low  ebb  ju  Britain.  Hayiey,  to  whom  fashion 
had  some  years  before  ascribed  a  higher  de- 
gree of  reputation  than  posterity  has  confirm- 
ed, had  now  lost  his  reputation  for  talent, 
though  he  still  lived  beloved  and  respected  as 
an  amiable  and  accomplished  man.  The 
Bard  of  Memory  slumbered  on  his  laurels, 
and  He  of  Hope  had  scarce  begun  to  attract 
his  share  of  public  attention.  Cowper,  a  poet 
of  deep  feeling  and  bright  gemns,  was  still 
alive,  indeed;  but  the  hypochondria,  which 
was  his  mental  malady,  impeded  his  popu- 
larity. Burns,  whose  genius,  our  southern 
neighbours  could  hardly  yet  comprehend,  had 
long  confined  himself  to  song-  writing.  Names 
which  are  now  known  and  distinguished 
wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken, 
were  then  only  beginning  to  be  mentioned ; 
and,  unless  among  the  small  number  of  per- 
sons who  habitually  devote  a  part  of  their 
leisure  to  literature,  even  those  of  Southey, 
Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge,  were  still  but 
little  known.  The  realms  of  Parnassus,  like 
many  a  kingdom  at  the  period,  seemed  to  lie 
open  to  the  first  hold  invader,  whether  he 
should  lie  a  daring  usurper,  or  could  show  a 
legitimate  title  of  sovereignty. 

As  tar  back  as  1788.  a  new  species  of  litera- 
ture began  to  be  introduced  into  this  country. 
Germany,  long  known  as  a  powerful  branch 
of  the  European  confederacy,  was  then,  for 
the  first  time,  heard  of  as  the  cradle  of  a  style 
of  poetry  and  literature,  of  a  kind  much  more 
analogous  to  that  of  Britain,  than  either  the 
French,  Spanish,  or  Italian  schools,  though 
all  three  had  been  at  various  times  cultivated 
and  imitated  among  us.  The  names  of  Les- 
snur,  Klopstock,  Schiller,  and  other  German 


poets  of  eminence,  were  only  known  in  Bri- 
tain very  imperfectly.  "  The  Sorrows  of  VVer- 
ter"  was  the  only  composition  that  had  attained 
any  degree  of  popularity,  and  the  success  of 
that  remarkable  novel,  notwithstanding  the 
distinguished  genius  of  the  author,  was  re- 
tarded by  the  nature  of  its  incidents.  To  the 
other  compositions  of  Goethe,  whose  talents 
were  destined  to  illuminate  the  use  in  which 
he  flourished,  the  English  remained  strangers, 
and  much  more  so  to  Schiller,  Burger,  and  a 
whole  cycle  of  foreigners  of  distinguished 
merit.  The  obscurity  to  which  German  lite- 
rature seemed  to  he  condemned,  did  not  arise 
from  want  of  brilliancy  in  tiie  lights  by  which 
it  was  illuminated,  but  from  the  palpable 
i  thickness  of  the  darkness  by  which  they  were 
surrounded.  Frederick  II.  of  Prussia  had 
given  a  partial  and  ungracious  testimony 
against  his  native  language  and  native  litera- 
ture, and  impohtically  and  unwisely,  as  well 
as  unjustly,  had  yielded  to  the  French  that 
;  superiority  in  letters,  which,  after  his  death, 
!  paved  the  way  for  their  obtaining,  for  a  time. 
!  an  equal  superiority  in  arms.  That  great 
I  Prince,  by  setting  the  example  of  undervaluing 
i  his  country  in  one  respect,  raised  a  belief  in 
its  general  inferiority,  and  destroyed  the  manly 
!  pride  with  which  a  nation  is  naturally  disposed 
i  to  regard  its  own  peculiar  manners  and  pecu- 
liar literature. 

Unmoved  by  the  scornful  neglect  of  its  so- 
vereigns and  nobles,  and  encouraged  by  the 
tide  of  native  genius,  which  flowed  in  upon 
tiie  nation,  German  literature  began  to  assume 
a  new,  interesting,  and  highly  impressive  cha- 
racter, to  which  it  became  impossible  for 
strangers  to  shut  their  eyes.  That  it  exhibited 
I  the  faults  of  exaggeration  and  false  taste,  al- 
i  most  inseparable  from  the  first  attempts  at 
|  the  heroic  and  at  the  pathetic,  cannot  be  de- 
|  Died.  It  was,  in  a  word,  the  first  crop  of  a 
I  rich  soil,  which  throws  out  weeds  as  well  as 
flowers  with  a  prolific  abundance 

It  was  so  late  as  the  21st  day  of  April,  1788, 
that  the  literary  persons  of  Edinburgh,  of 
whom,  at  that  period.  I  am  better  qualified  to 
speak  than  of  those  of  Britain  generally,  01 
i  especially  those  of  London,  were  first  made 
'  aware  of  the  existence  of  works  of  genius  in 
a  language  cognate  with  the  English,  and 
possessed  of  the  same  manly  force  of  expres- 
jsion.  They  learned,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  taste  which  dictated  the  German  compo- 
!  sitions  was  of  a  kind  as  nearly  allied  to  the 
j  English  as  their  language.  Those  who  were 
j  accustomed  from  their  youth  to  admire  AIiHon 
and  Shakspeare.  became  acquainted,  I  may 
say  for  the  first  time,  with  the  existence  of  a 
race  of  poets  who  had  the  same  lofty  ambition 
to  spurn  the  flaming  boundaries  of  the  uui- 
j  verse.i  and  investigate  the  realms  of  chaos 
!  and  old  night ;  and  of  dramatists,  who,  dis- 
claiming the  pedantry  of  the  unities,  sought, 
i  at  the  expense  of  occasional  improbabilities 
i  and  extravagancies,  to  present  life  in  its  scenes 
i  of  wildest  contrast,  and  in  all  its  boundless 
variety  of  character,  mingling,  without  hesita- 
i  lion,  livelier  with  more  serious  incidents,  and 
i  exchanging  scenes  of  tragic  distress,  as  they 
occur  m  common  life,  with  those  of  a  comic 
tendency.  This  emancipation  from  the  rules 


Ddi." — Lucrrtius. 


468 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


so  servilely  adhered  to  hy  the  French  school, 
and  particularly  hy  their  dramatic  poets,  al- 
though it  was  attended  with  some  disadvan- 
tages, especially  the  risk  of  extravagance  and 
bombast,  was  the  means  of  giving  free  scope 
to  the  genius  of  Goethe.  Schiller,  and  others, 
which,  thus  relieved  from  shackles,  was  not 
Ion?  in  soaring  to  the  highest  pitch  of  poetic 
sublimity.  The  late  venerable  Henry  Mac- 
kenzie, author  of  "The  Man  of  Feeling."  in 
an  Essay  upon  the  German  Theatre,  intro- 
duced his  countrymen  to  this  new  species  of 
national  literature,  the  peculiarities  of  which 
he  traced  with  equal  truth  and  spirit,  although 
they  were  at  that  time  known  to  him  only 
through  the  imperfect  and  uncongenial  me- 
dium of  a  French  translation.  Upon  the  day 
already  mentioned.  (21st  April  1788.)  he  read 
to  the  Royal  Society  an  Essay  on  German 
Literature,  which  made  much  noise,  and  pro- 
duced a  powerful  effect.  "  Germany,"  he  ob- 
served, "  in  her  literary  aspect,  presents  her- 
self to  observation  in  a  singular  point  of  view ; 
that  of  a  country  arrived  at  maturity,  along 
with  the  neighbouring  nations,  in  the  arts  and 
sciences,  in  the  pleasures  and  refinements  of 
manners,  and  yet  only  in  its  infancy  with  re- 
gard to  writings  of  taste  and  imagination. 
This  last  path,  however,  from  these  very  cir- 
cumstances, she  pursues  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  no  other  situation  could  perhaps  have 
produced,  the  enthusiasm  which  novelty  in- 
spires, and  which  the  servility  incident  to  a 
more  cultivated  and  critical  state  of  literature 
does  not  restrain."  At  the  same  time,  the 
accomplished  critic  showed  himself  equally 
familiar  with  the  classical  rules  of  the  French 
stage,  and  failed  not  tu  touch  upon  the  ac- 
knowledged advantages  which  these  produced, 
by  the  encouragement  and  regulation  of  taste, 
though  at  the  risk  of  repressing  genius. 

But  it  was  not  the  dramatic  literature  alone 
of  the  Germans  which  was  hitherto  unknown 
to  their  neighbours — their  fictitious  narratives, 
their  ballad  poetry,  am!  other  branches  of  their 
literature,  which  are  particularly  apt  to  near 
the  stamp  of  the  extravagant  and  the  super- 
natural, began  to  occupy  the  attention  of  the 
British  literati. 

In  Kdmhiirgh,  where  the  remnrkabie  coinci- 
dence between  the  German  language  and  that 
of  the  Lowland  Scottish,  encouraged  young 
men  to  approach  this  newly  discovered  spring 
of  literature,  a  class  was  formed,  of  six  or 
seven  intimate  friends,  who  proposed  to  make 
themselves  acquainted  with  the  German  lan- 
guage. They  were  in  the  habit  of  living  much 
together,  and  the  time  they  spent  in  this  new 
study  was  felt  as  n  period  of  great  amusement. 
One  source  of  this  diversion  was  the  laziness 
of  one  of  their  number,  the  present  author, 
who.  averse  to  the  necessary  toil  of  grammar 
and  its  rules,  was  in  the  practice  of  fighting 
his  way  to  the  knowledge  of  the  German  by 
his  acquaintance  with  the  Scottish  and  Anglo- 
Saxon  dialects,  and.  of  course,  frequently  com- 
mitted blunders  which  were  not  lost  on  his 
more  accurate  and  more  studious  companions. 
A  more  general  source  of  amusement,  was 
the  despair  of  the  teacher,  on  finding  it  im- 


possible to  ex'ract  frnm  his  Scottish  students 
the  degree  of  sensibility  necessary,  as  he 
thoturht,  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  author 
to  whom  he  considered  it  proper  first  to  intro- 
duce them.  We  were  desirous  to  penetrate 
at  once  into  the  recesses  of  the  Teutonic  lite- 
rature, and  therefore  were  ambitious  of  perus- 
ing Goeth6  and  Schiller,  and  others  whose 
fame  had  been  sounded  by  Mackenzie.  Dr. 
Willich.  (a  medical  gentleman.)  who  was  our 
teacher,  was  judiciously  disposed  to  commence 
our  studies  with  the  more  simple  diction  of 
Gesner,  and  prescribed  to  us  ••  The  Death  of 
Abel,"  as  the  production  from  which  our  Ger- 
man tasks  were  to  be  drawn.  The  pietistic 
style  of  this  author  was  ill  adapted  to  attract 
young  persons  of  our  age  and  disposition.  We 
could  no  more  sympathize  with  the  overstrain- 
ed sentimentality  of  Adam  and  his  family,  than 
we  could  have  had  a  fellow-feeling  with  the 
jolly  Faun  of  the  same  author,  who  broke  his 
beautiful  jug,  and  then  made  a  song  on  it 
which  might  have  affected  ali  Staffordshire. 
To  sum  up  the  distresses  of  Dr.  Willich.  we, 
with  one  consent,  voted  Abel  an  insufferable 
bore,  and  gave  the  pre-eminence  in  point  of 
masculine  character,  to  his  brother  Cain,  or 
even  to  Lucifer  himself.  When  these  jests, 
which  arose  out  of  the  sickly  monotony  and 
affected  ecstasies  of  the  poet,  failed  to  amuse 
us.  we  had  lor  our  entertainment  the  unutter- 
able sounds  manufactured  by  a  Frenchman, 
our  fellow-student,  who,  with  the  economical 
purpose  of  learning  two  languages  at  once, 
was  endeavouring  to  acquire  German,  of  which 
he  knew  not  lung.  In-  means  of  English,  con- 
cerning which  he  was  nearly  as  ignorant. 
Heaven  only  knows  the  notes  which  he  utter- 
ed, in  attempting,  with  unpractised  organs,  to 
imitate  the  gutturals  of  these  two  intractable 
languages.  At  length,  iu  the  midst  of  much 
laughing  and  little  study,  most  of  us  acquired 
some  knowledge,  more  or  less  exiensive,  of 
the  German  language,  and  selected  for  our- 
selves, some  in  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  some 
in  the  more  animated  works  of  the  German 
dramatists,  specimens  more  to  our  taste  than 
"  The  Death  of  Abel." 

About  this  period,  or  a  year  or  two  sooner, 
the  accomplished  and  excellent  Lord  WooJ- 
houselee.1  one  of  the  friends  of  my  youth, 
made  a  spirited  version  of  ••  The  Robbers"  of 
Schiller,  which  I  believe  was  the  first  pub- 
lished, though  an  English  version  appeared 
soon  afterwards  in  London,  as  the  metropolis 
then  took  the  lead  in  every  thing  like  literary 
adventure.  The  enthusiasm  with  which  this 
work  was  received,  greatly  increased  the  ge- 
neral taste  for  German  compositions. 

While  universal  curiosity  was  thus  distin- 
guishing the  advancing  taste  for  the  German 
language  and  literature,  the  success  of  a  very 
young  student,  in  a  juvenile  publication,  seem- 
ed to  show  that  the  prevailing  taste  in  that 
country  might  be  easily  employed  as  a  formi- 
dable auxiliary  to  renewing  the  spirit  of  our 
own.  upon  the  same  system  as  when  medical 
persons  attempt,  by  the  transfusion  of  blond, 
to  pass  into  the  veins  (if  an  ajed  and  exhaust- 
ed patient,  the  vivacity  of  the  circulation  and 


1  Alexander  Frwr  Tyll<r,  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Se«-  _ 
lion  by  the  title  of  Lord  Woodhouselee.  author  of  the  bi 
well-known  •*  QemenU  of  General  H  inlory,"  and  long  emi- 


nt  aa  Profr«»or  of  History 
irgh.    He  died  In  IHW.—Ed. 


the  Uni» 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


469 


liveliness  of  sensation  which  distinguish  a 
young  subject.  The  person  wlio  first  attempt- 
ed to  introduce  something  like  the  German 
taste  into  English  fictitious  dramatic  and  poe- 
tical cc imposition,  although  his  works,  when 
first  published,  engaged  general  attention,  is 
now  comparatively  forgotten.  I  mean  Mat- 
thew Gregory  Lewis,  whose  character  and 
literary  history  are  so  immediately  connected 
with  the  subject  of  which  1  am  treating,  that, 
a  few  authentic  particulars  may  be  here  in- 
serted by  one  to  whom  he  was  well  known.' 

Lewis's  rank  in  society  was  determined  by 
his  birth,  which,  at  the  same  time,  assured  Ins 
fortune  His  father  was  Undersecretary  at 
War,  at  that  time  a  very  lucrative  appoint- 
ment, and  the  young  poet  was  provided  with 
a  seat  m  Parliament  as  soon  as  his  age  per- 
mitted him  to  fill  it.  But  his  mind  did  not  in- : 
rime  him  to  politics,  or,  if  it  did,  they  were 
not  of  the  complexion  which  his  father,  at- 
tached to  Mr.  Pitt's  administration,  would 
have  approved.  He  was,  moreover,  indolent, 
and  though  possessed  of  abilities  sufficient  to 
conquer  any  difficulty  which  might  stand  in 
the  way  of  classical  attainments,  he  preferred 
applying  his  exertions  in  a  path  where  they 
were  rewarded  with  more  immediate  ap- 
plause. As  he  completed  his  education 
abroad,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  indulging 
his  inclination  for  the  extraordinary  and  su- 
pernatural, by  wandering  through  the  whole 
enchanted  land  of  German  faery  and  diablerie, 
not  forgetting  the  paths  of  her  enthusiastic 
tragedy  and  romantic  poetry. 

We  are  easily  induced  to  imitate  what  we 
admire,  and  Lewis  early  distinguished  him- 
self by  a  romance  in  the  German  taste,  called 
"The  Monk."  In  this  work,  written  in  his 
twentieth  year,  and  founded  on  the  Eastern 
apologue  of  the  Santun  Barsisa,  the  author 
introduced  supernatural  machinery  with  a 
courageous  consciousness  of  his  own  power 
to  mauuse  its  ponderous  strength,  which  com- 
manded the  respect  of  his  reader.  "  The 
Monk"  was  published  in  1795,  and,  though 
liable  to  the  objections  common  to  the  school 
to  which  it  belonged,  and  to  others  peculiar 
to  itself,  placed  its  au!  hor  at  once  high  in  the 
scale  of  men  of  letters.  Nor  can  that  he  re- 
garded as  an  ordinary  exertion  of  genius,  to 
winch  Charles  t'ox  paid  the  unusual  compli- 
ment of  crossing  the  House  of  Commons  that 
he  might  congratulate  the  young  author, 
whose  work  obtained  high  praise  from  many 
other  able  men  of  that  able  lime.  The  parly 
which  approved  "The  .Monk"  was  at  first  su- 
perior in  the  lists,  .mil  it  was  some  time  before 
the  anonymous  author  of  the  "  Pursuits  of 
Literature"  denounced  as  puerile  and  absurd 
the  sui  ernatural  machinery  which  Lewis  had 
minxjuced — 

•' I  bear  an  English  heart. 

Unused  at  ghosts  or  rattliug  bones  to  start." 

Yet  the  acute  and  learned  critic  betrays  some 
inconsistency  in  praising  the  magic  of  the 
Italian  poets,  arid  complimenting  Mrs.  Rad- 
clitfe  for  her  success  m  supernatural  imagery, 
for  which  at  the  same  moment  he  thus  sternly 
censures  her  brother  novelist. 
A  more  legitimate  topic  of  condemnation  was 


the  indelicacy  of  particular  passages  The 
present  author  will  hardly  be  deemed  a  wil- 
ling, or  at  least  an  interested  apologist  for  an 
offence  equally  repugnant  to  decency  and  good 
breeding.  But  as  Lewis  at  once,  and  with  a 
good  grace,  submitted  to  the  voice  of  censure, 
and  expunged  the  objectionable  passages,  we 
cannot  help  considering  the  manner  in  winch 
the  fault  was  insisted  on,  after  all  the  amends 
had  been  offered  of  which  the  case  could  ad- 
mit, as  in  the  last  degree  ungenerous  and 
uncandid.  The  pertinacity  with  which  the 
passages  so  much  found  fault  with  were  dwelt 
upon,  seemed  to  warrant  a  belief  that  some- 
thing more  was  desired  than  the  correction 
of  the  author's  errors;  and  that,  where  the 
apologies  of  extreme  youth,  foreign  education, 
and  instant  submission,  were  unable  to  satisfy 
the  critics'  fury,  they  must  have  been  deter- 
mined to  act  on  the  severity  of  the  old  pro- 
verb. "Confess  and  be  hanged."  Certain  it  is, 
that  other  persons,  offenders  in  the  same  de- 
gree, have  been  permitted  to  sue  out  their 
pardon  without  either  retraction  or  palinode.  2 

Another  peccadillo  of  the  author  of  "The 
Monk"  was  his  having  borrowed  from  MoHMM, 
and  from  the  popular  tales  of  the  Germans, 
the  singular  and  striking  adventure  of  the 
"  Bleeding  Nun."  But  the  bold  and  free  hand 
with  which  he  traced  some  scenes,  as  well  of 
natural  terror  as  of  chat  which  arises  from 
supernatural  causes,  shows  distinctly  that  the 
plagiarism  could  not  have  been  occasioned  by 
any  deficiency  of  invention  on  his  part,  though 
it  might  take  place  from  wantonness  or  wil- 
fulness. 

In  spite  of  the  objections  we  have  stated. 
"The  Monk"  was  so  highly  popular,  that  it 
seemed  to  create  an  epoch  in  our  literature. 
But  the  public  were  chiefly  captivated  by  the 
poetry  with  which  Mr.  Lewis  had  interspersed 
ins  prose  narrative.  It  has  now  passed  from 
recollection  among  the  changes  of  literary 
laste;  but  many  may  remember,  as  well  as  I 
do,  the  effect  produced  by  the  beautiful  ballad 
of  Durandarfe,"  which  had  the  good  fortune 
to  be  adapted  to  an  air  of  great  sweetness  and 
pathos;  by  the  ghost  tale  of  "Alonzo  and 
Imogine;"  and  by  several  other  pieces  of 
legendary  poetry,  which  addressed  themselves 
in  all  the  charms  of  novelty  and  of  simplicity 
to  a  public  who  had  tor  a  long  time  been  un- 
used lo  any  regale  of  the  kind.  In  his  poetry 
as  well  as  his  prose,  Mr.  Lewis  had  been  a 
successful  imitator  of  the  Germans,  both  in 
Ins  attachment  to  the  ancient  ballad,  and  in 
I  he  tone  of  superstition  which  they  willingly 
mingle  with  it.  New  arrangements  of  the 
stanza,  and  a  varied  construction  of  verses, 
were  also  adopted,  and  welcomed  as  an  addi- 
tion of  a  new  string  to  the  British  harp.  In 
this  respect,  the  stanza  in  which  "  Alonzo  the 
Brave"  is  written,  was  greatly  admired,  and 
received  as  an  improvement  worthy  of  adop- 
tion into  Knglish  poetry. 

In  short,  Lewis's  works  were  admired,  ami 
the  author  became  famous,  not  merely  through 
his  own  merit,  though  that  was  of  no  mear. 
quality,  but  because  he  had  in  some  measure 
taken  the  public  by  surprise,  by  using  a  style 
of  composition,  which,  like  national  melodies, 
is  so  congenial  to  the  general  laste  that, 


of  Lewis  in  the  Lije  a}  ScMI,  vol.  ii.  p  8-14. 


3  See  Appendix.  Note  B. 


470 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


though  it  palls  hy  being  much  hackneyed.it  This  idea  WHS  hurried  into  execution,  in 
has  only  to  he  for  a  short  time  forgotten  in  consequence  of  a  temptation  which  others,  as 
order  to  recover  its  original  popularity.  well  as  the  author,  found  it  difficult  to  resist. 
It  chanced  that,  while  his  fame  was  at  the  'The  celebrated  hallad  of  "  (.enure."  hy  Bur- 
highest.  Mr.  Lewis  became  almost  a  yearly  ger,  was  about  this  tune  introduced  into  Eng- 
visitor  to  Scotland,  chiefly  from  attachment  to  land:  aiij  it  is  remarkahle,  that,  written  as 
the  illustrious  family  of  Areyle.  The  writer  far  hack  as  1775.  it  was  upwards  of  twenty 
of  these  remarks  had  the  advantage  of  being  years  before  it  was  known  in  Britain,  though 
made  known  tfl  the  most  distinguished  author  calculated  to  make  so  stron*  an  impression. 


of  the  day.  by  a  lady  who  belongs  hy  birth  to 


tba 


the  day. 
it  family, 


The  wild  character  of  the   tale  was  such   as 


nd  is  equally  distinguished  by  her    struck  the  imagination  of  all  who  read  it,  al- 


beantyand  accomplishments.!   Out  of  this,  ac-    though  the  idea  of  the  lady's  rule  behind  the 


cidental  acquaintance,  which  increased  into  a 
sort  of  intimacy,  consequences  arose  which 
altered  almost  all  the  Scottish  ballad-maker's 
future  prospects  in  life. 
In  early  youth  I  had  been  an  eager  student 


spectre  horsemiin  had  been  long  before  hit 
upon  by  an  English  ballad-maker.  But  this 
pretended  English  original,  if  in  reality  it  be 
such,  is  so  dnil.  flat,  and  prosaic,  as  to  leave 
the  distinguished  German  author  all  that  is 


of  Ballad  Poetry,  and  the  tree  is  still  in  my  |  valuable  in  his  story,  hy  clothing  it  with  a 
recollection,  beneath  which  I  lay  and  first  en-  j  fanciful  wildness  of  expression,  which  serve 
tered  upon  the  enchanting  penisal  of  Percy's  to  set  forth  the  marvellous  tale  in  its  nativ 


'Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,"  2  although  it 
has  long  perished  in  the  general  blight  which 
affected  the  whole  race  of  Oriental  platanus 


terror.  The  ballad  of  ••  Lenore'"  accordingly 
possessed  general  attractions  for  such  of  the 
English  as  understood  the  language  in  which 


to  which  it  belonged. 3    The  taste  of  another    it  is  whiten;  and.  as  it  there  iiad  been  a  charm 


person  had  strongly  encouraged  my  own 
researches  into  this  species  of  legendary 
lore.  But  I  had  never  dreamed  of  an  at- 
tempt to  imitate  what  gave  me  so  much  plea- 
sure. 

1  had,  indeed,  tried  the  metrical  translations 
which  were  occasionally  recommended  to  us 
at  the  High  School.  I  pot  credit  for  attempt- 
ing to  do  what  was  enjoined,  but  very  little 
for  the  mode  in  which  the  task  was  perform- 
:d.  and  1  used  to  feel  not  a  little  mortified 


in  the  ballad,  no  one  seemed  to  cast  his  eyes 
upon  it  without  a  desire  to  make  it  known  by 
translation  to  his  own  countrymen,  and  six  or 
seven  versions  were  accordingly  presented  to 
the  public.  Although  the  present  author  was 
one  of  those  who  intruded  his  translation  on 
the  world  at  this  time,  he  may  fairly  exculpate 
himself  from  the  rashness  of  entering  the  lists 
against  so  many  rivals.  The  circumstances 
which  threw  him  into  this  competition  were 
quite  accidental,  and  of  a  nature  lending  to 


when  my  versions  were  placed  in  contrast  show  how  much  the  destiny  of  human  life 
with  others  of  admitted  merit.  At  one  period  depends  upon  unimportant  occurrences,  to 
of  my  schoolboy  days  1  was  so  far  left  to  my  which  little  consequence  is  attached  at  the 
own  desires  as  to  become  guilty  of  Verses  on  I  moment. 

a  Thunder-storm.*  which  were  much  approved  I  About  the  summer  of  1793  or  1794.  the  cele- 
of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung  up.  in  the  brated  Miss  Laetitia  Alkin,  better  known  as 
shape  of  an  apothecary's  hlue-buskined  wife,  :  Mrs.  Barbauld,  paid  a  visit  to  Edinburgh,  and 
who  affirmed  that  my  most  sweet  poetry  was  !  was  received  hy  such  literary  society  as  the 
stolen  from  an  old  magazine.  I  never  forgave  I  place  then  boasted,  with  the  hospitality  to 
the  imputation,  and  even  now  I  acknowledge  which  her  talents  and  her  worth  entitled  her 


some  resentment  against  the  poor  woman's 
memory.  She  indeed  accused  me  unjustly, 
when  she  said  I  had  stolen  my  brooms  ready 
made;  but  as  I  had.  like  niost  premature 
poets,  copied  all  the  words  and  ideas  of  which 
my  verses  consisted,  she  was  so  far  right.  I 
made  one  or  two  faint  attempts  at  verse,  after 
I  had  undergone  this  sort  of  daw-plucking  at 
the  hands  of  the  apothecary's  wife ;  hut  some 
friend  or  other  always  advised  me  to  put  my 
verses  in  the  fire,  and,  like  Dorax  in  the  play. 
I  submitted,  though  "  with  a  swelling  heart." 
In  short,  excepting  the  usual  tribute  to  a  mis- 
tress's eye-brow,  which  is  the  language  of 
passion  ra'her  than  poetry,  I  had  not  for  ten 
years  indulged  the  wish  to  couple  so  much  as 
love  and  dove,  when,  finding  Lewis  in  posses- 
sion of  so  much  reputation,  and  conceiving 
that,  if  I  fell  behind  him  in  p<>etical  powers,  1 
considerably  exceeded  him  in  general  infor- 
mation, I  suddenly  look  it  into  my  head  to 
attempt  the  style  of  poetry  by  which  he  had 
raised  himself  to  fame. 


Among  others,  she  was  kindly  welcomed  hy 
the  late  excellent  and  admired  Professor  Du- 
gald  Stewart,  his  lady,  and  family.  It  was  in 
their  evening  society  that  Miss  Aikin  drew 
from  her  pocket-book  a  version  of  "  Lenore." 
executed  by  William  Taylor,  Esq  of  Norwich, 
with  as  much  freedom  as  was  consistent  with 
great  spirit  and  scrupulous  fidelity.  She  read 
this  composition  to  the  company,  who  were 
electrified  hy  the  tale.  It  was  the  more  suc- 
cessful, that  Mr.  Taylor  had  boldly  copied  the 
imitative  harmony  of  the  German,  and  de- 
scribed the  spectral  journey  in  language  re- 
sembling that  of  the  original.  Burger  had 
thus  painted  the  ghostly  career : 

"  Und  hurre.  hurre.  hop,  hop.  hop, 
Gings  fort  in  sausendem  Galopp, 
Dass  Ross  und  Reiter  schnoben, 
Und  Kies  und  Punken  stoben." 

The  words  were  rendered  by  the  kindred 
sounds  in  English : 


1  The  Lady  Charlotte  Bury.— Ed. 
5  See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  I.  p.  S3. 


many  of  Ibe  happiest  days  of  my  yomh.    (l&l.)     [See 
Lift.  vol.  i.  p.  156.—  Ed.] 

4  S»e   the»e   Verses    among  the  "  Miscellanies,"  which 
follow  thin  ••  Essay,"  where  also  many  otter  piece*  from 
the  pen  of  Sir  Walter  Sco:t  are  now  (or  the  6t«t  lime  m- 
Khere  I  spent  :  eluded  in  an  edition  of  hi.  Poetical  Works.     (IM1.) 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD.          471 

"  Tramp,  tramp,  across  the  land  t  hey  sueede 
Splash,  splash,  across  the  sea  ; 
Hurra,  the  'dead  can  ride  apace  ! 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ?" 

my  own  vanity,  and  I  he  favourable  opinion  oi 
friends,  interested  by  the  temporary  reviva 
of  a  species  of  poetry  containing  a  germ  ol 
popularity  of  which  perhaps  they  were  noi 

When  Miss  Aikin  had  finished  her  recita- 

themselves aware,  urged  me  to  the  decisive 

tion,  she   replaced    in    her   pocket-book   the 

step  of  sending  a  selection,  at  least,  of  my 

paper  from  which  she  had  read  it,  and  enjoyed 

translations  to  the  press,  to  save  the  numerous 

tiie  satisfaction  of  having  made  a  strong  im- 

applications  which   were    made    for   copies. 

pressiom  on  the  hearers,  whose  bosoms  thrill- 

When was  there  an  author  deaf  to  such  a  re- 

ed yet  the  deeper,  as  the  ballad  was  not  to  be 

commendation  ?    In  1796,  the  present  author 

more  closely  introduced  to  them. 

was  prevailed  on.  "  by  request  of  friends,"  to 

The  author  was  not  present  upon  this  occa- 

indulge   his    own   vanity   by  publishing   the 

sion,  although  he  had  then  the  distinguished 

translation  of  "Lenore,"*  with  that  of  "The 

i  advantage  of  being  a  familiar  friend  aiid   fre- 

Wild  Huntsman,"  in  a  thin  quarto.3 

quuiit   visitor  of  Professor  Stewart  and    his 

The  fate  of  this,  my  first  publication,  was 

family     But  he  was  absent  from  town  while 

by  no  means  flattering.    1  distributed  so  many 

Miss  Aikin  was  ill  Edinburgh,  and  H  was  not 

copies  among  my  friends  as,  according  to  the 

until  his  return  that  he  found  all  his  friends  in 

booksellers,  materially  to  interfere  with  the 

rapture  with  the  intelligence  and  good  sense 

sale;  and  the  number  of  translations  which 

of  their  visitor,   hut  in   particular  with   the 

appeared  in  England  about  the  same  time,  in- 

wonderful  translation  from  the  German,  by 

cluding  that  of  Air.  Tavlor.  to  which  I  had 

means  of  which  she  had  delighted  and  asto- 

been so  much  indebted,  and  which  was  pub- 

nished  them.     The    enthusiastic  description 

lished  in  "The  Monthly  Magazine,"  were  suf- 

given of  Burger's  ballad,  and  the  broken  ac- 

ficient to  exclude  a  provincial  writer  from 

count  of  the  story,  of  which  only  two  lines 

competition.     However  different  my  success 

were   recollected,  inspired   the  author,  who 

might  have  been,  had  I  been  fortunate  enough 

had  some  acquaintance,  as  has  been  said,  with 

o  have  led  the  way  in  the  general  scramble 

the  German  language,  and  a  strong  taste  for 

for   precedence,   my  efforts    sunk   unnoticed 

popular  poetry,  with  a  desire  to  see  the  original. 

when  launched  at  the  same  time  with  those 

This  was  not  a  wish  easily  gratified  ;  Ger- 

of Mr.  Taylor  (upon  whose  property  I  had 

man  works  were  at  that  time  seldom  found  in 

committed  the  kind  of  piracy  already  noticed. 

London  for  sale—  in  Edinburgh  never.    A  ladv 

and  who  generously  forgave  me  the  invasion 

of  noble  German  descent.'  whose  friendship  "I 

of  his  rights)  ;  of  my  ingenious  and  amiable 

have  enjoyed  for  many  years,  found  means. 

friend  of  many  years,  William  Robert  Spen- 

however, to  procure  me  a  copy  of  Burger's 

ser;  of  Mr.  Pye,  the  laureate  of  the  day,  and 

works  from  Hamburgh.    The  perusal  of  the 

many  others  besides.     In  a  word,  my  adven- 

original  rather  exceeded  than  disappointed  the 

ure,  where  so  many  pushed  off  to  sea,  proved 

expectations  which  the  report  of  Mr.  Stewart's 

a  dead  loss,  and  a  great  part  of  the  edition 

family  had  induced  me  to  form.     At  length, 

was  condemned  to  the  service  of  the  trunk- 

when  the  book  had  been  a  few  hours  in  inv 

maker.    Nay.  so  complete  was  the  failure  of 

possession,  I  found  myself  giving  an  animated 

he  unfortunate  ballads,  that  the  very  exist- 

account of  the  poem  to  a  friend,  and  rashly 

ence  of  them  was  soon  forgotten  ;  and,  in  a 

added  a  promise  to  furnish  a  copy  m  English 
ballad  verse. 

newspaper,  in  which  I  very  lately  read,  to  my 
10  small  horror,  a  most  appalling  list  of  my 

I  well  recollect  that  I  began  my  task  after 

own  various  publications,  I  saw  this,  my  first 

supper,  and  finished  it  about  daybreak  the 

offence,  had  escaped  the  industrious  collector, 

next  morning,  by  which  time  the  ideas  which 

or  whose  indefatigable  research  I  may  in 

the  task  had  a  tendency  to  summon  up  were 
rather  of  an  uncomfortable  character.     As  my 

gratitude  wish  a  better  object  4 
The  failure  of  my  first  publication  did  not 

object  was  much  more  to  make  a  good  trans- 

operate, in  any  unpleasant  degree,  either  on 

lation  of  the  poem  for  those  whom  I  wished 

ny  feelings  or  spirits.     I  was  coldly  received 

to  please,  than  to  acquire  any  poetical  fame 
for  myself,  1  retained  in  my  translation  the 

>y  strangers,  but  my  reputation  began  rather 
o  increase  among  my  own  friends,  and,  on 

two  lines  which  Mr.  Taylor  had  rendered  with 

he  whole,  I  was  more  bent  to  show  the  world 

equal  boldness  and  felicity. 

liatit  had  neglected  something  worth  notice, 

My  attempt  succeeded  far  beyond  my  expec- 
tations ;  and  it  may  readily  be  believed,  that  1 
was  induced  to  persevere  in  a  pursuit  which 

nan  to  be  affronted  by  its  indifference.    Or 
ather,  to  speak  candidly,  I  found  pleasure  in 
lie  literary  labour  in  which  I  had.  almost  by 

gratified  my  own  vanity,  while  it  seemed  to 

accident,  become  engaged,  and  laboured,  less 

amuse  others.     1  accomplished  a  translation 

in  the  hope  of  pleasing  others,  though  cer- 

of "Der  Wilde  Jager"  —  a  romantic   ballad 

tainly  without  despair  of  doing  so,  than  in  the 

founded  on  a  superstition  universally  current 

pursuit  of  a  new  and  agreeable  amusement  to 

in  Germany,  and  known  also  in  Scotland  and 

to  myself.    I  pursued  the  German  language 

France.    In  this  I  took  rather  more  license 

keenly,  and,  though  far  from  being  a  correct 

than  in  versifying  "  Lenorg  :"  and  I  balladized 

scholar,  became  a  bold  and  daring  reader,  nay, 

one  or  two  other  poems  of  Burger  with  more 

even  translator,  of  various  dramatic  pieces 

or  less  success     In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks. 

from  that  tongue.5 

1  Born  Counter*)  Harriet  Bruhl  of  Martinakirrhen,  and 

4  The  list  here  referred  to  was  drawn  op  and  Inserted  In 

married   lo   Hugh  Scott,  E«q.  of  Harden,  now  Lord  Pol- 

the  Caledonian  Mercury,  by  Mr.  James  Shaw,  for  nearly 

iehera,  Mewrs.  Countable  and  Cadrll,  of  Edinbureh.-Bl 

2  Unito-  Dm  title  of  "  William  and  Helen."—  Ed. 

(See  it  in  Life  of  Scan,  Tol.  X.  pp.  260-270  ) 

and  Miller  of  Edinburgh.—  Ed. 

of  Goethe's  drama  of  Goetz  of  Brrlichingeu  with  the  Iron 

472 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  want  of  books  at  that  time,  (about  1796) 
..as  a  great  interruption  to  the  rapidity  of  my  • 
movements ;  for  the  young  do  not  know,  and  : 
perhaps  my  own  contemporaries  may  have 
forgotten,  the  difficulty  with  which  publica- 
tions were  then  procured  from  the  continent. 
The  worthy  and  excellent  friend,  of  whom  I 
gave  a  sketch  many  years  afterwards  in  the 
person  of  Jonathan  Oldbuck,1  procured  me 
Adelung's  Dictionary,  through  the  mediation 
of  Father  Pepper,  a  monk  of  ihe  Scotch  Col- 
lege of  Ratisbim  Other  wants  of  the  same 
nature  were  supplied  hy  Mrs  Scott  of  Harden. 
whose  kind  ness  in  a  similar  instance  I  have  had 
already  occasion  to  acknowledge.  Through 
this  lady's  connections  on  the  continent,  I  ob- 
tained copies  of  Burger,  Schiller,  Goethe,  and 
other  standard  German  works;  and  though 
the  obligation  he  of  a  distant  date,  it  still  re- 
mains impressed  on  my  memory,  after  a  life 
spent  in  a  constant  interchange  of  friendship 
and  kindness  with  that  family,  which  is,  ac- 
cording to  Scottish  ideas,  the  head  of  my 
house. 

Being  thus  furnished  with  the  necessary 
originals,  I  I>egan  to  translate  on  all  sides, 
certainly  without  any  thing  like  an  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  language ;  and  although  the 
dramas  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  others,  pow- 
erfully attracted  one  whose  early  attention  to 
the  German  had  been  arrested  hy  Mackenzie's 
Dissertation,  and  the  play  of  "  The  Robbers," 
yet  the  ballad  poetry,  in  which  I  had  made  a 
bold  essay,  was  still  my  favourite.  I  was  yet 
more  delighted  on  finding,  that  the  old  Eng- 
lish, and  especially  the  Scottish  language, 
were  so  nearly  similar  to  the  German,  not  in 
sound  merely,  but  in  the  turn  of  phrase,  that 
they  were  capable  of  being  rendered  line  for 
line,  with  very  little  variation  * 

By  degrees,  1  acquired  sufficient  confidence 
to  attempt  the  imitation  of  what  I  admired. 
The  ballad  called  -  Glenfinlas"  was.  1  think, 
the  first  original  poem  which  I  ventured  to 
compose.  As  it  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation 
from  the  Gaelic,  I  considered  myself  as  libe- 
rated from  imitating  the  antiquated  language 
and  rude  rhythm  of  the  Minstrel  ballad.  A 
versification  of  an  Ossianic  fragment  came 
nearer  to  the  idea  1  had  formed  of  my  task  ; 
for  although  controversy  may  have  arisen 
concerning  the  authenticity  of  these  poems. 
yet  1  never  heard  it  disputed,  by  those  whom 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Gaelic  rendered 
competent  judges,  that  in  their  spirit  and  dic- 
tion they  nearly  resemble  fragments  of  poetry 
extant  in  that  language,  to  the  genuine  anti- 
quity of  which  no  doubt  can  attach.  Indeed, 
the  celebrated  dispute  on  that  subject  is  some- 
thing like  the  more  bloody,  though  scarce 
fiercer  controversy,  about  the  Popish  Plot  in 
Charles  the  Second's  time,  concerning  which 
Drydeu  has  said — 

"Succeeding  times  will  equal  folly  call, 
Believing  nothing,  or  believing  all." 

The  Celtic  people  of  Erin  and  Albyn  had,  in 

Hand,  which  appeared  in  17*9.  He  about  the  same  time 
translated  several  other  German  plays,  which  yet  remain 
in  MS.—  Ed. 

1  The  late  Georee  Constable,  Esq.    See  Introduction  to 
the  Autiqnary,  Warerley  Sovcls,  vol.  ».  p.  i».— Ed. 

2  See  Appendil,  Mote  C. 

3  This  is  of  little  consequence,  except  in  as  far  as  it  COD' 


short,  a  style  of  poetry  properly  called  na- 
tional, though  Macpherson  was  rather  an  ex- 
cellent poet  than  a  faithful  ediior  and  trans- 
lator. This  style  and  fashion  of  poetry,  existing 
in  a  different  langnage.  was  supposed  to  give 
the  original  of  "Gleiiriulas."  :ind  the  author 
was  to  pass  for  one  who  had  used  his  best 
command  of  Eiielish  to  do  the  Gaelic  model 
justice.  In  one  point,  the  incident?  of  the 
poem  were  irreconcilable  with  the  costume  of 
the  times  in  which  they  were  laid.  The  an- 
cient Highland  chieftains,  when  they  had  a 
mind  to -'hunt  the  (inn  ileer  down,"' did  not 
retreat  into  solitary  bothies,  or  trust  the  suc- 
cess of  the  chase  to  their  own  unassisted  ex- 
ertions, without  a  single  gillie  to  help  them ; 
they  assembled  their  clan,  and  all  partook  of 
the  sport,  forming  a  ring,  or  enclosure,  called 
i  theTincheil.  and  driving  the  prey  towards  the 
1  most  distinguished  persons  of  the  hunt.  This 
:  course  would  not  have  suited  me,  so  Ronald 
;  and  Moy  were  cooped  up  in  their  solitary 
wigwam,  like  two  moorfowl-shooters  of  the 
!  present  day. 

i     After  "Glenfinlas."   I    undertook    another 
ballad,  called  "The  Eve  of  St.  John."    The 
1  incidents,  except  the  hints  alluded  to  in  the 
marginal   notes,  are  entirely  imaginary,  but 
i  the  scene  was  that  of  rny  early  childhood. 
!  Some  idle  persons  had  of  late  years,  during 
the  proprietor's  absence,  torn  the  iron-grated 
|  door  of  Smailholm  Tower  from   its  hinges, 
i  and  thrown  it  down  the  rock,    i  was  an  earnest 
!  suitor  to  my  friend  and  kinsman,  Mr.  Scott  of 
!  Harden,  already  mentioned,  that  the  dilapida- 
'  ti<m  might  he  put  a  stop  to,  and  the  mischief 
;  repaired.    This  was  readily  promised,  on  con- 
j  dition  that  1  should  make  a  ballad,  of  which 
I  the  scene  should  lie  at  Smailholm  Tower,  and 
i  among  the  crags  where  it  is  situated. 3    The 
!  ballad  was  approved  of,  as  well  as  its  com- 
1  panion  "Glenfinlas;"  and  1    remember  that 
they  procured  me  many  marks  of  attention 
and  kindness  from  Duke  John  of  Roxhurghe, 
who  gave  me  the  unlimited  use  of  that  cele- 
brated collection  of  volumes  from  which  the 
I  Koxburghe  Club  derives  its  name. 
|     Thus  1  was  set  up  for  a  poet,  like  a  pedlar 
I  who  has  got  two  ballads  to  begin  the  world 
upon,  and  I  hastened  to  make  the  round  of  all 
!  my  acquaintances,  showing  my  precious  wares, 
land  requesting  criticism — a  boon  which  no 
i  author  asks  in  vain     For  it  may  be  observed, 
that,  in  the  fine  arts,  those  who  are  in  no  re- 
|  sped  able  to  produce  any  specimens  them- 
i  selves,  hold  themselves  not  the  less  entitled 
'  to  decide  upon  the  works  of  others ;  and.  no 
doubt,  with  justice  to  a  certain  degree ;  for 
i  the  merits  of  composition  produced  for  the 
I  express    purpose    of   pleasing  the   world   at 
large,  can  only  be  judged  of  by  the  opinion  of 
individuals,  and  perhaps,  as  in  the  case  of 
Moliere's  old  woman,  the  less  sophisticatd  the 
person  consulted  so  much  the  better.*    But  1 
was  ignorant,  at  the   time  I  speak  of,  that 
though  the  applause  of  the  many  may  justly 
i  appreciate  the  general  merits  of  a  piece,  it  is 


j  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden  wai  hicr 

4  See  (he  amount  of  a  ronve 
Scott  and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrem 
of  British  Painters,"  Aic.  Tol.  < 


ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


473 


not  so  safe  to  submit  such  a  performance  to 
the  more  minute  criticism  of  the  same  indivi- 
duals, when  each,  in  turn,  having  seated  him- 
self in  the  censor's  chair,  has  placed  his  mind 
in  a  critical  attitude,  and  delivers  Ins  opinion 
SPiitentioiisly  and  ex  cathedra.  General  ap- 
plause was  in  almost  every  case  freely  ten- 
dered, but  the  abatements  in  the  way  of  pro- 
posed alterations  and  corrections,  were  cruelly 
puzzling  It.  was  in  vain  the  young  author, 
listening  with  becoming  modesty,  and  with  a 
mitural  wish  to  please,  cut  and  carved,  tinker- 
ed and  coopered,  upon  his  unfortunate  ballads 
—it  was  in  vain  that  he  placed,  displaced,  re- 
placed, and  misplaced ;  every  one  of  his  ad- 
visers was  displeased  with  the  concessions 
made  to  his  co-assessors,  and  the  author  was 
blamed  by  some  one.  in  almost  every  case,  for 
having  made  two  holes  in  attempting  to  patch 
up  one. 

At  last,  after  thinking  seriously  on  the  sub- 
ject. I  wrote  out  a  fair  copy,  (of  Glenlinlas,  I 
think.)  and  marked  all  the  various  corrections 
which  had  been  proposed.  On  the  whole,  I 
found  that  I  had  been  required  to  alter  every 
verse,  almost  every  line,  and  the  only  stanzas 
of  tbe  whole  ballad  which  escaped  criticism 
were  two  which  could  neither  be  termed  good 
nor  bad,  speaking  of  them  as  poetry,  but  were 
of  a  mere  commonplace  character,  absolutely 
necessary  for  conducting  the  business  of  the 
tale.  This  unexpected  result,  after  about  a 
fortnight's  anxiety,  led  me  to  adopt  a  rule 
from  which  I  have  seldom  departed  during 
more  than  thirty  years  of  literary  life.  When 
a  friend,  whose  judgment  I  respect,  has  de- 
cided, and  upon  good  advisement  told  me,  that 
a  manuscript  was  worth  nothing,  or  at  least 
possessed  no  redeeming  qualities  sufficient  to 
atone  for  its  defects,  I  have  generally  cast  it 
aside;  but  I  am  little  in  the  custom  of  paying 
attention  to  minute  criticisms,  or  of  offering 
such  to  any  friend  who  may  do  me  the  honour 
to  consult  me.  1  am  convinced,  that,  in  ge- 
neral, in  removing  even  errors  of  a  trivial  or 
venial  kind,  the  character  of  originality  is  lost, 
which,  upon  the  whole,  may  be  that  which  is 
most  valuable  in  the  production. 

About  the  time  that  I  shook  hands  with 
criticism,  and  reduced  my  ballads  back  to  the 
onsmal  form,  stripping  them  without  remorse 
of  those  "lendings"  which  I  had  adopted  at 
the  suggestion  of  others,  an  opportunity  unex- 
pectedly offered  of  introducing  to  the  world 
what  had  hitherto  been  confined  to  a  circle 
of  friends.  Lewis  had  announced  a  collection, 
first  intended  to  bear  the  title  of  '•  Tales  of 
Terror,"  and  afterwards  published  under  that 
of  "Tales  of  Wonder."  As  this  was  to  be  a 
collection  of  tales  turning  on  the  preterna- 
tural, there  were  risks  in  the  plan  of  which 
the  ingenious  editor  was  not  aware.  The 
supernatural,  though  appealing  to  certaii 
powerful  emotions  very  widely  and  deeply 
sown  amongst  the  human  race,  is,  neverthe- 
less, a  spring  which  is  peculiarly  apt  to  lose  its 
elasticity  by  being  too  much  pressed  on,  and  a 
collection  (if  shost  stories  is  not  more  likely  to 
be  terrible,  than  a  collection  of  jests  to  be 
merry  or  entertaining.  But  although  the  very 
title  of  the  proposed  work  carried  in  it  an  ob- 
struction to  its  effect,  this  was  far  from  being 
suspected  at  the  time,  for  the  popularity  of  the 
editor,  and  of  his  compositions,  seemed  a  war- 


rant  for  his  success.  The  distinguished  favour 
with  which  the  "  Castle  Spectre"  was  received 
upon  the  stage,  seemed  an  additional  pledge 
for  the  safety  of  his  new  attempt.  I  readily 
agreed  to  contribute  the  ballads  of  ••  Glenfin- 
las"  and  of  "The  Eve  of  Saint  John.'  with 
me  or  two  others  of  less  merit;  and  my 
riend  Dr.  Leyden  became  also  a  contributor. 
Mr.  Southey,  a  tower  of  sirensth,  added  "The 
Old  Woman  of  Berkeley,"  "  Lord  William," 
and  several  other  interesting  ballads  of  the 

me  class,  to  the  proposed  collection. 

In  the  meantime,  my  friend  Lewis  found  it 
no  easy  matter  to  discipline  his  northern  re- 
cruits. He  was  a  martinet,  if  t  may  so  term 
him,  in  the  accuracy  of  rhymes  and  of  num- 
bers ;  I  may  add.  he  had  a  right  to  be  so,  for 
few  persons  have  exhibited  more  mastery  of 
rhyme,  or  greater  command  over  the  melody 
of  verse.  He  was.  therefore,  rigid  in  exacting 
similar  accuracy  from  others,  and  as  I  was 
quite  unaccustomed  to  the  mechanical  part 
of  poetry,  and  used  rhymes  which  were  merely 
permissible,  as  readily  as  those  which  were 
legitimate,  contests  often  arose  amongst  us, 
which  were  exasperated  by  the  pertinacity  of 
my  Mentor,  who,  as  all  who  knew  him  can 
testify,  was  no  rranter  of  propositions.  As  an 
instance  of  the  obstinacy  with  which  I  had  so 
lately  adopted  a  tone  of  defiance  to  criticism, 
the  reader  will  find  in  the  Appendix  '  a  few 
specimens  of  the  lectures  which  I  underwent 
from  my  friend  Lewis,  and  which  did  not  at 
the  time  produce  any  effect  on  my  inflexibility, 
though  I  did  not  forget  them  at  a  future  pe- 
riod. 

The  proposed  publication  of  the  "  Tales  of 
Wonder"  was,  from  one  reason  or  another, 
postponed  till  the  year  1801,  a  circumstance 
by  which,  of  itself,  the  success  of  the  work 
was  considerably  impeded;  for  protracted  ex- 
pectation always  leads  to  disappointment. 
But  besides,  there  were  circumstances  of  va- 
rious kinds  which  contributed  to  its  deprecia- 
tion, some  of  which  were  imputahle  to  the 
editor,  or  author,  and  some  to  the  book- 
seller. 

The  former  remained  insensible  of  the  pas- 
s'lon  for  ballads  and  ballad-mongers  having 
been  for  some  time  on  the  wane,  and  that 
with  such  alteration  in  the  public  taste,  the 
chance  of  success  in  that  line  was  diminished. 
What  had  been  at  first  received  as  simple  ami 
natural,  was  now  sneered  at  as  puerile  and 
extravasant.  Another  objection  was,  that  my 
friend  Lewis  had  a  high  hut  mistaken  opinion 
of  his  own  powers  of  humour.  The  truth 
was,  that  though  he  could  throw  some  gaiety 
into  his  lighter  pieces,  after  the  manner  of  the 
French  writers,  his  attempts  at  what  is  called 
pleasantry  in  English  wholly  wanted  the  qua- 
lity of  humour,  and  were  generally  failures. 
But  this  he  would  not  allow;  and  the  "Tales 
of  Wonder"  were  filled,  in  a  sense,  with  at- 
tempts at  comedy,  which  might  be  generally 
accounted  abortive. 

Another  objection,  which  might  have  been 
more  easily  foreseen,  subjected  the  editor  to  a 
charge  of  which  .Mat  Lewis  was  entirely  inca- 
pable,—that  of  collusion  with  his  publisher  in 
an  undue  attack  on  the  pockets  of  the  public. 
The  "  Tales  of  Wonder1'  formed  a  work  in 


1  See  Appendix.  Note  D. 


474 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


royal  octavo,  and  were,  by  large  printing, 
driven  out,  as  it  is  technically  termed,  to  two 
volumes,  which  were  sold  at  a  high  price. 
Purchasers  murmured  at  finding  that  this  size 
had  been  attained  hy  the  insertion  of  some  of 
the  best  known  pieces  of  the  English  lan- 
piiage,  such  as  Dryden's  "  Theodore  and  Ho- 
noria."  [Vmell's  "  Hermit,"  Lisle's  "  Porsenna 
King  of  Russia,"  and  many  other  popular 
poems  of  old  date,  and  generally  known,  which 
ought  not  in  conscience  to  have  made  part  of 
•t  of  tales,  "  written  and  collected"  by  a 
modern  author.  His  bookseller  was  also  ac- 
cused in  the  public  prims,  whether  truly  or 
nut  I  am  uncertain,  of  having  attempted  to 
secure  to  himself  the  entire  profits  of  the 
large  sale  which  he  expected,  by  refusing  to 
his  brethren  the  allowances  usually,  if  not  in 
all  cases,  made  t»  the  retail  trade. 

Lewis,  one  of  the  most  liberal  as  we!l  as 
benevolent  of  mankind,  had  not  the  least  par- 
ticipation in  these  proceedings  of  his  bibliopo- 
list;  but  his  work  sunk  under  the  obloquy 
which  was  heaped  on  it  by  the  offended  par- 
ties. The  book  was  termed  ••  Tales  of  Plun- 
der," w:is  censured  by  reviewers,  and  attacked 
in  newspapers  and  magazines.  A  very  clever 
parody  was  made  on  the  style  and  the  person 
of  the  author,  and  the  world  laughed  as  wil- 
lingly as  if  it  had  never  applauded. 

Thus,  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  vehicle  I 
had  chosen,  my  efforts  to  present  myself  be- 
fore the  public  as  an  original  writer  proved  as 
vain  as  those  by  which  1  had  previously  en- 
deavoured to  distinguish  myself  as  a  trans- 
lator. Like  Lord  Home,  however,  at  the 
battle  of  Plodden.  I  did  so  far  well,  that  I  was 
able  to  stand  and  save  myself;  and  amidst 
the  general  depreciation  of  the  "Tales  of 
Wonder,'1  my  small  share  of  the  obnoxious 
publication  was  dismissed  without  much  cen- 
sure, and  in  some  cases  obtained  praise  from 
the  critics. 

The  consequence  of  my  escape  made  me 


naturally  more  daring,  and  I  attempted,  in 
my  own  name,  a  collection  of  bullads  nt"  va- 
rious kin1!*,  both  ancient  and  m.Kleni.  to  he 
connected  by  the  common  tie  of  relation  to 
the  Border  districts  in  which  I  had  gathered 
the  materials.  The  original  preface  explains 
my  purpose,  and  the  assistance  of  various 
kinds  which  I  met  with.  The  edition  was 
curious,  as  being  the  first  work  printed  by 
my  friend  and  school-fellow,  Mr  James  Baf- 
Inutyne,  who,  at  that  period,  was  editor  of  a 
provincial  newspaper,  called  "The  Kelso 
Mail  "  When  the  book  came  out,  in  1802.  the 
imprint.  Kelso.  was  read  with  wonder  by 
amateurs  of  typography,  who  hail  never  heard 
of  such  a  place,  and  were  astonished  at  the 
example  of  handsome  printing  which  so  ob- 
scure a  town  produced. 

As  for  the  editorial  part  of  the  task,  my  at- 
tempt to  imitate  the  plan  and  style  of 
Percy,  observing  only  more  strict  fidelity  con- 
cerning my  originals,  was  favourably  received 
by  the  public,  and  there  was  a  demand  within 
a  short  space  for  a  second  edition,  to  which  I 
proposed  to  add  a  third  volume.  Messrs. 
Cade.ll  and  Dav-ies,  the  first  publishers  of  the 
work,  declined  the  publication  of  this  second 
edition,  which  was  undertaken,  at  a  very 
liberal  price,  by  the  well-known  lirm  of  Messrs. 
Longman  and  Kees  of  Paternoster  Kow.  My 
progress  in  the  literary  career,  in  which  1 
might  now  be  considered  as  seriously  engaged, 
the  reader  will  find  briefly  traced  in  an  Intro- 
duction prefixed  to  the  "Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel." 

In  the  meantime,  the  Editor  has  accom- 
plished his  proposed  task  of  acquainting  the 
reader  with  some  particulars  respecting  the 
modern  imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad,  and 
the  circumstances  which  gradually,  uuJ  al- 
most insensibly,  engaged  himself  in  that  spe- 
cies of  literary  employment. 

W.  S. 

Albolsford,  April  1830. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

THE  PRODUCTION-   OF  MODEBS  AS  ANCIEJfT 
BALLADS. 

P.  46t. 

This  failure  applies  to  the  repairs  and  rifaci- 
mentos  of  old  ballads,  as  well  as  to  complete 
imitations.  In  the  beautiful  and  simple  ballad 
of  Gil  Morris,  some  affected  person  has  stuck 
in  one  or  two  factitious  verses,  which,  like 
vulgar  persons  in  a  drawing-room,  betray 
themselves  hy  their  over-finery.  Thus,  after 
the  simple  anil  affecting  verse  which  prepares 
the  reauers  for  the  coming  tragedy. 


"Gil  Mornce  sat  in  good  green  wood, 

He  whistled  and  he  sang: 
•O,  what  mean  a'  yon  folk  coming, 

-My  mother  tarries  lang  ?' " 

some  snch  "vicious  intromitter"  as  we  have 
described,  (to  use  a  harharous  phrase  for  a 
barbarous  proceeding.)  has  inserted  the  fol- 
lowing quintessence  of  affectation: — 

"  His  locks  were  like  the  threads  of  gold 

Drawn  from  Minerva's  loom; 

His  lips  like  roses  drappmg  dew, 

His  breath  was  a'  perfume. 


APPENDIX  TO  IMITATIONS  OF  ANCIENT  BALLAD.     475 


"  His  brow  was  like  the  mountain  snow 

(Jilt  by  the  morning  beam; 
His  cheeks  like  living  roses  blow, 
His  een  like  azure  stream. 

'  The  boy  was  clad  in  robes  of  green, 

Sweet  as  the  infant  spring; 
And.  like  the  mavis  on  the  bush, 
He  gart  the  valleys  ring." 


NOTE  B. 

M.  G.  LEWIS. 

P.  469. 

In  justice  to  a  departed  friend,  I  have  sub- 
joined his  own  defence  against  an  accusation 
so  remorselessly  persisted  in.  The  following 
is  an  extract  of  a  letter  to  his  father : — 

Feb.  23, 1798. 

"  My  dear  Father,— Though  certain  that  the 
clamour  raised  against  'The  Monk'  cannot 
have  given  you  the  smallest  doubt  of  the  rec- 
tiuide  of  my  intention*,  or  the  purity  of  my 
principles,  yet  1  am  conscious  that  'it  must 
have  grieved  you  to  find  any  doubts  on  the 
subject  existing  in  the  minds  of  other  people. 
To  express  my  sorrow  for  having  given  you 
pain  is  my  motive  for  now  addressing  you,  and 
also  to  assure  you.  that  you  shall  not  feel  that 
pain  a  second  lime  on  my  account.  Having 
made  you  t'eel  it  at  all,  would  be  a  sufficient 
reason,  had  I  no  others,  to  make  me  regret 
having  published  the  first  edition  of  'The 
Monk;'  but  1  have  others,  weaker,  indeed, 
than  tlie  one  mentioned,  but  still  sufficiently 
strong.  I  perceive  that  I  have  put  too  much 
confidence  in  the  accuracy  of  my  own  judg- 
ment; that.,  convinced  of  my  object  being  un- 
exceptionable, I  did  not  sufficiently  examine 
whether  the  means  by  which  I  attained  that 
object  were  equally  so;  and  that,  upon  many 
accounts.  I  have  to  accuse  myself  of  high  im- 
prudence. Let  me,  however,  observe,  that 
twenty  is  not  the  age  at  which  prudence  is 
most  to  be  expected.  Inexperience  prevented 
my  distinguishing  what  would  give  offence; 
but  as  soon  as  I  found  that  offence  was  given. 
1  made  the  only  reparation  in  my  power  —  I 
carefully  revised  the  work,  and  expunged 
every  syllable  on  which  could  be  grounded 
the  slightest  construction  of  immorality.  This, 
indeed,  was  no  difficult  task ;  for  the  objec- 
tions rested  entirely  on  expressions  too  strong, 
and  words  carelessly  chosen,  not  on  the  senti- 
ments, characters,  or  general  tendency  of  the 
work  ; — that  the  latter  is  undeserving  censure, 
Addison  will  vouch  for  me.  The  moral  and 
outline  of  my  story  are  taken  from  an  allegory 
inserted  by  him  in  the  'Guardian.'  and  which 
he  commends  highly  for  ability  of  invention, 
and  •propriety  of  object.'  Unluckily,  in  work- 
in?  it  up.  I  thought  that  the  stronger  my  co- 
lours, the  more  effect  would  my  picture  pro- 
duce ;  and  it  never  struck  me,  that  the  exhibi- 
tion of  vice  in  her  temporary  triumph,  might 
possibly  do  as  much  harm,  as  her  final  expo- 
sure and  punishment  could  do  good.  To  do 
much  good,  indeed,  was  more  than  I  expected 
of  my  book  ;  having  always  believed  that  our 
conduct  depends  on  our  own  hearts  and  cha- 
racters, not  on  the  books  we  read,  or  the  sen- 


timents we  hear.  But  though  I  did  not  hope 
much  benefit  to  arise  from  the  perusnl  of  a 
trifling  romance,  written  by  a  youth  of  twenty, 
I  was  in  my  own  mind  convinced,  that  no  harm 
could  be  produced  by  a  work  whose  subject 
was  furnished  by  one  of  our  best  moralists, 
and  in  the  composition  of  which.  I  did  not  in- 
troduce a  single  incident.,  or  a  single  charac- 
ter, without  meaning  to  illustrate  some  maxim 
universally  allowed.  It  was  then  with  infinite 
surprise,  that  I  heard  the  outcry  raised  against 
H,eS  <*,.***< 

[[  regret  that  the  letter,  though  once  per- 
fect, now  only  exists  in  my  possession  as  a 
fragment.] 


NOTE  C. 

GF.RMAX    BALLADS. 

P.  472. 

Among  the  popular  Ballads,  or  Volkslieder, 
of  the  celebrated  Herder,  is  (take  one  instance 
put  of  many)  a  version  of  the  old  Scottish 
»ong  of  "Sir  Patrick  Spence,"  in  which,  but 
for  difference  of  orthography,  the  two  lan- 
guages can  be  scarcely  distinguished  from 
each  other.  For  example — 

"The  King  sits  in  Dnnfermling  town, 
Drinking  the  blood  red  wine; 

'  Where  will  F  get,  a  good  skipper 
To  sail  this  ship  of  mine  V  " 

"Der  Krenig  sitzt  in  Dumfermling  Schloss : 

Er  tnnkt  blutrothen  Wein  ; 
'0  wo  triffich  emen  Segler  gut 

Dies  Schiff  zu  seglen  mem  ?' " 

In  like  manner,  the  opening  stanza  of  "  Child 
Waters,"  and  many  other  Scottish  ballads,  fall 
as  naturally  mid  easily  into  the  German  habits 
and  forms  of  speech,  as  if  they  had  originally 
been  composed  in  that  language  : 

"  About  Yule,  when  the  wind  was  cule, 

And  the  round  tables  began, 
O  there  is  come  to  our  king's  court 
Mony  weel  favour'd  man  " 

"In  Christmessfest,  in  winter  kalt, 

Als  Tafel  rund  began. 
Da  kam  zu  Konig's  HoflT  and  Hall 
Manch  wackrer  Ritter  an." 

It  requires  only  a  smattering  of  both  lan- 
guages, to  see  at  what  cheap  expense,  even  of 
vocables  and  rhymes,  the  popular  poetry  of 
the  one  may  be  transferred  to  the  other. 
Hardly  any  tiling  is  more  fluttering  to  a  Scot- 
tish student  of  German ;  it  resembles  the  un- 
expected discovery  of  an  old  friend  in  a  foreign 
land. 


NOTE  D. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  CORRESPONDENCE  OF 
M.  G.  LEWIS. 

P.  473. 

My  attention  was  called  to  this  subject, 
which  is  now  of  an  old  date,  by  reading  the 
following  passage  m  Medwin's  "  Account  of 
Some  Passages  in  Lord  Byron's  later  Years." 
Lord  Byron  is  supposed  to  speak.  "  When 
Walter  Scott  began  to  write  poetry,  which  was 


476 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


not  at  a  very  early  age.  Monk  Lewis  corrected 
bis  verse:  he  understood  little  then  of  Hie 
mechanical  part  of  the  art.  The  Fire  King,  in 
the  '  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,'  was 
almost  all  Lewis's.  One  of  the  ballads  in  that 
work,  and,  except  some  of  Leyi'en's.  perhaps 
one  of  the  best,  was  made  from  a  story  picked 
up  in  a  stage-coach ;  I  mean,  that  of  •  \\  ill 
Jones.' 

'They  boil'd  Will  Jones  within  the  pot, 
And  not  much  fnt  had  Will.' 

"I  hope  Walter  Scott  did  not  write  the  re- 
view on  '  Christahel :'  for  he  certainly,  in  com- 
mon with  many  of  us,  is  indebted  to  Coleridge. 
But  for  him.  perhaps, 'The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel'  would  never  have  been  thought  of. 
The  line, 

'  Jesu  Maria  shield  thee  well !' 

is  word  for  word  from  Coleridge." 

There  are  some  parts  of  this  passage  ex- 
tremely mistaken  and  exaggerated,  as  gene- 
rally attends  any  attempt  to  record  what 
passes  in  casual  conversation,  which  resem- 
bles, in  difficulty,  the  experiments  of  the  old 
chemists  for  fixing  quicksilver. 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  my  poor 
friend  Lewis's  criticism  on  my  juvenile  at- 
tempts at  ballad  poetry:  severe  enough,  per- 
haps, but  for  which  I  was  much  indebted  to 
him,  as  forcing  upon  the  notice  of  a  young 
and  careless  author  hints  which  the  said  au- 
thor's vanity  made  him  nnwilhne  to  attend  to, 
but  which  were  absolutely  necessary  to  any 
hope  of  his  ultimate  success. 

Supposed  1799. 

"Thank  you  for  yonr revised  'Glenfinlas.'  I 
grumble,  but  say  no  more  on  this  subject,  al- 
though I  hope  you  will  no'  be  so  indexible  on 
that  of  your  other  Ballads ;  for  I  do  not  de- 
spair of  convincing  you  in  time,  that  a  bad 
rhyme  is,  in  fact,  no  rhyme  at  all.  You  de- 
sired me  to  point  out  my  objections,  leaving 
you  at  liberty  to  make  use  of  them  or  not ; 
luid  so  have  at  •  Frederic  and  Alice.'  Stanza  i 
1st,  •hits'  and  'joys'  are  not  rhymes;  the  1st' 
stanza  ends  with  'joys;'  the  2d  begins  with  j 
'joying.'  In  the  4th,  there  is  too  sudden  a: 
change  of  tenses,  'flows'  and  'rose.'  6th,  7th.  i 
and  8th.  I  like  much.  9;h.  Does  nol  '  riny  his 
ears'  sound  ludicrous  in  yours  ?  The  first  idea 
that  presents  itself  is,  that  his  ears  were  pull- 
ed ;  but  even  the  ringing  at  the  ears  does  not 
please.  12th,  •  Shower'  and  •  roar'  not  rhymes. 
•  fiotC  and  •aisle.'  in  the  13lh.  are  not  much 
belter :  but '  lirad'  and  •  dfsrried'  are  execrable. 
In  the  Hlh.  'bar'  and  'stair'  are  ditto;  and 
'groping'  is  a  nasty  word.  Vide  Johnson,  '  He 
gropes  his  breeches  with  a  monarch's  air.'  In  the 
15th.  you  change  your  metre,  which  has  al- 
ways an  unpleasant  effect;  and  'safe'  and 
'receive'  rhyme  ju.-t  about  as  well  as  Scott 
and  Lewis  world.  16th,  'within'  and  'strain' 
are  not  rhymes.  17th,  'hear'  and  'air,'  not 
rhymes.  18th,  Two  metres  are  mixed;  the 
same  objection  to  the  third  line  of  the  19th 
Observe  that,  in  the  Ballad,  I  do  not  always 
object  to  a  varii-ion  of  metre;  hut  then  it 
ought  to  increase  the  melody,  whereas,  in  my 
opinion,  in  these  instances  it  is  diminished. 

••  The  Chase.— 12th.  The  2d  line  reads  very  I 
harshly ;  and  '  choir'  and  •  lore'  are  not  rhymes. ' 


13th. '  Rules'  and  'side'  are  not  rhymes.  30th, 
'Pour1  and  'obscure.'  not  rhymes.  40th, 
4  Spreads'  and  •  mrudif  are  not  rhymes.  46th. 
'  Kemls'  and  'ascend'  are  not  rhymes. 

"  William  and  Helen  — In  order  that  I  may 
bring  it  nearer  the  original  title,  pray  intro- 
duce, in  the  first  stanza,  the  name  of  Ellenora, 
instead  of  fcllen.  •  Crusade'  and  •  sped'  not 
rhymes  in  the  2d.  3d,  'Made'  and  ' shtd'  are 
not  rhymes;  and  if  they  were,  come  too  close 
to  the  rhymes  in  the  2d.  In  the  4th, '  Jot/'  and 
'victory1  are  not  rhymes.  7th.  The  first  line 
wants  a  verb,  otherwise  is  not  intelligible. 
13th, '  Grace'  and  '  bhss'  are  not  rhymes.  1  )th, 
'  Bale'  and  '  hell'  are  not  rhymes.  18:h,  •  Vain' 
and  'fruitless'  is  tautology ;  and  as  a  verb  is 
wanted,  the  line  will  run  tetter  thus.  •  And 
vain  is  every  prayer'  19th.  Is  not  'to  her' 
absolutely  necessary  in  the  4th  line?  211' h. 
'  Grace'  and  '  bliss'  not  rhymes.  21st,  '  Bali? 
and  'helf  not  rhymes.  22d".  1  do  not  like  the 
word  'spent.'  23d,  'O'er'  and  'star'  are  vile 
rhymes.  26th,  A  verb  is  wanted  in  the  4th 
line;  better  thus,  'Then  whispers  thus  a 
voice.'  28th,  Is  not  'Is't  thou,  my  love?'  bet- 
ter than  •  My  love  !  my  love !'  31st.  If  •  irit/ht' 
means,  as  I  conjecture,  'enchanted.'  does  not 
this  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag?  Ought  not  the 
spur  to  be  sharp  rather  than  bright?  In  the 
4th  line,  '  Stay'  and  '  day'  jingle  together : 
would  it  not  be  better.  'I  must  he  gone  e'er 
day  ?'  33d, '  Steed'  and  '  bed'  are  not  rhymes. 
34th, '  Bride'  and  •  bed'  not  rhymes.  35i  h,  •  Seat' 
and  'await,'  not  rhymes.  39th, '  Keep  hold'  and 
'sit  fast'  seem  to  my  ear  vulgar  and  prosaic. 
40th.  The  4th  line  is  defective  in  point  of  Eng- 
lish, and,  indeed.  I  do  not  quite  understand  the 
meaning  43d,  'Arose'  and  'pursues'  are  not 
rhymes  45th,  1  am  not  pleased  with  the  epi- 
thet '  savaye ;'  and  the  latter  part  of  the  stanza 
is,  to  me,  unintelligible  49th,  Is  it  not  closer 
to  the  original  in  line  3d  to  say. '  Swift  ride  the 
dead  ?'  50th,  Does  the  rain  :  whistle  ?'  55th, 
line  3d.  Dues  it  express.  •  Is  Helen  afraid  of 
them  ?'  59th.  •  Door'  and  'flower' do  not  rhyme 
together.  60th.  '  Scared'  and  •  heard"  are  not 
rhymes.  63d. '  Bone'  and  '  skeleton'  not  rhymes. 
64th.  The  last  line  sounds  ludicrous;  one  fan- 
cies the  heroine  coming  down  with  a  plump, 
and  sprawling  upon  her  bottom.  1  have  now 
finished  my  severe  examination,  and  pointed 
out  every  objection  which  I  think  can  be  sug- 
gested." 

6th  January,  1799. 

-  Wellutyn—  99. 

"  Dear  Scott.— Your  last  Ballad  reached  me 
just  as  I  was  stepping  into  my  chaise  to  go  to 
Bn«ket  Hall,  (Lord  Melbourne's.)  so  1  took  it 
with  me.  and  exhibited  both  that  and  GUnfm- 
las  with  great  success.  I  must  not,  however, 
conceal  from  you,  that  nobody  understood  the 
Lady  Flora  of"  Glensyle  to  be  a  disguised  de- 
mon till  the  catastrophe  arrived :  and  that  the 
opinion  was  universal,  that  some  previous 
s'anzas  ought  to  l>e  introduced  descriptive  of 
the  nature"  and  office  of  the  Wayward  Ladies 
of  the  Wood.  William  Lambe.i  too,  (who 
writes  good  verses  himself,  and.  therefore, 
may  be  allowed  to  Judge  those  of  other  peo- 
ple.) was  decidedly  for  i  he  omission  of  the  last 
stanza  but  one.  These  were  the  only  objec- 

1  Now  Lord  Melbourne.— Bl. 


APPENDIX  TO  IMITATIONS  OF  ANCIENT  BALLAD.     477 


linns  started.  I  thought  it  as  well  that,  you 
should  know  them,  whether  you  attend  to 
them  or  not.  With  regard  to  St.  John's  Eve, 
I  like  it  much,  and,  instead  of  finding  fauli 
with  its  broken  metre.  I  approve  of  it  highly. 
I  think,  in  this  last  Ballad,  you  have  hit  off  the 
ancient  manner  better  than  in  your  former 
ones.  Glenfinias.  lor  example,  is  more  like  a 
polished  tale,  than  an  old  Ballad.  But  why. 
in  verse  6th.  is  the  Baron's  helmet  harked  and 
hewed,  if  (as  we  are  given  to  understand)  he 
had  assassinated  his  enemy?  Ought  not  (ore 
to  he  torn  1  Tore  seems  to  me  not  English. 
In  verse  16th,  the  last  line  is  word  for  word 
from  Gil  Morrice.  21st.  •  Floor'  and  'bower'  are 
not  rhymes."  <tc.  <ke.  &.c. 

Tile" gentleman  noticed  in  the  following  let- 
ter, as  partaker  in  the  author's  heresies  re- 
specting rhyme,  had  the  less  occasion  to  justify 
such  license,  as  his  own  have  been  singularly 
accurate.  Mr.  Smythe  is  now  Professor  of 
Modern  History  at  Cambridge. 

"  London,  January  24. 1799. 
"I  must  not  omit  telling  you,  for  your  own 
comfort,  and  that  of  nil  such  persons  as  are 
wickfd  enough  to  make  bad  rhymes,  that  Mr 
Smythe  (a  very  clever  man  at  Cambridge)  took 
great  pains  the  other  day  to  convince  me,  not 
merely  that  a  bad  rhyme  might  pass,  but,  that 
occasionally  a  bad  rhyme  was  better  than  a 
good  one !!"!!!!  I  need  not  tell  you  that  he 
left  me  as  great  an  infidel  on  this  subject  as  he 


found  me. 


'Ever  yours. 


•  M.  O.  LEWIS." 


The  next  letter  respects  the  Ballad  called 
the  "  Fire  Kins,"  stated  by  Captain  Medwin  to 
be  almost  all  Lewis's.  This  is  an  entire  mis- 
conception. Lewis,  who  was  very  fond  of  his 
idea  of  four  elementary  kings,  had  prevailed 
on  me  to  supply  a  Fire  King.  After  being  re- 
peatedly urged  to  the  task.  I  sat  down  one  day 
after  dinner,  and  wrote  the  "  Fire  King."  as  it 
was  published  in  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder." 
The  next  extract  gives  an  account  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  Lewis  received  it,  which  was 
not  very  favourable ;  but  instead  of  writing 
the  greater  part,  he  did  not  write  a  single 
word  of  it.  Dr.  Leyden,  now  no  more,  and 
another  gentleman  who  still  survives,  were 
silting  at  my  side  while  I  wrote  it;  nor  did 
my  occupation  prevent  the  circulation  of  the 
bottle. 

Leyden  wrote  a  Ballad  for  the  Cloud  King, 
which  is  mentioned  in  the  ensuing  extract. 
But  it  did  not  answer  Mat's  ideas,  either  in 
the  colour  of  the  wings,  or  some  point  of  cos- 
tume equally  important ;  so  Lewis,  who  was 


otherwise  fond  of  the  Ballad,  converted  it  into 
the  Elfin  King,  and  wrote  a  Cloud  King  him- 
self, to  finish  the  hierarchy  in  the  way  de- 
sired. 

There  is  a  leading  mistake  in  the  passage 
from  Captain  Medwin.  "The  Minstrelsy  of 
the  Bonier"  is  spoken  of.  hut  vvhai  is  meant 
is  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder  "  The  former  work 
contains  none  of  the  Ballads  mentioned  by 
Mr.  Medwin — the  latter  has  them  all  Indeed, 
the  dynasty  of  Elemental  Kings  were  written 
entirely  for  Mr.  Lewis's  publication. 

My  intimate  friend,  William  Clerk,  Esq.  was 
the  person  who  heard  the  legend  of  Bill  Jones 
told  in  a  mail-coach  by  a  sea  captain,  who 
imagined  himself  to  have  seen  the  ghost  to 
which  it  relates.  The  tale  was  versified  by 
Lewis  himself  I  forget  where  it  was  publish- 
ed, but  certainly  in  no  miscellany  or  publica- 
tion of  mine. 

1  have  only  to  add,  in  allusion  to  the  passage 
1  have  quoted,  that  I  never  wrote  a  word 
parodying  either  Mr.  Coleridge  or  any  one 
else,  which,  in  that  distinguished  instance,  it 
would  have  been  most  ungracious  in  me  to 
have  done ;  for  which  the  reader  will  see  rea- 
sons in  the  Introduction  to ''The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel." 

"  London,  3d  February.  1800. 
'•  Dear  Scott.— 1  return  you  many  thanks  for 
your  Ballad,  and  the  Extract,  and  1  shall  be 
very  much  obliged  to  your  friend  for  the 
'Cloud  King'  I  must,  however,  make  one 
criticism  upon  the  Stanzas  which  you  sent 
me.  The  Spirit,  being  a  wicked  one,  must 
not  have  such  delicate  wings  as  pale  blue 
ones  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  Heaven  ex- 
cept to  deface  it  with  storms  ;  and  therefore, 
in  'The  Monk,'  I  have  fitted  him  with  a  pair 
of  sable  pinions,  to  which  1  must  request  your 
friend  to  adapt  his  Stanza.  With  the  others  ( 
am  much  pleased,  as  1  am  with  your  Fire 
King ;  but  every  body  makes  the  same  objec- 
tion to  it.  and  expresses  a  wish  that  you  had 
conformed  your  Spirit  to  the  description  given 
of  him  in  •  Hie  Monk,"  where  his  office  is  to 
play  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp,  and  lead  travellers 
into  bogs,  &c.  It  is  also  objected  to,  his  being 
removed  from  his  native  land,  Denmark,  to 
Palestine;  and  that  the  office  assigned  to  him 
in  your  Ballad  has  nothing  peculiar  to  the 
'Fire  King,'  but  would  have  suited  Arimanes, 
Beelzebub,  or  any  other  evil  spirit,  as  well. 
However,  the  Ballad  itself  1  think  very  pretty. 
1  suppose  you  have  heard  from  Bell  respecting 
the  copies  of  the  Ballads.  I  was  too  much 
distressed  at  the  time  to  write  myself,"  &c. 
&c. 

"M.  G.  L." 


478                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                           | 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO 

3&in0tnl5tj  nf  tij?  irnttislj  ^nrhr. 

IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 

•S^VWVVWVWN. 

STijomas  t&e  B^gmer. 

introduced  in  Scotland,  this  custom  must  hive 
been  universal.    There  is,  therefore,  nothing 

IN  THREE  PARTS. 

inconsistent  in  supposing  our  poet's  name  to 
have  been  actually  Learmont,  although,  in 



this  chapter,  he  is  distinguished  by  the  popular 

PART   FIRST.  —  ANC1EXT. 

appellation  of  The  Rhymer. 
We  are  better  able  to  ascertain  the  period 

—  ^^— 

at  which  Thomas  of  Ercikloune  lived,  being 

Few  persons  are  so  renowned  in  tradition  as 

the  latter  end  of  the  thirteenth  century.    I  am 

Thomas  of  Ercildoune.  known  by  the  appella- 

inclined to  place  his  deal  h  a  little  farther  back 

tion  of  The  Rhymer.     Uniting,  or  supposing  to 

than  Mr.  Pinkerton,  who  supposes  that  he  was 

unite,  in  his  person,  the  powers  of  poetical 

alive  in  1300.  (List  of  Sftittish  Poets.)  which  is 

composition,  and  of  vaticination,  his  memory. 

hardly.  1  think,  consistent  with  the  charter 

even  after  the  lapse  of  five  hundred  years,  is 

already  quoted,  by  which  his  son.  in  1299.  for 

regarded  with  veneration  by  his  countrymen. 

himself  and  his  heirs,  conveys  to  the  convent 

To  give  any  thing  like  a  certain  history  of  this 

of  the  Trinity  of  Soltra.  the  tenement  which 

remarkable  man  would  be  indeed  difficult; 

he   possessed   hv  inheritance   (hrreditaire)  in 

but  the  curious  may  derive  some  satisfaction 

Ercildoune,  with  all  claim  which  he  or  his 

from  the  particulars  here  brought  together. 
It  is  agreed  on  all  hands,  that  the  residence, 

predecessors  could    pretend    thereto.     From 
ihis  we  may  infer,  that  the  Rhymer  was  now 

and  probably  the  birthplace,  of  this  ancient 

dead,  since  we  find  the  son  disposing  of  the 

bard,  was  Ercildoune,  a  village  situated  upon 

family  property.    Still,  however,  the  argument 

the  Leader,  two  miles  above  its  junction  with 

of  the  learned  historian  will  remain   unim- 

the  Tweed.    The  ruins  of  an  ancient  tower 

peached  as  to  the  time  of  the  poet's  birth.    For 

aro  still  pointed  out  as  the  Rhymer's  castle. 

if,  as  we   learn  from  Harbour,  his  prophecies 

The  uniform  tradition  bears,  that  his  sirname 

were   held  in  reputation3  as  early  as  1306, 

was  Lermont.  or  Learmont;  and  that  the  ap- 

when Bruce  slew  the  Red  Cummin."  the  sanc- 

pellation of  The  Rhymer  was  conferred  on  him 

tity,  and  (let  me  add  to  Mr.  Pinkerton's  words) 

in  consequence  of  his  poetical  compositions 
There  remains,  nevertheless,  some  doubt  upon 

the  uncertainty  of  antiquity,  must  have  already 
involved   his  character  and   writings.     In   a 

the  subject.     In  a  chapter,  which  is  subjoined 

charter  of  Peter  de  Hagade  Bemersvde.  which 

;  at  length,'  the  son  of  our  poet  designed  him- 
self ••  Thomas  of  Krcildoun.  sou  and  heir  of 

unfortunately  wants  a  date,  the   Rhymer,  a 
near  neighbour,  and,  if  we  may  trust  tradition, 

Thomas  Rymour  of  Ercildoun,"  which  seems 

a  friend  of  the  family,  appears  as  a  witness.  — 

to  imply  that  the  father  did  not  bear  the  here- 

Charlulary of  Mtlrose. 

ditary  name  of  Learmont;  or,  at  least,  was 

It  cannot  be  doubled,  that  Thomas  of  Ercil- 

better known  and  distinguished  by  the  epithet. 

doune  was  a  remarkable  and  important  person 

which  he  had  acquired  by  his  personal  accom- 

in his  own  time,  since,  very  shortly  after  his 

plishments     I  must,  however,  remark,  that. 

death,  we  find  him  celebrated  as  a  prophet 

down  to  a  very  late  period,  the  practice  of  dis- 

and  as  a  poet     Whether  he  himself  made  any 

tinguishingthe  parties.  even  informal  writings. 

pretensions  to  the  first  of  these  characters,  or 

by  the  epithets  which  had  been  bestowed  on 

whether  it  was  gratuitously  conferred  upon 

I  them  from  personal  circumstances,  instead  of 

him   by  the  credulity  of  posterity,  it  seems 

the  proper  sirnames  of  their  families,  was 

difficult  to  decide.     If  we  may  believe  Mac- 

common, and  indeed   necessary,  among  the 

kenzie,  Learmont  only  versified  the  prophecies 

|  Border  clans.    So  early  as  the  end  of  the  thir- 

delivered  by  Eliza,  an  inspired  nun  of  aeon- 

]  teenth  century,  when  sirnames  were  hardly 

vent  at  Haddington.     But  of  this  there  seems 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

"I  hope  that  Thomas'*  prophecie. 

Of  Ereeldoun,  shall  truly  be. 

2  The  line,  alluded  to  are  these  :- 

J-him.-te, 

CONTRIBUTIONS    TO   MINSTRELSY.         479 

not  to  be  the  most  distant  proof.    On  the  con-  |  from  a  lady  residing  not  far  from  Ercildoune, 

trary,  all    ancient    -authors,  who  quote    the  ;  corrected  and  enlarged  by  one  in  Mrs.  Brown's 

Rhymer's  prophecies,  uniformly  suppose  them 

MSS.    The  former  copy,  however,  as  might 

to  have  been  emitted  by  himself.    Thus,  in 

be  expected,  is  fiir  more  minute  as  to  local 

Winton's  Chronicle  — 

description.    To  this  old  tale  the  Editor  has 

ventured  to  add  a  Second  Part,  consisting  of  a 

"Of  this  fvcht  quilum  spak  Thomas 

kind  of  cento,  from   the   printed   prophecies 

Of  Erxyldiiune,  that  sayd  in  derne. 

vulgarly  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer  ;  and  a  Third 

There  suld  meit  stalwartly,  starke  and 

Part,  entirely  modern,  founded  upon  the  tradi- 

sterne. 

tion  of  his  having  returned  with  the  hart  and 

He  sayd  it  in  his  prophecy  ; 
But  how  he  wist  it  viasftrly." 

hind,  to  the   Land   of  Faery.    To  make  his 
peace  with  the  more  severe  antiquaries,  the 

Book  viii.  chap.  32. 

Editor  has  prefixed  to  the  Second  Part  some 

remarks  on  Learmout's  prophecies. 

There  could  have  been  no  ferly  (marvel)  in 

Winton's  eyes  at  least,  how  Thomas  came  by 

.~~vy*yv~wwwww~v~- 

his  knowledge  of  future  events,  had  he  ever 

heard   of   the    inspired   nun   of   Haddington, 
which,  it  cannot  be  doubted,  would  have  been 

STijomas  tfce  HJ)»mcr. 

a  solution  of  the  mystery,  much  to  the  taste 



oi  the  Prior  of  Lochleven. 

PART  FIRST. 

Whatever   doubts,    however,    the    learned 



might  have,  as  to  the  source  of  the  Rhymer's 

ASCIENT. 

prophetic  skill,  the  vulgar  had  no  hesitation  to 

ascribe  the  whole  to  the  intercourse  between 

True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank; 

the  bard  and  the  Queen  of  Faery.  The  popular 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  ee  ; 

tale  bears,  that  Thomas  was  carried  olf,  at  an 

And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright. 

early  age,  to  the  Fairy  Land,  where  he  ac- 

Come riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

quired  all  the  knowledge,  which  made  him 

afterwards  so  famous.     After  seven  years'  re- 
sidence, he  was  permitted  to  return  to  the 

Her  shirt  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk. 
Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 

earth,  to  enlighten  and  astonish  his  country- 
men by  his  prophetic  powers  :  still,  however, 

At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane, 
Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

remaining  bound  to  return  to  his  royal  mis- 
tress, when  she  should  intimate  her  pleasure. 
Accordingly,  while  Thomas  was  making  merry 
with  his  friends  in  the  Tower  of  Ercildoune,  a 
person  came  running  in,  and  told,  with  marks 

True  Thomas,  he  pull'd  affhis  cap. 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee, 
"All  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Heaven  ! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see."— 

of  fear  and  astonishment,  that  a  hart  and  hind 

'"  0  no,  O  no,  Thomas,"  she  said, 

had  left  the  neighbouring  forest,  and  were, 
composedly  and  slowly,  parading  the  street  of 
the  village.!    The  prophet  instantly  arose,  left 

"  That  name  does  not  belang  to  me  ; 
I  am  but  the  Queen  of  fair  Elfiand, 
That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

his   habitation,  and   followed   the  wonderful 

animals  to  the  forest,  whence  he  was  never 

"  Harp  and  carp,  Thomas."  she  said  ; 

seen  to  return.     According  to  the  popular  be- 

" Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me  ; 

lief,  he  still  "drees  his  weird"  in  Fairy  Land, 

And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips, 

and  is  one  day  expected  to  revisit  earth.     In 

Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be."  — 

the  meanwhile,  his   memory  is  held  in  the 

.  '       •  *.  :                -  - 

most  profound   respect.      The   Eildon  Tree, 

"  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe. 

from  beneath  the  shadeof  which  he  delivered 

That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me."  —  * 

his  prophecies,  now  no  longer  exists;  but  the 

Syne  he  has  kiss'd  her  rosy  lips. 

spot  is  marked  by  a  large  stone,  called  Eildon 

All  underneath  the  Eildon  Tree. 

Tree  Stone.    A  neighbouring  rivulet  takes  the 
name  of  the  Bogle  Burn  (Goblin  Brook)  from 

"  Now,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me,"  she  said  ; 

the    Khymer's    supernatural   visitants.     The 

"  True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me  ; 

veneration   paid   to   his  dwelling-place  even 
attached  itself  in  some  degree  to  a  person, 

And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years, 
Thro'  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be." 

who,  within  Ihe  memory  of  man.  chose  to  set 
up  his  residence  in  the  ruins  of  Learmont's 
tower.    The,name  of  this  man  was  Murray,  a 
kind  of  herbalist;  who,  by  dint  of  some  know- 
ledge in  simples,  the  possession  of  a  musical 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed  ; 
She's  ta'en  true  Thomas  up  behind  : 
And  aye.  whene'er  her  bridle  rung, 
The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind. 

!  clock,  an   electrical   machine,  and   a  stuffed 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on  ; 

alligator,  added  to  a  supposed  communication 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind; 

with   Thomas  the   Rhymer,   lived   for   many 

Until  they  reach'd  a  desert  wide, 

years  in  very  good  credit  as  a  wizard. 

And  living  land  was  left  behind. 

It  seemed   to  the   Editor  unpardonable  to 

dismiss  a  person  so  important  in  Border  tradi- 
tion as  the  Rhymer,  without  some  farther  no- 

" Light  down,  tight  down,  now,  true  Thomas, 
And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee  ; 

tice  than  a  simple  commentary  upon  the  fol- 

Abide and  rest  a  little  space, 

lowing  ballad.   It  is  given  from  a  copy,  obtained 

And  I  will  show  you  ferlies  three. 

1  There  is  a  singular  resemblance  betwixt  this  tradition. 

2  That  wciri,  Jcc.—  Tl.al  dentiuv  sball   never   frighten 

and  an  incident  occurring  in  Ihe  life  of  Merlin  Caledonios, 

me. 

which  the  reader  will  find  a  few  page*  onwards. 

480 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"O  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  mail, 

So  thick  beset,  wilh  thorns  and  briers  ? 
That  is  I  he  path  of  righteousness. 
Though  aiier  it  hut  lew  enquires. 

"  And  see  ye  not  that  braid  braiJ  road, 

'1  hat  lies  across  that  lily  leven  ? 
That  is  the  path  of  wickedness. 
Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 

"  And  see  not  ye  that  bonny  road. 

That  winds  about  the  ferine  brae? 
That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elflanil, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

"  But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue. 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see ; 
For.  if  ye  S|>eak  word  in  Elflyn  land. 
Ye'll  ne'er  get  back  to  your  am  countrie." 

O  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on. 

And  they  waded  through  rivers  aboon  the 

knee, 
Anil  they  saw  neither  son  nor  moon, 

But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae 

stern  light, 
And  they  waded  through  red  blude  to  the 

knee; 

For  a'  the  hlude  that's  shed  on  earth 
Kins  through  the  springs  o'  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green, 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree — ' 
"  Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas ; 
It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never 


"  My  toneue  is  mine  ain."  true  Thomas  said ; 
"  A  gudely  girt  ye  wad  gie  to  me  ! 
I  neither  ilought  to  buy  nor  sell, 
At  fair  or  tryst  where  1  may  be. 

"  I  dought  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 

Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye.'1— 
"Now  hold  thy  peace  !"  the  lady  said, 
"  For  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be." — 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 
And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  velvet  green : 

And  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past. 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen.2 


STijomas  tj)c 


PART  SECOND. 


ALTERED  FROM  ANCIEXT  PROPHECIES. 

The  prophecies,  ascribed  to  Thomas  of  Er- 
cildoune.  have  been  the  principal  means  of 
securing  to  him  remembrance  "  amongst  the 
sons  of  his  people."  The  author  of  Sir  Tris- 
trcm  would  long  ago  have  joined,  in  the  vale 
of  oblivion,  "Clerk  of  Tranent,  who  wrote  the 


which  causes  Virsil  to  be  regarded  as  a  maKi- 
ciau  by  the  Lazaroni  of  Naples.  had  u 
ed  the  bard  of  Ernildoune  to  the  prophetic 
character.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  himself  affect- 
ed it  during  his  life.  We  Know.  at  iensT.  fur 
certain,  that  a  belief  in  his  supernatural  know- 
ledge was  current  soon  after  his  death.  His 
prophecies  are  alluded  to  by  Barhour,  by  Win- 
ton,  and  by  Henry  the.  Minstrel,  or  Blmii  Harry, 
as  he  is  usually  termed.  None  of  these  au- 
thors, however,  give  the  words  of  any  of  Hie 
Rhymer's  vaticinations,  but  merely  narrate, 
historically,  his  having  predicted  the  events 
of  which  they  speak.  The  earliest  of  the 
prophecies  ascribed  to  him.  which  is  now  ex- 
tant., is  quoted  by  Mr.  Piukerton  from  ;i  Ms 
It  is  supposed  to  be  a  response  from  Thomas 
of  Ercildomie  to  a  question  from  the  heroic. 
Countess  of  March,  renowned  lor  the  defence 
of  the  Castle  of  Dunhar  aeamst  the  English, 
and  termed,  in  the  familiar  dialect  of  her 
time,  Black  Agnes  of  Dunbar.  This  prophecy 
is  remarkable,  in  so  far  as  it  bears  very  little 
resemblance  to  any  verses  published  in  the 
printed  copy  of  the  Rhymer's  supposed  pro- 
phecies. The  verses  are  as  follows : — 

"  La  Countfsse  ite  Dunkar  dfmonde  a  Thrnnas 
de  Essedoune  quant  la  uuerre  d '  Esroce  pren- 
dreil  Jyn.  E  yl  Fa  repouttdy  el  dyl. 

When  man  is  mad  a  kyng  of  a  capped  man : 
When  man  is  levere  other  mones  thyng  than 

his  owen ; 

Wlien  londe  thouvs  forest,  ant  forest  is  felde  : 
When  hares  kendles  o'  the  her'stane  ; 
When  Wyt  and  Wille  werres  togedere; 
When  mon  makes  stables  of  kyrkes,  and  steles 

castels  with  stye ; 

When  liokesboroughe  nys  no  burgh  ant  mar- 
ket is  at  Forwyleye ; 

When  Bambourne  is  donged  with  deile  men; 
When  men  ledes  men  hi  ropes  to  buyen  and 

to  sellen ; 
When  a  quarter  of  whaty  whete  is  chaunged 

for  a  colt  of  ten  markes ; 
When  prude  (pride)  pnkes  and  pees  is  leyd  in 

prisoun ; 
When  a  Scot  no  me  hym  hude  ase  hare  in 

forme    that    the    English    lie  shall   hym 

fynde ; 

When  rycht  ant  wronge  astente  the  togedere ; 
When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies; 
When  Scotles  flen  so  faste,  that,  for  faute  of 

shep.  hy  drowneth  hemselve ; 
Whenshal  this  be? 
Nuiither  in  thine  tyrue  ne  in  mine; 
Ah  (-.mien  ant  gone 
Withmne  twenty  winter  ant  one." 

Pinkerloris  Poems,  from  Mailland's  MSS. 
quoting  from  Harl.  Lib.  2253,  F.  127. 

As  I  have  never  seen  the  MS.  from  which 
Mr.  Pinkerton  makes  this  extract,  and  as  the 
date  of  it  is  fixed  by  him  (certainly  one  of  the 
nost  able  antiquaries  of  our  age)  to  the  reign 
>f  Edward  1.  or  II..  it  is  with  great  diffidence 
that  I  hazard  a  contrary  opinion  There  can. 


adventure  of  Schtr  Gaiaain."  if,  by  good  hap,  |  however,  I  believe,  be  little,  doubt,  that  these 
the  same  current  of  ideas  respecting  antiquity,   prophetic  verses  are  a  forgery,  and  not  the 


Of,  that  the  apple  »aa  the  produ.  e  of  the  fatal  Tree  of 
Knowledge,  and  that  the  pardeu  was  the  terrestrial  para- 
dise. The  repDpnaott  of  Thomas  to  be  debarred  the  use 


en  he  might  find  it  Co 
2  See  Appendix,  No 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


481 


production  of  onr  Thomas  the  Rhymer.  But 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  them  of  a  later  date 
than  the  reign  of  h'dward  I.  or  II. 

The  gallant  defence  of  the  castle  of  Dunbar, 
hy  Black  Agnes,  took  place  in  the  year  1337. 
The  Kliyiner  died  previous  to  the  year  1299 
(see  the'charter.  hy  his  son,  in  the  Appendix.) 
It  seems,  therefore,  very  improbable,  that  the 
rnuntess  of  Dunbar  could  ever  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  consulting  Thomas  the  Rhymer, 
since  that  would  infer  that  she  was  married, 
or  at  least  engaeed  in  staie  matters,  previous 
to  1299 :  whereas  she  is  described  as  a  young, 
or  a  middle-aged  woman,  at  the  period  of  her 
being  besieged  in  the  fortress,  which  she  so 
w.e II  defended  If  the  editor  might  indulge  a 
conjecture,  he  would  suppose,  that  the  pro- 
phecy was  contrived  for  the  encouragement 
of  the  English  invaders,  during  the  Scottish 
wars  ;  and  that  the  names  of  the  Countess  of 
Dunbar.  and  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  were 
used  for  the  greater  credit  of  the  forgery. 
According  to  this  hypothesis,  it  seems  likely 
to  have  been  composed  after  the  siege  of 
Dunbar.  which  had  made  the  name  of  the 
Countess  well  known,  and  consequently  in 
the  reign  of  Edward  III.  The  whole  tendency 
of  the  prophecy  is  to  aver,  that  there  shall  be 
no  end  of  the  Scottish  war  (concerning  which 
the  question  was  proposed.)  till  a  final  con- 
quest of  the  country  by  England,  attended  by 
all  the  usual  severities  of  war.  •'  When  the 
cultivated  country  shall  become  forest,"  says 
the  prophecy  ; — "  when  the  wild  animals  shall 
inhabit  the  abode  of  men: — when  Scols  shall 
not  be  able  to  escape  the  Enalish,  should  they 
crouch  as  hares  in  their  form" — all  these  de- 
nunciaiions  seem  to  refer  to  the  time  of  td- 
ward  III.,  upon  whose  victories  the  prediction 
was  probably  founded.  The  mention  of  the 
exchange  betwixt  a  colt  worth  ten  marks,  and 
a  quarter  of  "whaty  [indifferent]  wheat," 
seems  to  allude  to  the  dreadful  famine,  about 
the  year  1388.  The  independence  of  Scotland 
was,  however,  as  impregnable  to  the  mines  of 
superstition,  as  to  the  steel  of  our  more  power- 
ful and  more  wealthy  neighbours.  The  war 
of  Scotland  is.  thank  God.  at  an  end;  but  it 
is  ended  without  her  people  having  either 
crouched  like  hares  in  their  form,  or  being 
drowned  in  their  flight,  '•  for  faute  of  ships." — 
thank  God  for  that  too. — The  prophecy,  quoted 
in  I|IK  preceding  page,  is  probably  of  the  same 
date,  and  intended  for  the  same  purpose. 

A  minute  search  of  the  records  of  the  time 
would,  probably,  throw  additional  light  upon 
the  allusions  contained  in  these  ancient  le- 
gends. Among  various  rhymes  of  prophetic 
import,  which  are  at  this  day  current  amongst 
the  people  of  Teviotdale,  is  one.  supposed  to 
be  pronounced  by  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  pre- 
saging the  destruction  of  his  habitation  and 
family : 

"The  hare  sail  kittle  [litter]  on  my  hearth 
stane, 

And  there  will  never  be  a  Laird  Learmont 

again." 

The  first  of  these  lines  is  obviously  borrowed 
from  that  in  the  MS.  of  the  Harl.  Library  — 
"  When  hares  kendies  o'  the  her'stane"— an 
emphatic  image  of  desolation.  It  is  also  inac- 
curately quoted  in  the  prophecy  of  Waldhave. 
published  by  Andro  Hart,  1613 : 

41  ~~~ 


"This  is  a  true  talking  that  Thomas  of  tells. 
The  hare  shall  hirple  on  the  hard  [hearth] 
stane." 

Spottiswoode,  an  honest,  but  credulous  his- 
torian, seems  to  have  been  a  firm  believer  in 
the  authenticity  of  the  prophetic  wares,  vended 
in  the  name  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune.  "  The 
prophecies,  yet  extant  in  Scottish  rhymes, 
whereupon  he  was  commonly  called  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  may  justly  be  admired ;  having 
foretold,  so  many  ages  before,  the  union  of 
England  and  Scotland  in  the  ninth  degree  of 
the  Bruce's  blood,  with  the  succession  of 
Bruce  himself  to  the  crown,  being  yet  a  child, 
and  other  divers  particulars,  which  the  event 
hath  ratified  and  made  good.  Boethius,  in  his 
story,  relateth  his  prediction  of  King  Alexan- 
der's death,  and  that  he  did  foretel  the  same 
to  the  Earl  of  March,  the  day  before  it  fell 
out ;  saying,  '  That  before  the  next  day  at 
noon,  such  a  tempest  should  blow,  as  Scotland 
had  not  felt  for  many  years  before.'  The  next 
morning,  the  day  be'ing  clear,  and  no  change 
appearing  in  the  air,  the  nobleman  did  chal- 
lenge Thomas  of  his  saying,  calling  him  an 
impostor.  He  replied,  that  noon  was  not  yet 
passed.  About  which  time  a  post  came  to 
advertise  the  earl  of  the  king  his  sudden 
death.  '  Then.'  said  Thomas. '  this  is  the  tem- 
pest I  foretold  ;  and  so  it  shall  prove  to  Scot- 
land.' Whence,  or  how,  he  had  this  know- 
ledge, can  hardly  be  affirmed ;  but  sure  it  is, 
that  he  did  divine  and  answer  truly  of  many 
things  to  come.''—  Spottiswoode,  p.  47.  Besides 
that  notable  voucher,  Master  Hector  Boece, 
the  good  archbishop  might,  had  he  been  so 
minded,  have  referred  to  Fordun  for  the  pro- 
phecy of  King  Alexander's  death.  That  his- 
torian calls  our  bard  "ruralis  tile  votes." — 
Fordun.  lib.  x.  cap.  40. 

What  Spottiswoode  calls  "the  prophecies 
extant  in  Scottish  rhyme,"  are  the  metrical 
productions  ascribed  to  the  seer  of  Ercildoune, 
which,  with  many  other  compositions  of  the 
same  nature,  bearing  the  names  of  Bede, 
Merlin,  Gildas,  and  other  approved  soothsayers, 
are  contained  in  one  small  volume,  published 
by  Andro  Hart,  at  Edinburgh.  1615.  Nisbet 
the  herald  (who  claims  the  prophet  of  Ercil- 
doune as  a  brother-professor  of  his  art.  found- 
ing upon  the  various  allegorical  and  emblema- 
tical allusions  to  heraldry)  intimates  the  exist- 
ence of  some  earlier  copy  of  his  prophecies 
than  that  of  Andro  Hart,  which,  however,  he 
does  not  pretend  to  have  seen.)  The  late  ex- 
cellent Lord  Hailes  made  these  compositions 
the  subject  of  a  dissertation,  published  in  his 
Remarks  on  the  History  of  Scotland.  His  atten- 
tion is  chiefly  directed  to  the  celebrated  pro- 
phecy of  our  hard,  mentioned  hy  Bishop  Spot- 
tiswoode, bearing  that  the  crowns  of  England 
and  Scotland  should  be  united  in  the  person 
of  a  King,  son  of  a  French  Queen,  and  related 
to  the  Bruce  in  the  ninth  degree.  Lord  Hailes 
plainly  proves,  that  this  prophecy  is  perverted 
from  its  original  purpose,  in  order  to  apply  it 
to  the  succession  of  James  VI.  The  ground- 
work of  the  forgery  is  to  be  found  in  the  pro- 
phecies of  Berlington.  contained  in  the  same 
collection,  and  runs  thus: 


Appendix,  Note  C. 


482 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"Of  Bruce's  left  side  shall  spring  out  a  leafe, 
As  neere  as  the  ninth  desree : 
And  shall  he  deemed  of  faire  Scotland, 
In  France  farre  beyond  the  sea, 
And  then  shall  conie  again  ryilinir, 
With  eyes  that  many  men  may  see. 
At  AbeVladie  he  shall  light. 
With  hempen  helteres  and  horse  of  tre. 

However  it  happen  for  to  fall. 

The  Ivon  shall  he  lord  of  all ; 

The  French  Quen  shall  bearre  the  sonne, 

Shall  rule  all  Britainne  to  the  sea: 

Ane  from  the  Bruce 's  blood  shal  come  also, 

As  neer  as  the  ninth  degree. 

Yet  sha]  there  come  a  keene  knight  over 

the  salt  sea, 
A  keene  man  of  courage  and  bold  man  of 

armes; 
A  duke's  son  dowbled  [i.  e.  dubbed],  a  bom 

man  in  France, 
That  shall  our  mirths  augment,  and  mend 

all  our  harmes ; 
After  the  dale  of  our  Lord  1513,  and  thrice 

three  thereafter ; 
Which  shall  brooke  all  the  broad  isle  to 

himself. 
Between  thirteen  and  thrice  three  the  threip 

shall  be  ended  : 
The  Saxons  shall  never  recover  after." 

There  cannot  be  any  doubt  that  this  pro- 
phecy was  intended  to  excite  the  confidence 
of  the  Scottish  nation  in  the  Duke  of  Albany, 
regent  of  Scotland,  who  arrived  from  France 
in  1515,  two  years  after  the  death  of  James  IV. 
in  the  fatal  field  of  Flodden.  The  Regent  was 
descended  of  Bruce  by  the  left,  i.  t.  by  the 
female  side,  within  the  ninth  degree.  His 
mother  was  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Boulogne, 
his  father  banished  from  his  country — "fleemil 
of  fair  Scotland."  His  arrival  must  necessarily 
be  by  sea,  and  his  landing  was  expected  at 
Aberlady.  in  the  Frith  of  "Forth.  He  was  a 
duke's  son,  dubbed  knight;  and  nine  years, 
from  1513.  are  allowed  him,  by  the  pretended 
prophet,  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  salva- 
tion of  his  country,  and  the  exaltation  of 
Scotland  over  her  sister  and  rival.  All  this 
was  a  pious  fraud,  to  excite  the  confidence 
and  spirit  of  the  country. 

The  prophecy,  put  in  the  name  of  our  Tho- 
mas the  Rhymer,  as  it  stands  in  Hart's  book, 
refers  to  a  later  period.  The  narrator  meets 
the  Rhymer  upon  a  land  beside  a  lee,  who 
shows  him  many  emblematical  visions,  de- 
scribed in  no  mean  strain  of  poetry.  They 
chiefly  relate  to  the  fields  of  Flodden  and 
Pinkie,  to  the  national  distress  which  followed 
these  defeats,  and  to  future  halcyon  days, 
which  are  promised  to  Scotland.  One  quota- 
tion or  two  will  be  sufficient  to  establish  this 
fully  :— 

"  Our  Scottish  King  sal  come  ful  keene, 

The  red  lyon  beareth  he : 

A  feddered  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 

Shall  make  him  winke  and  warre  to  see. 

Out  of  the  field  he  shall  be  led, 

When  he  is  bludie  and  woe  for  blood : 

Yet  to  his  men  shall  he  say. 
'  For  God's  love  turn  you  againe. 

And  give  yon  sut  herne  folk  a  frey ! 


Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine? 
My  date  is  not  to  die  this  day.' " 

Who  can  doubt,  for  a  moment,  that  this  re- 
fers to  the  battle  of  Flodden.  and  to  the  popu- 
lar reports  concerning  the  doubtful  fate  of 
James  IV.  ?  Allusion  is  immediately  after- 
wards made  to  the  death  of  George  Douglas, 
heir  apparent  of  Angus,  who  fought  and  fell 
with  his  sovereign : — 

"The  sternes  three  that  day  shall  die. 
That  bears  the  harte  in  silver  sheen." 

The  well-known  arms  of  the  Douglas  family 
are  the  heart  and  three  stars.  In  another 
place,  the  battle  of  Pinkie  is  expressly  men- 
tioned by  name : — 

"At  Pinken  Cinch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentle  blood  that  day; 
There  shall  the  bear  lose  the  guilt, 
And  the  eagill  bear  it  away." 

To  the  end  of  all  this  allegorical  and  mysti- 
cal rhapsody,  is  interpolated,  in  the  later  edi- 
tion hy  Andro  Hart,  a  new  edition  of  Berling- 
ton's  verses.  l>efore  quoted,  altered  and  manu- 
factured, so  as  to  bear  reference  to  the  acces- 
sion of  James  VI.,  which  had  just  then  taken 
place.  The  insertion  is  made  with  a  peculiar 
degree  of  awkwardness,  Ijetwixt  a  question, 
put  by  the  narrator,  concerning  the  name  and 
abode  of  the  person  who  showed  him  these 
strange  matters,  and  the  answer  of  the  pro- 
phet to  that  question  : — 

"  Then  to  the  Beirne  could  I  say, 
Where  dwells  thou,  or  in  what  countrie  ? 
[Or  who  shall  rule  the  isle  of  Bntane, 
From  the  north  to  the  south  sey  ? 
A  French  queene  shall  bear  the  soune, 
Shall  rule  all  Bntaine  to  the  sea : 
Which  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 
As  neere  as  the  nint  degree  : 
I  framed  fast  what  was  his  name. 
Where  that  he  came,  from  what  country.] 
In  Erslingtoun  1  dwell  at  hame. 
Thomas  Rymour  men  cals  me." 

There  is  surely  no  one,  who  will  not  con- 
clude, with  Lord  Hailes.  that  the  eight  lines, 
enclosed  in  brackets,  are  a  clumsy  interpola- 
tion, borrowed  from  Berlington.  with  such 
alterations  as  might  render  the  supposed  pro- 
phecy applicable  to  the  union  of  the  crowns. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  it  may  be  pro- 
per briefly  to  notice  the  scope  of  some  of  the 
other  predictions,  in  Hart's  Collection.  As 
the  prophecy  of  Berlington  was  intended  to 
raise  the  spirits  of  the  nation,  during  the  re- 
gency of  Albany,  so  those  of  Sybilla  and 
Eltraine  refer  to  that  of  the  Earl  of  Arran, 
afterwards  Duke  of  Chatelherault.  during  the 
minority  of  Mary,  a  period  of  similar  cala- 
mity. This  is  obvious  from  the  following 
verses : — 

"  Take  a  thousand  in  calculation. 
And  the  longest  of  the  lyon, 
Four  crescents  under  one  c.rowne, 
With  Saint  Andrew's  croce  thrise. 
Then  threescore  and  thrise  three : 
Take  tent  to  Merhng  true ; 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


483 


Then  shall  the  wars  ended  be, 
And  never  a»am  use. 
In  that  yere  tliere  shall  a  kinp, 
A  duke,  and  no  crown'd  king : 
Becaus  the  prince  shall  be  yong, 
And  tender  of  yeares." 

The  date,  above  hinted  at.  seems  to  be  1549, 
when  the  Scottish  Regent,  by  means  of  some 
succours  derived  from  France,  was  endea- 
vouring to  repair  the  consequences  of  the  fatal 
battle  of  Pinkie.  Allusion  is  made  to  the  sup- 
ply given  to  the  "  Moldwarte  [England]  by  the 
fained  hart."  (the  Earl  of  Angus  )  The  Kegent 
is  described  by  his  bearing  the  antelope  ;  large 
supplies  are  promised  from  France,  and  com- 
plete conquest  predicted  to  Scotland  and  her 
allies.  Thus  was  the  same  hackneyed  strata- 
gem repeated,  whenever  the  interest  of  the 
rulers  appeared  to  stand  in  need  of  it.  The 
Regent  was  not.  indeed,  till  after  this  period, 
created  Duke  of  Chatelherault ;  but  that  ho- 
nour was  the  object  of  his  hopes  and  expecta- 
tions. 

The  name  of  our  renowned  soothsayer  is 
liberally  used  as  an  authority,  throughout  all 
the  prophecies  published  by  Andro  Hart.  Be- 
sides those  expressly  put  in  his  name.  Gildas, 
another  assumed  personage,  is  supposed  to 
derive  his  knowledge  from  him ;  for  he  con- 
cludes thus : — 

"  True  Thomas  me  told  in  a  troublesome  time, 
In  a  harvest  morn  at  Kldoun  hills." 

The  Prophecy  of  Gildas, 

In  the  prophecy  of  Berlington,  already 
quoted,  we  are  told, 

"  Marvellous  Merlin,  that  many  men  of  tells, 
And  Thomas's  sayings  comes  all  at  once." 

While  I  am  upon  the  subject  of  these  pro- 
phecies, may  I  be  permitted  to  call  the  atten- 
tion of  antiquaries  to  Merdwyun  Wyllt,  or 
Merlin  the  Wild,  in  whose  name,  and  by  no 
means  in  that  of  Ambrose  Merlin,  the  friend 
of  Arthur,  the  Scottish  prophecies  are  issued  ? 
That  this  personage  resided  at  Drummelziar, 
and  roamed,  like  a  second  Nebuchadnezzar, 
the  woixls  of  Tweeddale,  in  remorse  for  the 
death  of  his  nephew,  we  learn  from  Fordun. 
In  the  Scotichronicon,  lib.  3.  cap.  31.  is  an  ac- 
count of  an  interview  betwixt  St.  Kentisern 
and  Merlin,  then  in  this  distracted  and  mise- 
rable state.  He  is  said  to  have  been  called 
Latlokrn,  from  his  mode  of  life.  On  being 
commanded  by  the  saint  to  give  an  account 
of  himself,  he  says,  that  the  penance  which  he 
performs  was  imposed  on  him  by  a  voice  from 
heaven,  during  a  bloody  contest  betwixt  Liilel 
and  Carwanolow,  of  which  battle  he  had  been 
the  cause.  According  to  his  own  prediction, 
he  perished  at  once  by  wood,  earth, and  water ; 
for,  being  pursued  with  stones  by  the  rustics, 
he  fell  from  a  rock  into  the  river  Tweed,  and 
was  transfixed  by  a  sharp  stake,  fixed  there 
for  the  purpose  of  extending  a  fishing-net  :— 

"  Sude  perfosstis,  lapide  perctums,  et  unda, 
hiec  Iria  Merliman  fertur  iiure  necem. 
Sicque  nut,  mersusque  jml  tiynoqut  prehen- 

sus. 
Et  fecit  vatem  per  terna  pericula  verum." 


But,  in  a  metrical  history  of  Merlin  of  Cale- 
donia, compiled  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouih. 
from  the  traditions  of  the  Welsh  hards,  this 
mode  of  death  is  attributed  to  a  page,  whom 
Merlin's  sister,  desirous  to  convict  the  prophet 
of  falsehood,  because  he  had  betrayed  her 
mtriaues,  introduced  to  him.  under  three  va- 
rious disguises,  enquiring  each  time  in  what 
manner  the  person  should  die.  To  the  first 
demand  Merlin  answered,  the  party  should 
perish  by  a  fall  from  a  rock;  to  the  secoi.d, 
that  he  should  die  by  a  tree  :  and  to  the  third, 
that  he  should  be  drowned.  The  youth  pe- 
rished, while  hunting,  in  the  mode  imputed  by 
Fordun  to  Merlin  himself. 

Fordun.  contrary  to  the  French  authorities, 
conf»unds  this  person  with  the  Merlin  of  Ar- 
thur; but  concludes  by  informing  us,  that 
many  believed  him  to  he  a  different  person. 
The  grave  of  Merlin  is  pointed  out  at  Drum- 
melziar. in  Tweeddale,  beneath  an  aged  thorn- 
tree.  On  the  east  side  of  the  churchyard,  the 
brook,  called  Pansayl,  falls  into  the'Tweed: 
and  the  following  prophecy  is  said  to  have 
been  current  concerning  their  union : — 

"  When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  join  at  Merlin's 

grave, 

Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch 
have." 

On  the  day  of  the  coronation  of  James  VI. 
the  Tweed  accordingly  overflowed,  and  joined 
the  Pausayl  at  the  prophet's  grave. — Penny- 
cuick's  Histtiry  of  Twr.edU.ale,  p.  26.  These 
circumstances  would  seem  to  infer  a  commu- 
nication betwixt  the  south-west  of  Scotland 
and  Wales,  of  a  nature  peculiarly  intimate ; 
for  I  presume  that  Merlin  would  retain  sense 
enough  to  choose  for  the  scene  of  his  wander- 
ings, a  country  having  a  language  and  man- 
ners similar  to  his  own. 

Be  this  as  it  may.  the  memory  of  Merlin 
Sylvester,  or  the  Wild,  was  fresh  among  the 
Scots  during  the  reign  of  James  V.  Walu- 
have,1  under  whose  name  a  set  of  prophecies 
was  published,  describes  himself  as  lying  upon 
Lomond  Law ;  he  hears  a  voice,  which  bids 
him  stand  to  his  defence;  he  looks  around, 
and  beholds  a  flock  of  hares  and  foxes  "  pur- 
sued over  the  mountain  by  a  savage  figure,  to 
whom  he  can  hardly  give  the  name  of  man. 
At  the  sight  of  Waldhave.  the  apparition  leaves 
the  objects  of  his  pursuit,  and  assaults  him 
with  a  club.  Waldhave  defends  himself  with 
his  sword,  throws  the  savage  to  the  earth,  and 
refuses  to  let  him  arise  till  he  swear,  by  the 
law  and  lead  lie  lives  upon,  "to  do  him  no 
harm."  This  done,  he  permits  him  to  arise, 
and  marvels  at  his  strange  appearance  : — 

"He  was  formed  like  a  freike  [man]  all  his 

four  quarters; 
And  then  uis  chin  and  his  fac?  haired  to 

thick, 
With  haire  growing  so  grime,  fearful  to 

gee." 

He  answers  briefly  to  Waldhave's  enquiry 
concerning  his  name  and  nature,  that  he 


484 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"drees  his  weird."  i.  e.  dues  penamte  in  that 
wood  ;  and.  having  hm'ed  that  quesi  inns  as  to 
Ins  own  Male  are  offensive,  he  pours  forth  an 
obscure  rhapsody  concerning  futurity,  and 
concludes. — 

"Go  musing  upon  Merlin  if  thon  wilt : 
For  1  mean  no  more,  man.  at  this  time." 

This  is  exactly  similar  to  the  meeting  be- 
twixt Merlin  and  Kentigprn  in  Kordun.  These 
prophecies  of  Merlin  seem  to  have  been  m 
request  in  the  minority  of  James  V.;  for. 
among  the  amusements  with  which  Sir  David 
Lindsay  diverted  that  prince  during  his  in- 
fancy, are, 

"  The  prophecies  of  Rymer,  Bede,  and  Merlin." 
Sir  David  Lindsay's  Epistle  to  the  King. 

And  we  find,  in  Waldhave  at  least  one  allu- 
sion to  the  very  ancient  prophecy,  addressed 
to  the  Countess  of  Dunbar : — 

"This  is  a  true  token  that  Thomas  of  tells. 
When  a  ladde  with  a  ladye  shall  go  over  the 
fields." 

The  original  stands  thus  :— 

"  When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies." 

Another  prophecy  of  Merlin  seems  to  have 
been  current  about  the  time  of  the  Resent 
Morton's  execution.  When  that  nobleman  was 
commuted  to  the  charge  of  bis  accuser.  Cap- 
tain James  Stewart,  newly  created  Earl  of 
Arran.  lo  be  conducted  to  his  trial  at  Edin- 
burgh. Spottiswoode  says,  that  he  asked. 
'••Who  was  Earl  of  Arran?'  and  being  an- 
swered that  Captain  James  was  the  man.  after 
a  short  pause,  he  said, '  And  is  it  su?  I  know 
then  what  [  may  look  for?'  meaning,  as  was 
thought,  that  the  old  prophecy  of  the  '  Palling 
of  the  heart '  by  the  mouth  of  Arraii,'  should 
then  be  fulfilled.  Whether  this  was  his  mind 
or  not,  it  is  not  known  ;  but  some  spared  not, 
at  the  lime  when  the  Hamilton*  were  banish- 
ed, in  which  business  he  was  held  too  earnest, 
to  say.  that  he  stood  in  fear  of  that,  prediction, 
and  went  that  course  only  to  disappoint  it. 
But  if  so  it  was.  he  did  find  himself  now  de- 
luded ;  for  he  fell  by  the  mouth  of  another 
Arran  than  he  imagined." — Spottiswoode,  313. 
The  fatal  words  alluded  to  seem  to  be  these 
in  the  prophecy  of  Merlin : — 

"  In  the  mouth  of  Arrane  a  selcouth  shall  fall. 
Two  bloodie  hearts  shall  be  taken  with  a 

false  traine. 
And  derfly  dung  down  without  any  dome." 

To  return  from  these  desultory  remarks, 
into  which  I  have  been  led  by  the  celebrated 
name  of  Merlin,  the  style  of  all  these  prophe- 
cies, published  by  Hart,  is  very  much  the 
same.  The  measure  is  alliterative,  and  some- 
what similar  to  that  of  Pierce  Plouman's  Vi- 
fima ;  a  circumstance  which  might  entitle  us 
to  ascribe  to  some  of  them  an  earlier  date 
than  the  reign  of  James  V..  did  we  not  know 
that  Sir  GaUoran  of  Galloway  and  Gaicame 


1  Thi  heart  WM  the  cognizance  of  Mo 


and  Golngras.  two  romances  rendered  almost 
unintelligible  by  the  extremity  of  affected  alli- 
teration, are  perhaps  nut  prior  lo  that  period 
Indeed,  although  we  may  allow  that,  during 
much  earlier  times,  prophecies,  under  the 
names  of  those  celebrated  soothsayers,  have 
been  current  in  Scotland,  yet  those  published 
by  Hart  have  obviously  been  so  often  vamped 
and  re-vamped,  to  serve  the  political  purposes 
of  different  periods,  that  it  may  be  shrewdly 
suspected,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir  John 
Cutlers  transmigrated  stockings,  very  little 
of  the  original  materials  now  remains.  I  can- 
not refrain  from  indulging  my  readers  wilh 
the  publisher's  title  to  the  last" prophecy,  as  it 
contains  certain  curious  information  concern- 
ing the  Queen  of  Sheba.  who  is  identified  with 
the  Cunixan  Sibyl:  "Here  followelh  a  pro- 
phecie,  pronounced  by  a  noble  queene  and 
matron,  called  Syb.lla.  Kegina  Austri.  that 
came  to  Solomon  Through  the  wh.'ch  she 
compiled  four  bookes.  at  the  instance  of  the 
said  King  Sol.  and  others  divers:  and  the 
fourth  book  was  directed  to  a  noble  king, 
called  Baldwine,  King  of  the  broad  isle  of 
Britain ;  in  the  which  she  maketh  mention  of 
two  noble  princes  and  em|*rours,  the  which 
is  called  Leones.  How  these  two  shall  sub- 
due and  overcome  all  earthlie  princes  to  their 
diademe  and  crowne.  and  also  be  glorified  and 
crowned  in  the  heaven  among  saints.  The 
first  of  these  two  is  Constantmus  Magnus: 
that  was  Leprosus.  the  son  of  Saint  Helena, 
that  found  the  croce.  The  second  is  the  sixt 
king  of  the  name  of  Steward  of  Scotland,  the 
which  is  our  most  noble  king."  With  such 
editors  and  commentators,  what  wonder  that 
the  text  became  unintelligible,  even  beyond 
the  usual  oracular  obscurity  of  prediction  ? 

If  there  still  remain,  therefore,  among  (hew 
predictions,  any  verses  having  a  claim  to  real 
antiqui'y.  it  seems  now  impossible  to  discover 
them  from  those  which  are  comparatively 
modern.  Nevertheless,  as  there  are  to  be 
found,  in  these  compositions,  some  uncom- 
monly wild  and  masculine  expressions,  the 
Editor  has  l>eeii  induced  to  throw  a  few  pass- 
ages together,  into  the  sort  of  ballad  to  which 
tins  disquisition  is  prefixed.  It  would,  indeed, 

j  have  been  no  difficult  matter  for  him,  by  a 
judicious  selection,  to  have  excited,  in  favour 

I  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  a  share  of  the  ad- 
miration bestowed  by  sundry  wise  persons 

!  upon  Mass  Robert  Fleming.    For  example  : — 

•  But  then  the  lilye  shal  be  loused  when  they 

least  think ; 
Then  clear  king's  blood  shal  quake  for  fear 

of  death  : 
For  churls  shal  chop  off  heads  of  their  chief 

beirns, 
Ajid  carfe  of  the  crowns  that  Christ  hath 

appointed. 

i     Thereafter,  on  every  side,  sorrow  shal  arise ; 

I     The  liarges  of  clear  barons  down  shal  be 

sunken ; 

Seculars  shall  sit  in  spiritual  seats. 
Occupying  offices  anointed  as  they  were." 

|  Taking  the  lily  for  the  emblem  of  France, 
can  there  be  a  more  plain  prophecy  of  the 
murder  of  her  monarch,  the  destruction  of  her 

'  nobility,  and  the  desolation  of  her  Hierarchy  ? 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO   MINSTRELSY. 


485 


But,  without  looking  farther  into  the  signs 
of  the  times,  the  Kill  tor.  though  the  least  of 
all  the  prophets,  cannot  help  thinking,  that 
every  true  Briton  will  approve  of  his  appli- 
cation of  the  last  prophecy  quoted  iu  the 
ballad. 

Hart's  collection  of  prophecies  was  fre- 
quently reprinted  during  the  last  rentnry, 
prohahly  to  favour  ihe  pretensions  of  the  un- 
fortunate family  of  Stuart.  For  the  prophetic 
renown  of  Gildas  and  Bede,  see  Fordun, 
lih.  3. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Thomas's  pre- 
dictions, it  may  be  noticed,  that  sundry  rhymes, 
passing  for  his  prophetic  effusions,  are  still 
current  among  the  vulgar.  Thus,  he  is  said 
to  have  prophesied  of  the  very  ancient  family 
of  Haig  of  Bemerside, 

"  Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside." 

The  grandfather  of  the  present  proprietor 
of  Bemerside  had  twelve  daughters,  before 
his  lady  brought  him  a  male  heir.  The  com- 
mon people  trembled  for  the  credit  of  tlieir 
favourite  soothsayer.  The  late  Mr.  Haig  was 
at  length  born,  and  their  belief  in  the  pro- 
phecy confirmed  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt 

Another  memorable  prophecy  bore,  that  the 
Old  Kirk  at  Kelso,  constructed  out  of  the  ruins 
of  the  Abbey,  should  "  fall  when  at  the  fullest." 
At  a  very  crowded  sermon,  about  thirty  years 
ago,  a  piece  of  lime  fell  from  the  roof  of  the 
church.  The  alarm,  for  the  fulfilment  of  the 
words  of  the  seer,  became  universal;  and 
happy  were  they  who  were  nearest  the  door 
of  the  predestined  edifice.  The  church  was 
in  consequence  deserted,  and  has  never  since 
had  an  opportunity  of  tumbling  upon  a  full 
congregation  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  a  beau- 
tiful specimen  of  Saxo-Gothic  architecture, 
that  the  accomplishment  of  this  prophecy  is 
far  distant. 

Another  prediction,  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer, 
seems  to  have  been  founded  on  that  sort  of 
insight  into  futurity,  possessed  by  most  men 
of  a  sound  and  combining  judgment.  It  runs 
thus:— 

"  At  Eldon  Tree  if  you  shall  be, 
A  brigg  ower  Tweed  you  there  may  see." 

The  spot  in  question  commands  an  extensive 
prospect  of  the  course  of  the  river;  and  it  was 
easy  to  foresee,  that  when  the  country  should 
become  in  the  least  degree  improved,  a  bridge 
would  be  somewhere  thrown  over  the  stream. 
In  fact,  you  now  see  no  less  than  three  bridges 
from  that  elevated  situation. 

Corspatrick.  (Comes  Patrick)  Earl  of  March, 
but  more  commonly  taking  his  title  from  his 
castle  of  Dunbar,  acted  a  noted  part  during 
the  wars  of  Edward  I.  in  Scotland.  As  Tho- 
mas of  Krcildoune  is  said  to  have  delivered  lo 
him  his  famous  prophecy  of  King  Alexander's 
death,  the  Editor  has  chosen  to  introduce 
him  into  the  following  ballad.  All  the  pro- 
phetic verses  are  selected  from  Hart's  publi- 
cation. 


CTtjomas  tljc 


PART  SECOND. 

When  seven  years  were  come  and  gane. 

The  sun  blink'd  fair  on  pool  and  stream ; 
And  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  hank, 

Like  one  awaken'd  from  a  dream. 

He  heard  the  trampling  of  a  steed, 
He  saw  the  flash  of  armour  flee. 

And  he  beheld  a  gallant  knight 
Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon-tree. 

He  was  a  stalwart  knight,  and  strong; 

Of  giant  make  he  'pear'd  to  be : 
He  stirr'd  his  horse,  as  he  were  wode, 

Wi'  gilded  spurs,  of  faushion  free. 

Says—"  Well  met.  well  met.  true  Thomas ! 

Some  uncouth  ferlies  show  to  me.'' — 
Says—"  Christ  thee  save,  Corspntrick  brave ! 

Thrice  welcume,  good  Dunbar,  to  me  ! 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  Corspatrick  brave '. 

And  I  will  show  thee  curses  three. 
Shall  gar  fair  Scotland  greet  and  grane, 

And  change  the  green  to  the  black  livery. 

"  A  storm  shall  roar  this  very  hour. 
From  Ross's  hills  to  Solway  sea." — 

"  Ye  lied,  ye  lied,  ye  warlock  hoar  ! 
For  the  sun  shines   sweet   on   fauld   and 
lee."— 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  Earlie's  head  ; 

He  show'd  him  a  rock  beside  the  sea. 
Where  a  king  lay  stiff  beneath  his  steed,! 

And  steel-dight  nobles  wiped  their  ee. 

"The  neist  curse  lights  on  Branxlon  hills: 
By  Floddeu's  high  and  heathery  side, 

Shall  wave  a  banner  red  as  blude. 
And  chieftains  throng  wi'  meikle  pride. 

"A  Scottish  King  shall  come  full  keen, 

The  ruddy  lion  beareth  he ; 
A  feather'd  arrow  sharp,  I  ween. 

Shall  make  him  wink  and  warre  to  see. 

"  When  he  is  bloody,  and  all  to  bledde, 
Thus  to  his  men  he  still  shall  say — 

'  For  God's  sake,  turn  ye  back  again. 
And  give  yon  southern  folk  a  fray  ! 

Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine  ? 
My  doom  is  not  to  die  this  day.'  2 

"Yet  turn  ye  to  the  eastern  hand, 
And  woe  and  wonder  ye  sail  see; 

How  forty  thousand  spearmen  stand. 
Where  yon  rank  river  meets  the  sea. 

There  shall  the  lion  lose  the  gylte. 
And  the  libbards  bear  it  clean  away; 

At  Pinkyn  Cleuch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentil  bluid  that  day." — 

"  Encash,  enough,  of  curse  and  ban ; 

Some  blessings  show  thou  now  to  me, 
Or,  by  the  faith  o'  my  bodie,"  Corspatrick  said, 

"Ye  shall  rue  the  day  ye  e'er  saw  me !" — 


1  King  Alexander,  killed  l>y  a  fall  fr> 
Kiogtiorn. 


3  The  uncertainty  which  long  pr< 
rning  Ihe  fate  or  Jamea  IV.,  i>  v 


•iled  in  Scotland,  i 


486                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  first  of  blessings  I  shall  thee  show, 

"  I  see  in  song,  in  sedgeyng  tale. 

Is  hy  a  burn,  that's  call'd  of  bread  ;  > 

Of  Erceldoun.  and  of  Kendale. 

Where  Saxon  men  shall  tine  the  bow. 

Now  tharne  savs  as  they  tharue  wroght, 

And  find  their  arrows  lack  the  head. 

And  in  thare  saying  it  semes  nocht. 

That  thou  may  here  in  Sir  Tnstrem, 

"  Beside  that  brigg.  out  ower  that  burn. 

Over  gestes  it  has  the  steme, 

Where   the   water  bickereth   bright  and 

Over  all  that  is  or  was  : 

sheen. 

If  men  it  said  as  made  Thomas,"  etc. 

Shall  manv  a  fallen  courser  spurn, 

And  knights  shall  die  in  battle  keen. 

It  appears,  from  a  very  curious  MS.  of  the 

"  Beside  a  headless  cross  of  stone. 
The  lihbards  there  shall  lose  the  gree  ; 
The  raven  shall  come,  the  erne  shall  po. 
And  drink  the  Saxon  hlmd  sae  free. 
The  cross  of  stone  they  shall  not  know, 
So  thick  the  corses  there  shall  be."  — 

hirleenth  centurv,  penti  Mr.  Douce  of  Lon- 
don, containing  a   French  metrical  romance 
of  Sir  Tristrem.  that  the  work  of  our  Thomas 
he  Rhymer  was  known,  and  referred  to,  hy 
he    minstrels  of   Normandy  and    Bretnene. 
Having  arrived  at  a  part  of  the  romance  where 
reciters  were  wont  to  differ  in  the  mode  of 

"  But  tell  me  now,"  said  brave  Dunbar, 
"  True  Thomas,  tell  now  unto  me. 

eliina  the  story,  the  French   hard  expressly 
cites  the  authority  of  the  poet  of  Ercildoune  : 

What  man  shall  rule  the  isle  Britain, 
Even  from  the  north  to  the  southern  seat"— 

"  Plusurs  de  nns  granter  ne  voUnt, 
Co  qve  del  naim  dire  sr  soknt. 

"  A  French  Queen  shall  bear  the  son, 

Ki  Jemme  Kaherdin  dut  aimer, 

Shall  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea; 

L>  naim  reditt  Tristram  narrer, 

He  of  the  Bruce  's  blood  shall  come, 

E  enlusche  par  grant  trajin, 

As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree. 

Quant  il  afole  Kaherdin  ; 

Pur  rest  plai  e  pur  cesl  mal. 

"The  waters  worship  shall  his  race  ; 

Emeiad  Tnstram  Guvernal, 

Likewise  the  waves  of  the  farthest  sea  ; 

En  Englfterre  pur  YsoU  : 

For  thev  shall  ride  over  ocean  wide. 

Thomas  ico  granter  ne  volt. 

With  hempen  bridles,  and  horse  of  tree." 

Et  si  volt  par  raisun  mostrer. 

Qu'  ico  ne  put  pas  esteer,"  etc. 

**~*~~~-    . 

The  tale  of  Sir  Tristrem,  as  narrated  in  the 

iEijomas  tije  &t)2ra«. 

Edinburgh  MS  .  is  totally  different  from  the 
voluminous  romance  in  prose,  originally  com- 

piled  on  the  same  subject  by   Rusiicien  de 

PART  THIRD.  —  MODERN. 

Puise,  and  analyzed  by  M.  de  Tressan  ;  but 
agrees  in  every  essential  particular  with  the 

BT  WALTER  SCOTT. 

metrical  performance  just  quoted,  which  is  a 
work  of  much  higher  antiquity 

Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  renowned  among 

The  following  attempt  to  commemorate  the 

his  contemporaries,  as  the  author  of  the  cele- 

Rhymer's poetical  fame,  and  the  traditional 

brated  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem.    Of  this  once- 

account  of   his  marvellous  return   to   Fairy 

admired  poem  onlv  one  copy  is  now  known  to 
exist,  which  is  in  the  Advocates'  Library.    The 

Land,  being  entirely  modern,  would  have  been 
placed  with  greater  propriety  among  ihe  class 

Editor,  in  1804.  published  a  small  edition  of 

of  Modern  Balhids,  had  it  not  been  for  its  im- 

this curious  work  ;  which,  if  it  does  not  revive 

mediate  connexion  with  the  first  and  second 

the  reputation  of  the  hard  of  Ercildoune,  is  at 
least  the  earliest  specimen  of  Scottish  poetry 

parts  of  the  same  story. 

hitherto  published.    Some  account  of  this  ro- 

wyv^^^^x~~N/x>Ny^yNyNX** 

mance  has  already  been  given  to  the  world  in 

Mr.  EUis's  Specimens  of  Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i 
p.  165,  iii.  p.  410;  a  work  to  which  our  prede- 

{Thomas tfje  Sjijmcr. 

cessors  and  our  posterity  are  alike  obliged 

the  former,  for  the  preservation  of  the  best- 
selected  examples  of  their  poetical  taste  :  and 

PART  THIRD. 

the  latter,  for  a  history  of  the  English  lan- 

guage, which  will  only  cease  to  be  interesting 
with  the  existence  of  our  mother-tongue,  and 
all  that  genius  and  learning  have  recorded  in 

When  seven  years  more  were  come  and  gone, 
Was  war  through  Scotland  spread, 
And  Ruherslaw  show'd  high  Duuyon" 

it     It  is  sufficient  here  to  mention,  that  si 

His  beacon  blazing  red. 

great  was  the  reputation  of  the  romance  ol 
Sir  Tnstrem.  that  few  were  thought  capable 

Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow.s 

of  reciting  it  after  the  manner  of  the  author—  a 

Pitch'd  palliomis  took  their  room. 

circumstance  alluded  to  by  Robert  de  Brunne 

And  crested  helms,  and  spears  a-rowe, 

the  annalist  :  — 

Glanced  gaily  through  the  broom. 

1  One  of  Thomas's  rhymes,  preserved  by  tradition,  ran 
thus  :  — 

3  An   ancient   tower  near  Ercikjoun*.  belonging   to  a 
family  of  the  name  ol  Home.    One  of  Thomas's  prophecies 

"  The  barn  of  bretd 
Shall  run  fow  rrid." 

"*  t.  ven°  eance  '  veneeance  '  when  and  where  T 

Bannock-burn  is  the  brook  here  meant.     The  Scots  piv 

On  the  house  of  CoWineknnw,  now  and  ever  inair!" 

toe  name  of  btnttock  to  a  thick  round  cake  of  unleavened 
bread. 

The  spot  is  rendered  classical  by  its  having  riven  Dame 
to  the  beautiful  melody  called  the  Broom  «•  (ft.  Oo«xf.ii- 

3  Ruberslaw  and  Donjon,  are  two  hills  Dear  Jedbnrgh. 

Isjasaa, 

CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY.         487 

The  f*ader,  rolling  to  the  Tweed, 
Resounds  the  eusenzie  ;  ' 
They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead, 
To  distant  Torwoodlee.5 

The  Garde  Joyeuse,  amid  the  tale. 
High  rear'd  its  glittering  head; 
And  Avalon's  enchanted  vale 
In  all  its  wonders  spread. 

The  feast  was  spread  in  Eroildoune, 
In  Learmont's  high  aud  ancient  hall  : 
And  there  were  knights  of  great  renown, 
And  ladies,  laced  in  pall. 

Brangwain  was  there,  and  Segramore, 
And  fiend-born  Merlin's  gramarye  ; 
Of  that  famed  wizard's  mighty  lore, 
O  who  could  sing  but  he  ? 

Nor  lacked  they,  while  they  sat  at  dine, 
The  music  nor  the  tale, 
Nor  goblets  of  the  blood-red  wine. 
Nor  mantling  quaighs  3  of  ale. 

Through  many  a  maze  the  winning  son 
In  changeful  passion  led, 
Till  bent  at  length  the  listening  throng 
O'er  Tristrem  s  dying  bed. 

True  Thomas  rose,  with  harp  in  hand 
When  as  the  least  was  done  : 
(In  minstrel  strife,  in  Fairy  Land, 
The  elfin  harp  he  won.) 

His  ancient  wounds  their  scars  expand, 
With  affony  his  heart  is  wrung: 
0  where  is  Isolde's  lilye  hand. 
And  where  her  soothing  tongue? 

Hush'd  were  the  throng,  both  limb  and  tongue, 
And  harpers  for  envy  pale  ; 
And  armed  lords  lean'd  on  their  swords, 
And  hearken'd  to  the  tale. 

She  comes  !  she  comes  !—  like  flash  of  flame 
Can  lovers'  footsteps  fly  : 
She  comes  !  she  conies  !  —  she  only  came 
To  see  her  Tristrem  die. 

In  numbers  high,  the  witching  tale 
The  prophet  pour'd  along; 
No  after  bard  might  e'er  avail* 
Those  numbers  to  prolong. 

She  saw  him  die;  her  latest  sigh 
Jom'd  in  a  kiss  his  parting  breath  ; 
The  gentlest  pair,  that  Britain  bare, 
United  are  in  death. 

Vet  fragments  of  the  lofty  strain 
Float  down  the  tide  of  years, 
As,  buoyant  on  the  stormy  main, 
A  parted  wreck  appears. 

There  paused  the  harp  :  its  lingering  sound 
Died  slowly  on  the  ear; 
The  silent  guests  still  bent  around, 
For  still  they  seem'd  to  hear. 

He  sung  Kin?  Arthur's  Table  Round  : 
The  Warrior  of  the  Lake  ; 
How  courteous  Gawaine  met  the  wound, 
And  bled  for  ladies'  sake. 

Then  woe  broke  forth  in  murmurs  weak  : 
Nor  ladies  heaved  alone  the  sigh  ; 
But,  half  ashamed,  the  rugged  cheek 
Did  many  a  gauntlet  dry. 

But  chief,  in  gentle  Tristrem's  praise, 
The  mites  melodious  swell  ; 
Was  none  excell'd  in  Arthur's  days, 
The  knight  of  Liouelle. 

On  Leader's  stream,  and  Learmont's  tower, 
The  mists  of  evening  close  ; 
In  camp,  in  castle,  or  in  bower, 
Each  warrior  sought  repose. 

For  Marke,  his  cowardly  uncle's  right, 
A  venom'd  wound  he  bore  ; 
When  fierce  Morholde  he  slew  in  fight. 
Upon  the  Irish  sliore. 

Lord  Douglas,  in  his  lofty  tent, 
Dreanfd  o'er  the  woeful  tale; 
When  footsteps  light,  across  the  bent, 
The  warrior's  ears  assail. 

No  art  the  poison  might  withstand  ; 
No  medicine  could  be  found, 
Till  lovelv  Isolde's  lily  hand 
Had  probed  the  rankling  wound. 

He  starts,  he  wakes  ;  —  "  What,  Richard,  ho  ! 
Arise,  my  page,  arise  ! 
What  venturous  wight,  at  dead  of  night, 
Dare  step  where  Douglas  lies  !"  — 

With  gentle  hand  and  soothing  tongue 
She  bore  the  leech's  part; 
And.  while  she  o'er  his  sick-bed  hung, 
He  paid  her  with  bis  heart. 

Then  forth  they  rush'd  :  by  Leader's  tide, 
A  selcouth  5  sight  they  see— 
A  hart  and  hind  pace  side  by  side, 
As  white  as  snow  on  Fairnalie.8 

0  fatal  was  the  gift,  I  ween  ! 
For.  doom'd  in  evil  tide. 
The  maid  must  be  rude  Cornwall's  queen, 
His  cowardly  uncle's  bride. 

Beneath  the  moon,  with  sesture  proud, 
They  stately  move  and  slow  ; 
Nor  scare  they  at  the  gathering  crowd, 
Who  marvel  as  they  go. 

Their  loves,  their  woes,  the  gifted  bard 
In  fairy  tissue  wove  ; 
Where  lords,  and  knights,  and  ladies  bright. 
In  gay  confusion  strove. 

To  Learmont's  tower  a  message  sped, 
As  fast  as  page  might  run  : 
And  Thomas  started  from  his  bed, 
And  soon  his  clothes  did  on. 

1  Ensfnzie  —  War-cry,  or  gathe  ring  word. 
2Torwoodlee  and   Caddenhead    are   place*    in    Selkirk- 
shire; both  the  property  of  Mr    Pringle  of  Torwoodlee. 
3  QMnrft*—  Wooden  ctips,  composed  of  staves  hooped  to- 
gether. 
4  See  Introduction  to  this  ballad. 
6  Helcoxlh—  Wondrous. 

6  An  ancient  seat  upon  the  Tweed,  in  Selkirkshire.    In 
a  popular  edition  of  the  Bret  part  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer, 
the  Fairy  Queen  thus  addresses  him  :  — 
*'Gin  ye  wad  meet  wi'  me  again. 
Hunt;  to  the  bonny  banks  of  Fairnalie." 
Fairnilee  ia  now  one  of  the  seats  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Clif- 
ton, M.  P.  for  Stlkirt.hire.     1633. 

488 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


First  he  woxe  pale,  and  then  woxe  red ; 

Never  a  word  he  spake  hut  three ; — 
"  My  sand  is  run  ;  my  thread  is  spun ; 

This  sign  regardeth  me." 

The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around, 

In  minstrel  guise,  he  hung; 
And  on  the  wind,  in  doleful  sound, 

Its  dying  accents  rung. 

Then  forth  he  went ;  yet  turn'ii  him  oft 

To  view  his  ancient  hall : 
On  the  grey  tower,  in  lustre  soft. 
The  autumn  moonbeams  fall ; 

And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen, 
Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray; 

In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen 
Broad  Soltra's  mountains  lay. 

"  Farewell,  my  father's  ancient  tower ! 

A  long  farewell,"  said  he : 
"The  scene  of  pleasure,  pomp,  or  power, 

Thou  never  more  shall  be. 


"  To  Learmont's  name  no  foot  of  earth 

Shall  here  again  belong, 
And.  (in  thy  hospitable  hearth, 

The  hare  shall  leave  her  young. 

"  Adieu  !  adieu  !"  again  he  cried, 

All  as  he  turn'd  him  roun' — 
"  Farewell  to  Leader's  silver  tide  ! 

Farewell  to  Ercildouue!" 

The  hart  and  hind  approach'd  the  place, 

As  lingering  yet  he  stood ; 
And  there,  before  Lord  Douglas'  face, 

With  them  he  cross'd  the  flood. 

Lord  Douglas  leap'd  on  his  berry-brown  steed, 
And  spurr'd  him  the  Leader  o'er; 

But,  though  he  rode  with  lightning  speed, 
He  never  saw  them  more. 

Some  said  to  hill,  and  some  to  glen, 
Their  wondrous  course  had  been ; 

But  ne'er  in  haunts  of  living  men 
Again  was  Thomas  seen. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A.— P.  478. 

From  the  Chartulary  of  the  Trinity  House  of 
Soitra.    Advocates'  Library,  W.  4.  H. 

ERSYLTO.V. 

Omnibus  has  literas  visuris  vel  audituris 
Thomas  de  Ercildoun  films  et  heres  Thomas 
Rymoiir  de  Ercildoun  salutem  in  Domino. 
Noveritis  me  per  fustem  et  baculnm  in  pleno 
jndicio  resignasse  ac  per  presentes  qnielem 
clamasse  pro  me  et  herediiius  meis  Magistro 
dpmus  Sanctae  Trinitatis  de  Soltre  et  fratribus 
ejusdem  domus  totam  terram  meam  cum  om- 
nibus pertmentibus  suis  quam  in  tenement  o 
de  Ercildoun  hereditarie  tenui  renunciando 
de  toto  pro  me  et  heredibns  meis  omni  jure  et 
clameoqua?  ego  seu  antecessores  mei  in  eadem 
terra  alioque  tempore  de  perpetuo  habuimus 
sive  de  futuro  habere  possumus.  In  cujus  rei 
testimonio  presentibus  his  sigillum  meum  ap- 
posui  data  apnd  Ercildoun  die  Martis  proximo 
post  festum  Sanctorum  Apostolorum  Symonis 
et  Jude  Anno  Domini  Millesimo  cc.  Nonagesi- 
ino  Nono. 


NOTE  B.— P.  480. 

The  reader  is  here  presented,  from  an  old, 
and  unfortunately  an  imperfect  MS.,  with  the 
undoubted  original  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer's 
intrigue  with  the  Queen  of  Faery.  It  will 
afford  great  amusement  to  those  who  would 
study  the  nature  of  traditional  poetry,  and  the 
changes  effected  by  oral  tradition,  to  compare 


this  ancient  romance  with  the  foregoing  bal- 
lad. The  same  incidents  are  narrated,  even 
the  expression  is  often  the  same:  yet  the 
poems  are  as  different  in  appearance,  as  if  the 
older  tale  had  been  regularly  and  systemati- 
cally modernized  by  a  poet  of  the  present  day. 

Incipit  Prophesia  Thoma:  de  Erseltioua. 

In  a  lande  as  I  was  lent, 

In  the  grykmg  of  the  day, 

Ay  alone  as  I  went. 

In  Huntle  bankys  me  for  to  play, 

I  saw  the  throstyl,  and  the  jay, 

Ye  mawes  movyde  of  her  song, 

Ye  wodwale  sange  notes  say, 

That  al  the  wod  about  range. 

In  that  longyue  as  I  lay, 

Undir  nethe  a  dern  tre, 

I  was  war  of  a  lady  gay. 

Come  rydyng  ouyr  a  fair  le: 

Zosh  1  suld  sitt  to  domysday. 

With  my  long  to  wrabbe  and  wry, 

Certenly  all  hyr  ariiy, 

It  beth  neuyer  discryuyd  for  me. 

Hyr  palfra  was  dappyll  gray, 

Sycke  on  say  neuer  none ; 

As  the  son  in  sorners  day, 

All  abowte  that  lady  schone. 

Hyr  sadel  was  of  a  rewel  hone, 

A  semlv  syght  it  was  to  se, 

Bryht  with  mony  a  precyous  stone, 

And  cornpasyd  all  with  crapste: 

Stones  of  oryens,  gret  plente, 

Her  hair  about  her  hede  it  hang, 

She  rode  ouer  the  farnyle, 

A  while  she  blew,  a  while  she  sang, 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO   MINSTRELSY. 


489 


Her  eirlhs  of  nobil  silke  they  were, 

Her  hoculs  were  of  beryl  stone, 

Satlyll  and  brydil  war  -  - ; 

With  sylk  anil  senilel  about  bedone, 

Hyr  patyrel  was  of  a  pall  fyue, 

And  hyr  croper  of  the  arase. 

Her  brydil  was  of  gold  fine, 

On  enery  sycle  forsothe  hane  bells  thre, 

Her  brydil  reyues 

A  semly  syzt  -  -  -  - 
Crop  and  patyrel  -  -  -  - 

In  every  joynt 

She  led  thre  grew  houndes  in  a  leash, 
And  ratches  cowpled  by  her  ran; 
She  bar  an  horn  about  her  halse, 
And  undir  her  gyrdil  ineue  flene. 

Thomas  lay  and  sa 

In  the  bankes  of  -  -  -  - 

He  sayil  Yonder  is  Mary  of  Might. 

That  bar  the  child  that  died  for  me, 

Certes  bot  I  mayspeke  with  that  lady  bright, 

Myd  my  htfrt  will  br«ke  in  three  ; 

I  schal  me  hye  with  all  my  might, 

Hyr  to  mete  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  rathly  up  her  rase, 

And  ran  ouer  niountayu  hye, 

If  it  he  sothe  the  story  says. 

He  met  her  etiyu  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  krielyd  down  on  his  kne 

T'ndir  uethe  the  grenewood  spray. 

And  sayd.  Lovely  lady,  thou  rue  on  me, 

Queen  of  Heaven  as  you  may  well  be. 

But  1  am  a  lady  of  another  countrie, 

If  1  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

I  ride  after  the  wild  fee, 

My  ralches  rinnen  at  my  devys. 

If  thou  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

And  rides  a  lady  in  strang  foly, 

lively  lady,  as  thou  art  wise, 

Cime  you  me  leue  to  lige  ye  hy. 

Do  way,  Thomas,  that  were  foly, 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  late  me  be. 

That  sin  will  fordo  all  my  bewtie. 

Lovely  ladye,  rewe  on  me. 

And  euer  more  I  shall  with  ye  dwell. 

Here  my  trowth  I  plyght  to  thee, 

Where  you  beheues  in  heuin  or  hell. 

Thomas,  and  you  inyght  lyge  me  by, 

Undir  nethe  this  grene  wode  spray, 

Thou  would  tell  full  hastely. 

That  thou  had  layn  by  a  lady  gay. 

Lady,  mote  1  lyge  by  the, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  tre, 

For  all  the  gold  in  chrystenty, 

Suld  you  ueuer  be  wryede  for  me. 

Man  on  molde  you  will  me  marre, 

And  yet  bot  you  may  haf  your  will, 

Trow  you  well,  Thomas,  you  cheuyst  ye 

warre ; 

For  all  my  bewtie  wilt  you  spill. 
Down  ly^htyd  that  lady  bryzt, 
Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray, 
And  as  ye  story  sayth  full  ryzt, 
Seuyn  tymes  by  her  he  lay. 
She  sayil.  Man.  you  lyst  thi  play. 
What  berde  in  bouyr  may  dele  with  thee, 
That  maries  me  all  this  long  day; 
J  pray  ye,  Thomas,  let  me  be. 
Thomas  stode  up  in  the  stede, 
And  behelde  the  lady  gay. 
Her  heyre  hang  down  about  hyr  hede, 
The  tane  was  blak,  the  other  gray, 
Her  eyu  semyt  onte  before  was  gray, 
Her  gay  clethyng  was  all  away, 


That  he  before  had  sene  in  that  stede 

Hyr  body  as  blow  as  ony  bede 

Thomas  sighede,  and  sayd.  Alias, 

Me  ihynke  this  a  dullfufl  syght, 

That  thou  art  fadyd  in  the  face, 

Before  you  shone  as  son  so  bryzt. 

Tak  thy  leue.  Thomas,  at  son  and  inone, 

At  gresse,  and  at  euery  ire. 

This  twelmonth  sail  you  with  me  gone, 

Medyl  erth  you  sail  not.  se. 

Alas,  he  seyd,  fill  wo  is  me. 

I  trow  my  dedes  will  werke  me  care, 

Jesu,  my  sole  tak  to  ye. 

Whedir  so  euyr  my  body  sal  fare. 

She  rode  furth  with  all  her  myzt, 

Undir  nethe  the  derne  lee. 

It  was  as  derke  as  at  midnizt, 

And  euyr  in  water  unto  the  kne; 

Through  the  space  of  days  thre. 

He  herde  but  swowy«g  of  a  flode ; 

Thomas  sayd,  Ful  wo  is  me. 

Now  I  spyll  for  fawte  of  fode ; 

To  a  garden  she  lede  him  tyte. 

There  was  fruyte  in  grete  plente, 

Peyres  and  appless  ther  were  rype, 

The  date  and  the  damese. 

The  fig2e  and  als  fylbert  tre; 

The  nyghtyngale  bredyng  in  her  neste, 

The  papigaye  about  gan  fle, 

The  throstylcook  sang  wald  hafe  no  rest. 

He  pressed  to  pulle  frnyt  with  his  hand, 

As  man  for  faute  that  was  faynt; 

She  seyd,  Thomas,  lat  al  stand, 

Or  els  the  deuil  wil  the  ataynt. 

Sche  seyd,  Thomas,  1  the  hyzt, 

To  lay  thy  hede  upon  my  kne. 

And  thou  shall  see  fayrer  syght. 

Than  euyr  sawe  man  in  their  kintre. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  fayr  way, 

That  lyggs  ouyr  yone  fayr  playn'? 

Yonder  is  the  way  to  heuyn  for  ay, 

Whan  synfulsawles  haf  derayed  their  payne, 

Sees  them,  Thomas,  yon  secund  way, 

That  lygges  lawe  undir  the  ryse  ? 

Streight  is  the  way.  sothly  to  say, 

To  the  joyes  of  paradyce. 

Sees  them,  Thomas,  yon  thyrd  way, 

That  lygges  ouyr  yone  how  ? 

Wide  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say, 

To  the  hrynyng  fyres  of  helle. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yone  fayr  castell, 

That  standes  ouyr  yone  fair  hill  ? 

Of  town  and  tower  it  beereth  the  belle, 

In  middell  erth  is  none  like  therelill. 

Whan  thou  eomyst  in  yone  castell  gaye, 

I  pray  thee  curteis  man  to  be ; 

What  so  any  man  to  you  say, 

Loke  thu  answer  none  but  me. 

My  lord  is  servyd  at  yche  messe, 

With  xxx  kniztes  feir  and  fre; 

I  shall  say  syttyng  on  the  dese, 

1  toke  thy  speche  beyone  the  le. 

Thomas  stode  as  still  as  stone, 

And  behelde  that  ladye  gaye ; 

Than  was  snhe  fayr,  and  ryche  anone, 

And  also  ryal  on  hir  palfre'ye. 

The  grewhouiides  had  fylde  thaim  on  the 

dere. 

The  raches  coupled,  by  my  fay, 
She  blewe  her  borne  Thomas  to  chere, 
To  the  castell  she  went  her  way. 
The  ladye  into  the  hall  went, 
Thomas  folowyd  at  her  hand  ; 
Thar  kept  her  mony  a  lady  gent. 


490 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


With  curtasy  and  lawe. 

Harp  and  fedyl  both  he  fande, 

The  getern  and  the  sawtry, 

Lut  and  rybid  tlier  gon  gan. 

Thair  was  al  maner  of  mynstralsy, 

The  most  ferlly  that  Thomas  thoght, 

When  he  com  emyddes  the  flore, 

Fourty  hertes  to  quarry  were  broght. 

That  had  been  befor  both  long  and  store. 

Lymors  lay  happyng  blode. 

And  kokes  standyng  with  dressyng  knyfe. 

And  dressyd  dere  as  thai  wer  wode, 

And  rewell  was  thair  wonder. 

Knyghtes  dansyJ  by  two  and  thre, 

All  that  leue  long  day. 

Ladyes  that  were  gret  of  gre. 

Sat  and  sang  of  rych  aray. 

Thomas  sawe  much  more  in  that  place, 

Than  I  can  descryve- 

Til  on  a  day.  alas.  alas. 

My  lovely*"  ladye  sayd  to  me. 

Busk  ye.  Thomas,  you  must  agayn, 

Here  you  may  no  longer  be : 

Hy  then  zerne  that  you  were  at  hame, 

I  sal  ye  bryng  to  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  answerd  with  heuy. 

And  said.  Lowely  ladye,  lat  me  be. 

For  I  say  ye  certenly  here 

Haf  I  be  bot  the  space  of  dayes  three. 

Sothly,  Thomas,  as  1  telle  ye. 

You  hath  ben  here  thre  yeres, 

And  here  yon  may  no  longer  be ; 

And  1  sal  tele  ye  a  skele, 

To-morrowe  of  helle  ye  foule  fende 

Amang  our  folke  shall  chuse  his  fee; 

For  you  art  a  larg  man  and  an  hende, 

Trowe  you  wele  he  will  chuse  thee. 

Fore  all  the  golde  that  may  be. 

Fro  hens  unto  the  worldes  ende, 

Sail  you  not  be  betrayed  by  me. 

And  thairfor  sail  you  hens  wende. 

She  broght  hym  euyn  to  Eldyn  Tre, 

Undir  nrthe  the  grene  wode  spray, 

In  Huntle  bankes  was  fayr  to  be. 

Ther  breddes  syng  both  nyzt  and  day. 

Ferre  ouyr  yon  montayns  gray, 

Ther  hathe  my  faeon  : 

Fare  wele,  Thomas,  1  wende  my  way. 

The  Elfin  Queen,  after  restoring  Thomas  to 
earth,  pours  forth  a  string  of  prophecies,  in 
which  we  distinguish  references  to  the  events 
and  personages  of  the  Scottish  wars  of  Ed- 
ward III  The  battles  of  Dupplin  and  Halidon 
are  mentioned,  and  also  Black  Agnes.  Countess 
of  Dunbar.  There  is  a  copy  of  this  poem  in 
the  museum  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln,  an- 
other in  the  collection  in  Peterborough,  but 
unfortunately  they  are  all  in  an  imperfect 
state.  Mr  Jnmieson.  in  his  curious  Collection 
of  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs,  has  an  entire 
copy  of  this  ancient  poem,  with  all  the  colla- 
tions. The  lanauz  of  the  former  editions  have 
been  supplied  from  this  copy. 

NOTE  C. 

ALLUSIONS  TO  HERALDRY. 

P.  481. 

"  The  muscle  is  a  square  figure  like  a  lozenge, 
but  it  is  always  voided  of  the/JeW.  They  are 
carried  as  principal  figures  by  the  name  of 


Learmont.  Learmont  of  Earlstoun,  in  the 
Merss,  carried  or  on  a  bend  azure  three  mus- 
cles; of  which  family  was  Sir  Thomas  Lear- 
mont. who  is  well  known  by  the  name  of  Tho- 
mas  the  Rhymer,  because  he  wrote  his  pro- 
phecies in  rhime.  This  prophetick  herauld 
lived  in  the  days  of  King  Alexander  the  Third, 
and  prophesied  of  his  death,  and  ot  many  other 
remarkable  occurrences;  particularly  of  the 
union  of  Scotland  with  England,  which  was 
not  accomplished  until  the  reign  of  James  the 
Sixth,  some  hundred  years  after  it  was  fore- 
told by  this  gentleman,  whose  prophecies  are 
much  esteemed  by  many  of  the  vulgar  even 
at  this  day.  I  was  promised  hy  a  friend  a  siirht 
of  bis  prophecies,  of  which  there  is  even-where 
to  be  had  an  epitome,  which,  I  suppose,  is 
erroneous,  and  differs  in  many  thinsrs  from  the 
original,  it  having  been  oft  re-Hinted  by  some 
unskilful  persons.  Thus  nr.iny  things  are 
amissing  in  the  small  book  which  are  to  be 
met  with  in  the  original,  particularly  these 
two  lines  concerning  his  neighbour,  Bemer- 
side : — 

. '  Tyde  what  may  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  laird  of  Bemersicle.' 

And  indeed  his  prophecies  concerning  that 
ancient  family  have  hitherto  been  true ;  for, 
since  that  time  to  this  day.  the  Haigs  have 
been  lairds  of  that  place.  They  came.  Azure 
a  saltier  cantoned  with  two  stars  in  chief  and 
in  base  argent,  as  many  crescents  in  the 
flanqnes  or ;  and  for  crest  a  rock  proper,  with 
this  motto,  taken  from  the  above  -  written 
rhyme—'  Tide  what  may.'  "—.Visbet  on  Marks 
of  Cadency,  p.  158— He'adds.  "that  Thomas' 
meaning  mav  be  understood  by  heraulds  when 
he  speaks  of  kingdoms  whose  insignia  seldom 
vary,  hut  that  individual  families  cannot  be 
discovered,  either  because  they  have  altered 
their  bearings,  or  because  they  are  pointed  out 
by  their  crests  and  exterior  ornaments,  which 
are  changed  at  the  pleasure  of  the  bearer." 
Mr.  Xisbet,  however,  comforts  himself  for  this 
obscurity,  by  reflecting,  that  "  we  may  cer- 
tainly conclude,  from  his  writings,  that  he- 
rauldry  was  in  good  esteem  in  his  days,  and 
well  known  to  the  vulgar."— Ibid.  p.  160.— It 
may  be  added,  that  the  publication  of  predic- 
tions, either  printed  or  hieroglyphical,  in  which 
noble  families  were  pointed  out  hy  their  ar- 
morial bearings,  was,  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  extremely  common;  and  the  influ- 
ence of  such  predictions  on  the  minds  of  the 
common  people  was  so  great  as  to  occasion  a 
prohibition,  by  statute,  of  prophecy  hy  refer- 
ence to  heraldic  emblems.  Lord  Henry  How- 
ard also  (afterwards  Earl  of  Northampton) 
directs  against  this  practice  much  of  the  rea- 
soning in  his  learned  treatise,  entitled,  "  A 
Defensation  against  the  Poysou  of  pretended 
Prophecies." 


NOTE  D.— P.  483. 

The  strange  occupation  in  which  Waldhave 
beholds  Merlin  engaged,  derives  some  illustra- 
tion from  a  curious  passage  in  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth's  life  of  Merlin,  above  quoted.  The 
poem,  after  narrating  that  the  prophet  had  fled 
to  the  forest  in  a  state  of  distraction,  proceeds 
to  mention, -that,  looking  upon  the  stars  one 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY.         491 

clear  evening,  he  discerned  from  his  astrolo- 

Ceroos ante  fores,  proclnmans,  '  Guendolasna, 

gical  knowledge,  that   his  wife.  Gunedolen, 

Gutndulana.  vrni.  te  tatia  munera  spectant. 

had  resolved,  upon  the  next  morning,  to  take 

Ocius  ergo  venit  subridens  GuendoUzna, 

another  husband.     As  he  had  presaged  to  her 

Gestarique  virum  cfrvo  miratur,  ft  ilium 

that  this  would  happen,  and  had  promised  her 

Sic  parere  viro,  tantum  quoquf  jiosse  ferarvm 

a  nuptial  gift  (cautioning  her.  however,  to  keep 

Uniri  nummmi  quas  prce  if  solus  aytbat. 

the  bridegroom  out  of  his  sight,)  he  now  re- 

Simt pastor  oves,  quas  ducere  survti  ail  herbas. 

solved  to  make  good  his  word.     Accordingly, 

Slah'jl  ab  excelsa  fponsus  sprrtando  fenestra, 

he  collected  all  the  stags  and  lesser  game  in 

In  solia  mirans  equitcm.  risunque  movfbat. 

his  neighbourhood  ;  and,  having  seated  him- 

Ast ubi  vidit  etan  vales,  animoque  quit  esset 

self  upon  a  buck,  drove  the  herd  before  him 

Calluit,  extemplo  divii/sit  cormia  cervo 

to  the  capital  of  Cumberland,  where  Guendo- 

Quo  yestabiitur,  vibralaqm  jrcit  in  ilium. 

len  resided.     But  her  lover's  curiosity  leading 

Et  caput  illius  pent/us  contrivit,  eitmque 

him  to  inspect  too  nearly  this  extraordinary 

Rfddidit  exanimem,  vitamqtie  fuyavit  in  auras  ; 

cavalcade,  Merlin's  rage  was  awakened,  and 

Ocitts  inde  swum,  talorum  verbere,  cervian 

he  slew  him  with  the  stroke  of  an  antler  of 

Diffuyiens  egit,  silvasque  redire  paravil." 

the  stag.     The  original  runs  thus:  — 

For  a  perusal  of  this  curious  poem,  accu- 

" Dixerat  :  et  silvas  et  snltus  circuit  omnes. 

rately  copied  from  a  MS.  in  the  Cotton  Library, 

Cervorumque  greyes  aomen  colleyit  in  umtm. 

nearly  coeval  with  the  author,  I  was  indebted 

Et  damas.  capreasque  simul  ;  cervoque  resedit, 

to  my  learned   friend,  the   late   Mr.   Kitson. 

Et,  veniente  die,  compellnis  aamina  prce  se. 

There  is  an  excellent  paraphrase  of  it  in  the 

Festinans  vadit  quo  nu/rit  Guendolaena, 

curious  and   entertaining  Specimens  of  Early 

t'ostquam  venit  eo,  pacienter  ipse  coeyit 

Enalisk  Romances,  published  by  Mr.  Kills. 

^/VWWVN/N/N/WWWWWWW 

OR, 

LORD   RONALD'S   CORONACH.1 

The  simple  tradition,  upon  which  the  fol- 

its romantic  avenue,  called  the  Troshachs. 

lowing  stanzas  are  founded,  runs  thus  :  While 

Benledi,  Benmore,  and  Benvoirlich,  are  moun- 

two Highland  hunters  were  passing  the  night 

tains  in  the  same  district,  and  at  no  great  dis- 

in a  solitary  bothy,  (a  hut,  built  fur  the  purpose 

tance  from  Glenfinlas.    The  river  Teith  passes 

of   hunting,)   and   making   merry  over  their 

Callender  and  the  Castle  of  Doune,  and  joins 

venison  and  whisky,  one  of  them  expressed  a 

the  Forth  near  Stirling.     The  Pass  of  Lenny 

wish  that  they  had  pretty  lasses  to  complete 

is  immediately  above  Callender.  and   is   the 

their  party.   The  words  were  scarcely  uttered. 

principal  access  to  the  Highlands,  from  that 

when  two  beautiful  young  women,  habited  in 

town.     Glenartney  is  a  forest,  near  Benvoir- 

green, entered  the  hilt,  dancing  and  singing. 

lich.     The  whole   forms  a  sublime  tract  of 

One  of  the.  hunters  was  seduced  by  the  siren 

Alpine  scenery. 

who  attached  herself  particularly  to  him,  to 

This  ballad  first  appeared  in  the  Tales  of 

leave  the  hut:  the  other  remained,  and,  suspi- 

Wonder. 

cious  of  the  fair  seducers,  continued  to  play 

"*~v~N~N~v~N~S/N^\/\/>* 

upon  a  trump,  or  Jew's  harp,  some  strain,  con- 
secrated to  the  Virgin  Mary.     Day  at  length 

ffilenffnlas; 

came,  and  the  temptress  vanished.    Searching 

in  the  forest,  he  found  the  bones  of  his  unfor- 

OR, 

tunate  friend,  who  had  been  torn  to  pieces 
and  devoured  by  the  fiend  into  whose  toils  he 

LORD  RONALD'S  CORONACH. 

had  fallen     The  place  was  from  thence  called 

—  .  

the  Glen  of  the  Green  Women. 

"  For  them  the  view]f*s  form*  of  air  obey. 

Glenfinlas  is  a  tract  of  forest-ground,  lying 

Their  bidding  heed,  and  at  their  beck  repair; 

i  in  the  Highlands  of  Perthshire,  not  far  from 

And  heart  km  oft,  like  moody  madneM  stare, 

Callender  in  Menteith.   It  was  formerly  a  royal 

To  «ee  the  phantom-train  their  secret  work  prepare." 

forest,  and  now  belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Moray. 

Collins. 

This  country,  as  well  as  the  adjacent  district 
of  Balquidder,  was.  in  times  of  yore,  chiefly 

"  0  hone  a  rie"  !  O  hone  a  rie?  !  * 
The  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er. 

inhabited  bv  the  Macgregors.    To  the  west  of 
the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas  lies  Loch  Katrine,  and 

And  lall'n  Glenartney  's  stateliest  tree  ; 
We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more  !"  — 

1  Coronach  is  the  lamentation  for  a  deceased  warrior. 

3  0  hona  a  rw»  signifies—  "  Alas  for  the  prince  or  chief." 

•ung  \ij  the  aged  of  the  clan. 

492                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

O,  sprung  from  great  Macgillianore, 
The  chief  that  never  fear'd  a  fi>e. 
How  matchless  was  thy  broad  claymore, 
How  deadly  thine  unerring  bow  ! 

'  What  lack  we  here  to  crown  our  bliss. 
While  thus  the  pulse  of  joy  beats  highT 
What,  but  fair  woman's  vielding  kiss, 
Her  panting  breath  and  melting  eye  ? 

Well  can  the  Saxon  widows  tell,' 
How,  on  ti  e  Telth's  resounding  shore, 
The  boldest  ix>wland  warriors  fell. 
As  down  from  Lenny's  pass  you  bore. 

'  To  chase  tlie  deer  of  yonder  shades, 
This  morning  left  their  father's  pile 
The  fairest  of  our  mountain  maids. 
The  daughters  of  the  proud  Glengyle. 

But  o'er  his  bills,  in  festal  day. 
How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree,2 
While  youths  and  maids  the  light  strathspey 
So  nimbly  danced  with  Highland  glee  1 

'  Long  have  I  sought  sweet  Mary's  heart. 
And  dropp'd  the  tear,  and  heaved  the  sigh  : 
But  vain  the  lover's  wily  art, 
Beneath  a  sister's  watchful  eye. 

Cheer'd  by  the  strength  of  Ronald's  shell, 
E'en  age  forgot  his  tresses  hoar; 
But  now  the  loud  lament  we  swell, 
O  ne'er  to  see  Lord  Ronald  more  1 

"But  thou  mayst  teach  that  guardian  fair, 
While  far  with  Mary  I  am  flown, 
Of  other  hearts  to  cease  her  care. 
And  find  it  hard  to  guard  her  own. 

From  distant  isles  a  chieftain  came, 
The  joys  of  Ronald's  halls  to  find. 
And  chase  with  him  the  dark-brown  game, 
That  bounds  o'er  Albin's  hills  of  wind. 

"Touch  but  thy  harp,  thou  soon  shall  see 
The  lovely  Flora  of  Glengyle, 
Unmindful  of  her  charge  and  me. 
Hang  on  thy  notes,  'twixt  tear  and  smile. 

Twas  Moy  ;  whom  in  Columba's  isle 
The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found,3 
As.  with  a  minstrel's  fire  the  while, 
He  waked  his  harp's  harmonious  sound. 

"  Or,  if  she  choose  a  melting  tale. 
All  underneath  the  greenwood  bough, 
Will  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail.* 
Stern  huntsman  of  the  rigid  brow?"  — 

Full  many  a  spell  to  him  was  known, 
Which  wandering  spirits  shrink  to  hear  ; 
And  many  a  lay  of  potent  tone. 
Was  never  meant  for  mortal  ear. 

"Since  Enrick's  fight,  since  Morna's  death. 
No  more  on  me  shall  rapture  rise, 
Responsive  to  the  panting  breath. 
Or  yielding  kiss,  or  melting  eyes. 

For  there,  'tis  said,  in  mystic  mood, 
High  converse  with  the  dead  they  hold, 
And  oft  espy  the  fatal  slireud, 
That  shall  the  future  corpse  enfold. 

"  E'en  then,  when  o'er  the  heath  of  woe. 
Where  sunk  my  hopes  of  love  and  fame, 
I  bade  my  harp's  wild  wailings  flow, 
On  me  the  Seer's  sad  spirit  came. 

O  so  it  fell,  that  on  a  day. 
To  rouse  the  red  deer  from  their  den, 
The  Chiefs  have  ta'en  their  distant  way, 
And  scour'd  the  deep  Glenfinlas  glen. 

"The  last  dread  curse  of  angry  heaven. 
With  ghastly  sights  and  sounds  of  woe, 
To  dash  each  glimpse  of  jov  was  given  — 
The  gift,  the  future  ill  to  know. 

No  vassals  wait  their  sports  to  aid. 
To  watch  their  safety,  deck  their  board  ; 
Their  simple  dress,  the  Highland  plaid. 
Their  trusty  guard,  the  Highland  sword. 

"The  bark  thou  saw'st,  yon  summer  morn, 
So  gaily  part  from  Chan's  bay, 
My  eye  beheld  her  dash'd  and  torn, 
Far  on  the  rocky  Colonsay. 

Three  summer  days,  through  brake  and  dell, 
Their  whistling  shafts  successful  flew  ; 
And  still,  when  dewy  evening  fell, 
The  quarry  to  their  hut  they  drew. 

"  Thy  Fergus  too  —  thy  sister's  son, 
Thou  saw'st,  with  pride,  the  gallant's  power, 
As  marching  'gainst  the  Lord  of  Downe, 
He  left  the  skirts  of  huge  Benmore. 

In  grey  Glenfinlas'  deepest  nook 
The  solitary  cabin  stood. 
Fast  by  Mone'ira's  sullen  brook, 
Which  murmurs  through  that  lonely  wood. 

"Thou  only  saw'st  their  tartans  °  wave, 
As  down  Benvoirlich's  side  thev  wound, 
Heard'st  but  the  pibroch.6  answering  bra»e 
To  many  a  target  clanking  round. 

Soft  fell  the  night,  the  sky  was  calm. 
When  three  successive  days  had  flown  ; 
And  summer  mist  in  dewy  balm 
Steep'd  heathy  bank,  and  mossy  stone. 

"I  heard  the  groans,  I  niark'd  the  tears, 
I  saw  the  wound  his  bosom  bore, 
When  on  the  serried  Saxon  spears 
He  pour'd  his  clan's  resistless  roar. 

The  moon,  half-hid  in  silvery  flakes. 
Afar  her  dubious  radiance  shed. 
Quivering  on  Katrine's  disiant  lakes, 
And  resting  on  Benledi's  head. 

"  And  thou.  who  bidst  me  think  of  bliss, 
And  bidst  my  heart  awake  to  glee. 
And  court,  like  thee,  the  wanton  kiss  — 
That  heart,  O  Ronald,  bleeds  for  thee  ! 

Now  in  their  hut,  in  social  guise. 
Their  sylvan  fare  the  Chiefs  enjoy  : 
And  pleasure  laughs  in  Ronald's  eyes, 
As  many  a  pledge  he  quaffs  to  Moy. 

"  l.see  the  death-damps  chill  thy  brow  ; 
I  hear  thy  Warning  Spirit  cry  :          [now.  .  . 
The  corpse-lights  danre  —  they're  gone,  and 
No  more  is  give*n  to  gifted  eye  !"  

1  The  terra  Saxaenach,  or  Saxon,  in  applied  by  the  High- 
landers to  their  Low-Country  neighbours. 
2  See  Appendix.  Note  A.               3  Ibid,  Rote  B. 
4  Bee  Appendix,  Note  C. 

6  Ttrtau—  The  full  Highland  drew,  made  of  the  che- 

6  Pibroc\—  A  piece  of   martial  miuic,  adapted  to  the 
Highland  bagpipe. 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO   MINSTRELSY.         493 

"Alone  enjoy  thy  dreary  dreams, 

"  0  first,  for  pity's  gentle  sake. 

Sad  prophet  of  the  evil  hour! 

Guide  a  lone  wanderer  on  her  way  ! 

Say,  should  we  scorn  joy's  transient  beams, 

For  1  must  cross  the  haunted  brake. 

Because  to-morrow's  storm  may  lour  1 

And  reach  my  father's  towers  ere  day."  — 

"  Or  false,  or  sooth,  thy  words  of  woe, 

"  First,  three  times  tell  each  Ave-bead, 

Clangilhan's  Chieftain  ne'er  shall  fear; 

And  thrice  a  Pater-noster  say  ; 

His  blood  shall  bound  at  rapture's  glow, 

Then  kiss  with  me  the  holy  rede  ; 

Though  doom'd  to  stain  the  Saxon  spear. 

So  shall  we  safely  wend  our  way."  — 

"E'en  now,  to  meet  me  in  yon  dell, 

"  O  shame  to  knighthood,  strange  and  foul  ! 

My  Mary's  buskins  brush  the  dew." 
He  spoke,  nor  bade  the  Chief  farewell, 

Go,  doff  the  bonnet  from  thy  brow, 
And  shroud  thee  in  the  monkish  cowl, 

But  called  his  dogs,  and  gay  withdrew. 

Which  best  befits  thy  sullen  vow. 

Within  an  hour  return'd  each  hound; 

'•  Not  so,  by  high  Dunlathmon's  fire, 

In  rush'd  the  rousers  of  the  deer; 

Thy  heart  was  froze  to  love  and  joy, 

They  bow  I'd  in  melancholy  sound, 

When  gaily  rung  thy  raptured  lyre 

Then  closely  couch  'd  beside  the  Seer. 

To  wanton  Ijorua's  melting  eye." 

No  Ronald  yet  ;  though  midnight  came, 

Wild  stared  the  minstrel's  eyes  of  flame, 

And  sad  were  Moy's  prophetic  dreams, 

And  high  his  sable  locks  arose; 

As.  bending  o'er  the  dying  flame, 

And  quick  his  colour  went  and  came, 

He  fed  the  watch-fire's  quivering  gleams. 

As  fear  and  rage  alternate  rose. 

Sudden  the  hounds  erect  their  ears, 

"  And  thou  !  when  by  the  blazing  oak 

And  sudden  cease  their  moaning  howl; 

1  lay,  to  her  and  love  resign1!1, 

Close  press'd  to  Moy,  they  mark  their  fears 
By  shivering  limbs  and  stifled  growl. 

Say,  rode  ye  on  the  eddying  smoke. 
Or  sail'd  ye  on  the  midnight  wind  J 

Untouch'd,  the  harp  began  to  ring, 
As  softly,  slowly,  oped  the  door; 

"  Not  thine  a  race  of  mortal  blood, 
Nor  old  Glengyle's  pretended  line  ; 

As  light  a  footstep  press'd  the  floor. 

Thy  dame,  the  Lady  of  the  Flood— 
Thy  sire,  the  Monarch  of  the  Mine." 

And  by  the  watch-fire's  glimmering  light, 
Close  by  the  minstrel's  side  was  seen 

He  mutter'd  thrice  St.  Oran's  rhyme. 

An  huntress  maid,  in  beauty  bright, 
All  dropping  wet  her  robes  of  green. 

And  thrice  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer;  1 
Then  turn'd  him  to  the  eastern  clime, 
And  sternly  shook  his  coal-black  hair. 

All  dropping  wet  her  garments  seem; 

Chill'd  was  her  cheek,  her  bosom  bare, 

And,  bending  o'er  his  harp,  he  flung 

As.  bending  o'er  the  dying  gleam. 

His  wildest  witch-notes  on  the  wind  ; 

She  wrung  the  moisture  from  her  hair. 

And  loud,  and  high,  and  strange,  they  rung, 

With  maiden  blush,  she  softly  said, 

As  many  a  magic  change  they  find  . 

*'  O  gentle  huntsman,  hast  thou  seen, 

In  deep  Glenfinlas'  moonlight  glade, 

Tall  wax'd  the  Spirit's  altering  form, 

A  lovely  maid  in  vest  of  green  : 

Till  to  the  roof  her  stature  grew  ; 
Then,  mingling  with  the  rising  storm. 

"  With  her  a  Chief  in  Highland  pride  ; 

With  one  wild  yell  away  she  flew. 

His  shoulders  bear  the  hunter's  bow, 

The  mountain  dirk  adorns  his  side, 

Rain  beats,  hail  rattles,  whirlwinds  tear  : 

Far  on  the  wind  his  tartans  flow  ?"  — 

The  slender  hut  in  fragments  flew  ; 

"  And  who  art  thou  T  and  who  are  they  ?" 
All  ghastly  gazing.  Moy  replied  : 

But  not  a  lock  of  Moy's  loose  hair 
Was  waved  by  wind,  or  wet  by  dew. 

"  And  why,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray, 
Dare  ye  thus  roam  GJenfiritas'  side  1"  — 

Wild  mingling  with  the  howling  gale, 
Loud  bursis  of  ghastly  laughter  rise; 

"  Where  wild  Loch  Katrine  pours  her  tide. 
Blue.  dark,  and  deep,  round  many  an  isle, 

High  o'er  the  minstrel's  head  they  sail, 
And  die  amid  the  northern  skies. 

Our  father's  towers  o'erhang  her  side, 
The  castle  of  the  bold  Glengyle. 

The  voice  of  thunder  shook  the  wood, 
As  ceased  the  more  than  mortal  yell  ; 

"To  chase  the  dun  Glenfinlas  deer, 

And,  spattering  foul,  a  shower  of  blood 

Our  woodland  course  this  morn  we  bore, 

Upon  the  hissing  firebrands  fell. 

And  haply  met,  while  wandering  here, 
The  son  of  great  Macgillianore. 

Next  dropp'd  from  high  a  mangled  arm  ; 
The  fingers  strain'd  an  half-drawn  blade  : 

"  O  aid  me.  then,  to  seek  the  pair. 

And  last,  the  life-blood  streaming  warm, 

Whom,  loitering  in  the  woods,  I  lost; 

Torn  from  the  trunk,  a  gasping  head. 

Alone,  I  dare  not  venture  there. 

Where  walks,  they  say,  the  shrieking  ghost." 

Oft  o'er  that  head,  in  battling  field, 

"  Yes,  many  a  shrieking  ghost  walks  there  ; 

Stream'd  the  proud  crest  of  high  Benmore  ; 
That  arm  the  broad  claymore  could  wield, 

Then,  first,  my  own  sad  vow  to  keep, 
Here  will  I  pour  my  midnight  prayer, 

Which  dyed  the  Teith  with  Saxon  gore. 

Which  still  must  rise  when  mortals  sleep."— 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

494 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Woe  to  Mcmeira's  sullen  rills ! 

Woe  to  Glentinlas'  dreary  glen ! 
There  never  son  of  Alhin's  hills 

Shall  draw  the  hunter's  shaft  agen! 

E'en  the  tired  pilgrim's  burning  feet 
Al  noon  shall  shun  that  sheltering  den, 

Lest,  journeying  in  their  rage,  he  meet 
The  wayward  Ladies  ol  the  Glen. 


And  we — behind  the  Chieftain's  shield, 
No  more  shall  we  m  safety  dwell ; 

None  leads  the  people  tu  the  field — 
And  we  the  loud  lament  must  swell. 

0  houe  a  rie' !  O  hone  a  rie' ! 

The  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er ! 
And  fall'n  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree  ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more  ! 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane  tree. 

P.  492 

The  fires  lighted  by  the  Highlanders,  on  the 
first  of  May.  in  compliance  with  a  custom  de- 
rived from  the  Pagan  times,  are  termed  The 
Beltane-tree.  It  is  a  festival  celebrated  with 
various  superstitious  rites,  both,  in  the  north 
of  Scotland  and  in  Wales. 


NOTE  B. 

The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found.— 492. 
I  can  only  describe  the  second  sight,  by 
adopting  Dr.  Johnson's  definition,  who  calls  it 
"  An  impression,  either  by  the  mind  upon  the 
eye.  or  by  the  eye  upon  the  mind,  by  which 
tilings  distant  and  future  are  perceived  and 
seen  as  if  they  were  present."  To  which  I 
would  only  add.  that  the  spectral  appearances, 
thus  presented,  usually  presage  misfortune ; 
that  the  faculty  is  painful  to  those  who  sup- 
pose they  possess  it;  and  that  they  usually 
acquire  it  while  themselves  under  the  pressure 
of  melancholy. 


NOTE  C. 

Witt  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail  ?— P.  492. 

St.  Oran  was  a  friend  and  follower  of  St. 
Columba.  and  was  buried  at  Icolmkill.  His 
pretensions  to  be  a  saint  were  rather  dubious. 
According  to  the  legend,  he  consented  to  be 
buried  alive,  in  order  to  propitiate  certain  de- 
mons of  the  soil,  who  obstructed  the  attempts 
of  Columha  to  build  a  chapel.  Columba  caused 
the  l:ody  of  his  friend  to  be  dug  up,  after  three 
days  had  elapsed :  when  Oran,  to  the  horror 
and  scandal  of  the  assistants,  declared,  that 
there  was  neither  a  God,  a  judgment,  nor  a 
future  state  !  He  had  no  time  to  make  fur- 
ther discoveries,  for  Columba  caused  the  earth 
once  more  to  be  shovelled  over  him  with  the 
utmost  despatch.  The  chapel,  however,  and 
the  cemetery,  was  called  Retig  Ouran ;  and,  in 
memory  of  his  rigid  celibacy,  no  female  was 


permitted  to  pay  her  devotions,  or  be  bnned 
in  that  place.  This  is  the  rule  alluded  to  m 
the  poem. 


NOTE  D. 

And  thrice  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer. 

P.  493. 

St.  Fillan  has  given  his  name  to  many  cha- 
pels, holy  fountains.  <tc  in  Scotland.  He  was, 
according  to  Camerarms,  an  Abbot  of  Pitten- 
weem,  in  Fife;  from  which  situation  he  re- 
tired, and  died  a  hermit  in  the  wijds  of  Glen- 
nrchy,  A.  D.  &»9.  While  engaged  in  transcrib- 
ing the  Scriptures,  his  left  hand  was  observed 
to  send  forth  such  a  splendour,  as  to  afford 
light  to  that  with  which  he  wrote  :  a  miracle 
which  saved  many  candles  to  the  convent,  as 
St.  Fillan  used  to  spend  whole  nights  in  that 
exercise.  The  9th  of  January  was  dedicated 
to  this  saint,  who  gave  his  name  to  Kiltiilan. 
in  Renfrew,  and  St  Phillans.  or  Forgend,  in 
Fife.  Lesley,  lib.  7.  tells  us.  that  Robert  the 
Bruce  was  possessed  of  Fillan °s  miraculous 
and  luminous  arm,  which  he  enclosed  in  a 
silver  shrine,  and  had  it  earned  at  the  head  of 
his  army.  Previous  to  the  Battle  of  Bannock- 
burn,  the  king's  chaplain,  a  man  of  little  faith, 
abstracted  the  relic,  and  deposited  it  in  a 
place  of  security,  lest  it  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  English.  But.  lo!  while  Robert 
was  addressing  his  prayers  to  the  empty 
casket,  it  was  observed  lo  open  and  shut  sud- 
denly ;  and.  on  inspection,  the  saint  was  found 
to  have  himself  deposited  his  arm  in  the  shnne 
ns  an  assurance  of  victory.  Such  is  the  tale 
of  Lesley.  But  though  Bruce  little  needed 
that  the  arm  of  St.  Fillnn  should  assist  Ins 
own.  he  dedicated  to  him,  in  gratitude,  a  priory 
t  Killm.  upon  Loch  Tuy 

In  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1802,  there 
i  a  copy  of  a  very  curious  crown  grant,  dated 
llth  July,  1487,  by  which  James  III.  confirms, 
to  Malice  Doire.  an  inhabitant  of  Strathfillan. 
in  Perthshire,  the  peaceable  exercise  and  en- 
joyment of  a  relic  of  St.  Fillan.  being  appa- 
rently the  head  of  a  pastoral  staff  called,  the 
Quegrich,  which  he  and  his  predecessors"  are 
said  to  have  possessed  since  the  days  of  Ro- 
bert Bruce.  As  the  Quegnch  was  used  to 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO   MINSTRELSY. 


495  : 


cure  diseases,  this  document  is  probably  the 
most  ancient  patent  ever  granted  for  a  quack 
medicine.  The  ingenious  correspondent,  by 
whom  it  is  furnished,  farther  observes,  that 
additional  particulars,  concerning  St.  Fillan. 
are  to  be  found  m  Belltnden's  Boece,  Book  4, 
folio  ccxiii ,  and  m  Pennant's  Tour  m  Scotland, 
1772,  pp.  11, 15. 


See  a  note  on  the  lines  in  the  first  canto  of 
Marmion.  .  .  . 

"Thence  to  St.  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore,"  &c. 

Editor. 


nf  It.  Snljn. 


Smaylho'me,  or  Smallholm  Tower,  the  scene 
of  the  following  ballad,  is  situated  on  the 
northern  boundary  of  Roxburghshire,  among  a 
cluster  of  wild  rocks,  called  Sandiknow-Crags, 
the  property  of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.  of  Harden, 
fnow  Lord  Polwarth.]  The  tower  is  a  high 
square  building,  surrounded  by  an  outer  wall, 
now  ruinous.  The  circuit  of  the  outer  court. 
being  defended  on  three  sides,  by  a  precipice 
and  morass,  is  accessible  only  from  the  west, 
by  a  steep  and  rocky  path.  The  apartments, 
as  is  usual  in  a  Border  keep,  or  fortress,  are 

g  laced  one  above  another,  and  communicate 
y  a  narrow  stair ;  on  the  roof  are  two  barti- 
zans, or  platforms,  for  defence  or  pleasure. 
The  inner  door  of  the  tower  is  wood,  the  outer 
an  iron  gate;  the  distance  between  them  be- 
ing nine  feet,  the  thickness,  namely,  of  the 
wall.  From  the  elevated  situation  of  Smayl- 
ho'me Tower,  it  is  seen  many  miles  in  every 
direction.  Among  the  crags  by  which  it  is 
surrounded,  one,  more  eminent,  is  called  the 
Watcfifold,  and  is  said  to  have  been  the  station 
of  a  beacon,  in  the  times  of  war  with  England. 
Without  the  tower-courc  is  a  ruined  chapel. 
Brothers' one  is  a  heath,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Smaylho'me  Tower. 

This  ballad  was  first  printed  in  Mr.  Lewis's 
Taks  of  Wonder.  It  is  here  published,  with 
some  additional  illustrations,  particularly  an 
account  of  the  battle  of  Ancram  Moor;  which 
seemed  proper  m  a  work  upon  Border  anti- 
quities The  catastrophe  of  the  tale  is  founded 
upon  a  well-known  Irish  tradition.  This  an- 
cient fortress  and  its  vicinity  formed  the  scene 
of  the  Editor's  infancy,  and  seemed  to  claim 
from  him  this  attempt  to  celebrate  them  in  a 
Border  tale. 


ISbe  of  St.  Jojm. 


The  Baron  of  Smaylho'me  rose  with  day. 

He  spurr'd  his  courser  on, 
Without  stop  or  stay,  down  the  rocky  way, 

1'hat  leads  to  Brotnerstone. 

1  The  plate-jack  if  coat-armour;  the  vaunt-brace,  or  wi 
brace,  armour  for  the  body  :  the  apcrthe,  a  batile-axe. 


He  went  not  with  the  bold  Bnccleuch 

His  banner  broad  to  rear; 
He  went  not  'gainst  the  English  yew, 

To  lift  the  Scottish  spear. 

Yet  his  plate-jack  1  was  braced,  and  his  hel- 
met was  laced, 

And  his  vaunt-brace  of  proof  he  wore; 
At  his  saddle  gerthe  was  a  good  steel  sperthe, 

Full  ten  pound  weight  and  more. 

The  Baron  return'd  in  three  days  space, 
And  his  looks  were  sad  and  sour; 

And  weary  was  his  courser's  pace, 
As  he  reach'd  his  rocky  tower. 

He  name  not  from  where  Ancram  Moor* 

Ran  red  with  English  blood  ; 
Where  the  Douglas  true,  and  the  bold  Buc- 
cleuch, 

'Gainst  keen  Lord  Evers  stood. 

Yet  was  his  helmet  hack'd  and  hew'd, 

His  acton  pierced  and  tore, 
His  axe  and  his  dagger  with  blood  imbrued, — 

But  it  was  not  Knglish  gore. 

He  lighted  at  the  Chapellaffe, 

He  held  him  close  and  still ; 
And  he  whistled  thrice  for  his  little  foot-page, 

His  name  was  English  Will. 

"  Come  thou  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

Come  hither  to  my  knee ; 
Though  thou  art  young,  and  tender  of  age, 

I  think  thou  art  true  to  me. 

"  Come,  tell  me  all  that  thou  hast  seen, 

And  look  thou  tell  me  true ! 
Since  I  from  Smaylho'me  tower  have  been. 

What  did  thy  lady  do?"— 

"  My  lady,  each  night,  sought  the  lonely  light, 
That  burns  on  the  wild  Watchfold ; 

For.  from  height  to  height,  the  beacons  bright 
Of  the  English  foemeu  told. 

"The  bittern  clamour'd  from  the  moss, 

The  wind  blew  loud  and  shrill; 
Yet  the  craggy  pathway  she  did  cross 

To  the  eiry  Beacon  Hill. 

y  See  Appendix.  Note  A. 


496 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  I  watch'd  her  steps,  and  silent  came 

Where  she  sat  her  on  a  stone  ;— 
No  watchman  stood  hy  the  dreary  flame, 

It  burned  all  alone. 

The  second  night  1  kept  her  in  sight, 
Till  to  the  fire  she  came, 
And,  by  Mary's  might !  an  Armed  Knight 
Stood  by  the  lonely  flame. 

"  And  many  a  word  that  warlike  lord 

Did  speak  to  my  lady  there ; 
But  the  ram  fell  fast,  and  loud  blew  the  blast, 

And  I  heard  not  what  they  were. 

"  The  third  night  there  the  sky  was  fair, 
And  the  mountain-blast  was  still, 

As  Tigam  I  watch'd  the«ecret  pair, 
Ou  the  lonesome  Beacon  Hill. 

"  And  I  heard  her  name  the  midnight  hour, 

And  name  this  holy  eve ; 
And  say. '  Come  this  night  to  thy  lady's  bower ; 

Ask  no  bold  Baron's  leave. 

" '  He  lifts  his  spear  with  the  bold  Buccleuch ; 

His  lady  is  all  alone ; 
The  door" she'll  undo,  to  her  knight  so  true, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John.' — 

"  '  I  cannot  come ;  I  must  not  come  ; 

I  dare  not  come  to  thee ; 
On  the  eve  of  St.  John  I  must  wander  aloue  : 

In  thy  bower  I  may  not  be.' — 

" '  Now,  out  on  thee.  fainthearted  knight ! 

Thou  shouldst  not  say  me  nay ; 
For  the  eve  is  sweet,  and  when  lovers  meet, 

Is  worth  the  whole  summer's  day. 

" '  And  111  chain  the  blood-hound,  and  the 

warder  shall  not  sound, 
And  rushes  shall  be  strew'd  on  the  stair: 
So,  by  the  black  rood-stone,'  and  by  holy  St 

John. 
I  conjure  thee,  my  love,  to  be  there  !' — 

"'Though  the  blood-hound  be  mute,  and  the 

rash  beneath  my  foot. 
And  the  warder  his  bugle  should  not  blow, 
Yet  there  sleepeth  a  priest  in  the  chamber  to 

the  east. 
And  my  footstep  he  would  know.' — 

"*O  fenr  not  the  priest,  who  sleepeth  to  the 
east! 

For  to  Dryburgh5  the  way  he  has  ta'en ; 
And  there  to  say  mass,  till  three  days  do  pass, 

For  the  soul  of  a  knight  that  is  siayne." — 

"  Hetnrn'd  him  around,  and  grimly  he  frown'd; 

Then  he  laugh'd  right  scornfully — 
'  He  who  says  the  mass-rite  for  the  soul  of  that 
knight. 

May  as  well  say  mass  for  me  : 

" '  At  the  lone  midnight  hour,  when  bad  spirits 
have  power, 

In  thy  chamber  will  I  be.' — 
With  that  he  was  gone,  and  my  lady  left  alone, 

And  no  more  did  I  see." 

1  The  black- rood  of  Me  Irose  was  a  crucifii  of  black  mar- 
ble, and  of  superior  sanctity. 
»Drybn:gh  Abbey  i»  beautifully  situated  on  the  banks  of 

of  the  HaMibunon*  of  .Newmainn!  and  in  DOW  the  seat  of 
the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Buthao.  It  belonged  to 
the  order  of  Premon»trateiu<*. 


Then  changed,  I  trow,  was  that  bold  Baron's 

brow. 

From  the  dark  to  the  blood-red  high 
"  Now.  tell  me  the  mien  of  the  knight  thou 

hast  seen. 
For,  by  Mary,  he  shall  die !" — 

"  His  arms  shone  full  bright,  in  the  beacon's 

red  light; 

His  plume  it  was  scarlet  and  blue; 
On  his  shield  was  a  hound,  in  a  silver  leash 

bound. 
And  his  crest  was  a  branch  of  the  yew."— 

"  Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  thou  little  foot-page, 

Loud  dost  thou  lie  to  me ! 
For  that  knight  is  cold,  and  low  laid  in  the 
mould, 

All  under  the  JEildon-tree." — • 

"  Yet  hear  but  my  word,  my  noble  lord! 

For  I  heard  her  name  his  name  ; 
And  that  lady  bright,  she  called  the  knight 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame." — 

The  bold  Baron's  brow  then  changed,  I  trow, 

From  high  blood-red  to  pale — 
"  The  grave  is  deep  and  dark — and  the  corpse 
is  stitf  and  stark — 

So  I  may  not  trust  thy  tale. 

"  W'here  fair  Tweed  flows  round  holy  Melrose, 

And  Eildon  slopes  to  the  plain, 
Full  three  nights  ago,  by  some  secret  foe, 

That  gay  gallant  was  slain 

"  The  varying  light  deceived  thy  sight, 
And  the  wild  winds  drown'd  the  name  ; 

For  the  Dryburgh  bells  ring,  and  the  white 

monks  do  sing, 
For  Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame  !" 

He  pass'd  the  court-gate,  and  he  oped  the 

lower-gate, 

And  he  mounted  the  narrow  stair. 
To  the  bartizan-seat,  where,  with  maids  that 

on  her  wait, 
He  found  his  lady  fair. 

That  lady  sat  in  mournful  mood ; 

Look'd  over  hill  and  vale ; 
Over  Tweed's  fair  flood,  and  Mertoun's  *  wood, 

And  all  down  Teviotdale. 

"  Now  hail,  now  hail,  thou  lady  bright  !"— 

•'  Now  hail,  thou  Baron  true ! 
What  news,  what  news,  from  Ancram  fight  ? 

What  news  from  the  bold  Buccleuch  !"— 

"  The  Ancram  Moor  is  red  with  gore, 

For  many  a  southron  fell ; 
And  Buccleuch  has  charged  us.  evermore, 

To  watch  our  beacons  well." — 

The  lady  blush'd  red,  but  nothing  she  said  : 

Nor  added  the  Baron  a  word  : 
Then  she  stepp'd  down  the  stair  to  her  cham- 
ber fair. 

And  so  did  her  moody  lord. 


Melrose,  where  1 
monastery.  Eildo 
tree  ic  raid  to  IK-  the  spot  where  Thoma*  the  Rhymer  uttt 
ed  his  prophecies.  See  ante,  p.  479. 

4  Mertoan  is  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord  Polwarth, 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY.         497 

In  sleep  the  lady  mourn'd,  and  the  Baron  toss'd 

"  At  our  trysting-place,1-  for  a  certain  space, 

arid  tiirn'd. 

1  must  wander  to  and  fro  ; 

And  oft  to  himself  he  said.— 

But  1  had  not  had  power  to  come  to  thy  bower 

"  The  worms  around  him  creep,  and  his  bloody 

Had'st  thou  not  conjured  me  so."  — 

grave  is  deep  
It  cannot  give  up  the  dead  !"  — 

Love  master'd  fear—  her  brow  she  cross'd  ; 
"  How.  Richard,  hast  thou  sped  ? 

It  was  near  the  ringing  of  matin-bell, 

And  art  thou  saved,  or  art  thou  lost?"  — 

The  night  was  wellnigh  done. 

The  vision  shook  his  head  ! 

When  a  heavy  sleep  on  that  Baron  fell, 
On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John. 

"Who  spilleth  life,  shall  forfeit  life; 
So  bid  thy  lord  believe  : 

The  lady  look'd  through  the  chamber  fair, 
By  the  light  of  a  dying  flame  : 

That  lawless  love  is  gailt  above, 
This  awful  sign  receive." 

And  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  stood  there  — 
Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghaine  ! 

He  laid  his  left  palm  on  an  oaken  beam, 
His  right  upon  her  hand  ; 

The  lady  shrunk,  and  tainting  sunk, 

"  Alas  !  away,  away  !"  she  cried, 

For  it  scorch'd  like  a  fiery  brand. 

"  For  the  holy  Virgin's  sake  !"  — 

"  Lady,  1  know  who  sleeps  by  thy  side  ; 

The  sable  score,  of  fingers  four, 

But,  lady,  he  will  not  awake. 

Remains  on  that  board  impress'd; 

And  for  evermore  that  lady  wore 

"  By  Eildon-tree.  for  long  nights  three, 

A  covering  ou  her  wrist. 

lii  bloody  grave  have  I  lain  ; 

The  mass  and  the  death-prayer  are  said  for 

There  is  a  nun  in  Dryburgh  bower, 

me. 

Ne'er  looks  upon  the  sun  : 

Bat,  lady,  they  are  said  in  vain. 

There  is  a  monk  in  Melrose  tower, 

He  speaketh  word  to  none. 

"By  the  Baron's  brand,  near  Tweed's  fair 

strand, 

That  nun,  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day,a 

Nfost  foully  slain,  I  fell; 

That  monk,  who  speaks  to  none  — 

And  my  restless  sprite  on  the  beacon's  height, 
For  a  space  is  doom'd  to  dwell. 

That  nun  was  Smaylho'me's  Lady  gay, 
That  monk  the  bold  Baron. 

APPENDIX. 

NOTE  A. 

BATTLE  OF  ANCRA.M  MOOR. 
P.  495. 

Lord  Evers,  and  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  during 
the  year  1544,  committed  the  most  dreadful 

Insight  gear,  <tc.  (furniture)  an  incal- 
culable quantity. 
Murdin's  Slate  Papers,  vol.  i.  p.  51. 

For  these   services   Sir  Ralph  Evers  was 
made  a  Lord  of  Parliament.    See  a  strain  of 

ravages  upon  the  Scottish  frontiers,  compelling 
must  of  the  inhabitants,  and  especially  the 
men  of  Liddesdale.  to  take  assurance  under 

exulting  congratulation   upon  his  promotion 
poured  forth  by  some  contemporary  minstrel, 
in  vol.  i.  p.  417. 

the  King  of  England.     Upon  the  17th  Novem- 
ber, in  that  year,  the  sum  total  of  their  depre- 

The King  of  England  had  promised  to  these 
two  barons  a  feudal  grant  of  the  country, 

dations  stood  thus,  in  the  bloody  ledger  of 

which  they  had   thus  reduced  to  a  desert; 

Lord  Evers:  — 

upon  hearing  which,  Archibald  Douglas,  the 

seventh  Earl  of  Angus,  is  said  to  have  sworn 

Towns,  towers,  harnekynes,  paryshe 

to  write  the  deed  of  investiture  upon  their 

churches,  bastill  houses,  burned 

skins,  with  sharp  pens  and  bloody  ink,  in  re- 

sentment tor  their  having  tietaceu  tiie  tome 

Vvl'S    F       1    V        •   •     \    I  •  t'  n      a"  ii        ntprpd 

Nolt  (cattle)     -'-------     10  386 

*lr>    t)       H            Th                                        S*    t'll<r        f    ?000 

mercenaries  1500  English  Borderers   and  700 

dssuieu    occ    i.  n    i       ,     .         ^,]an_      jn  ,1";^ 

i  urnouus,  anu  oiner          e     ^ 

1  Tryeting-plaet—  Place  of  reodervou*. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

498 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


second  incursion,  the  English  generals  even 
exceeded  their  former  cruelty.  Evers  burned 
the  tower  of  Broomhouse,  with  its  lady,  (a 
noble  and  aged  woman,  says  Lesley,)  and  her 
whole  family.  The  English  penetrated  as  far 
as  Melrose,  which  they  had  destroyed  last 
year,  and  which  they  now  again  pillaged.  As 
they  returned  towards  Jedhurgh.  they  were 
followed  by  Angus  at  the  head  of  1000  horse, 
who  was  shortly  after  joined  by  the  famous 
Norman  Lesley,  with  a  body  of  Fife -men. 
The  English,  being  probably  unwilling  to  cross 
the  Teviot  while  the  Scots  hang  npon  their 
rear,  halted  upon  Ancram  Moor,  above  the 
village  of  that  name ;  and  the  Scottish  general 
was  deliberating  whether  to  advance  or  retire, 
when  Sir  Walter  Scott,  of  Bucoleuch.  came  up 
at  full  speed  with  a  small  but  chosen  body  of 
his  retainers,  the  rest  of  whom  were  near  at 
hand.  By  the  advice  of  this  experienced  war- 
rior (to  whose  cond  uct  Pitsrottie  and  Buchanan 
ascribe  the  success  of  the  engagement),  Angus 
withdrew  from  the  height  which  he  occupied, 
and  drew  up  his  forces  behind  it,  upon  a  piece 
of  low  flat  ground,  called  Pamer-heugh.  or 
Paniel-heugh.  The  spare  horses  being  sent  to 
an  eminence  in  their  rear,  appeared  to  the 
English  to  be  the  main  body  of  the  Scots  in 
the  act  of  flight.  Under  this  persuasion.  Evers 
and  Latoun  hurried  precipitately  forward,  and 
having  ascended  the  hill,  which  their  foes  had 
abandoned,  were  no  less  dismayed  than  aston- 
ished to  find  the  phalanx  of  Scottish  spearmen 
drawn  up  in  firm  array  upon  the  flat  ground 
below.  The  Scots  in  their  turn  became  the 
assailants.  A  heron,  roused  from  the  marshes 
by  the  tumult,  soared  away  betwixt  the  en- 
countering armies:  "O!"  exclaimed  Angus, 
"that  I  had  here  my  white  goss-hawk,  that 
we  might  all  yoke  at  once  \"—Godscroft.  The 
English,  breathless  and  fatigued,  having  the 
setting  sun  and  wind  full  in  their  faces,  were 
unable  to  withstand  the  resolute  and  desperate 
charge  of  the  Scottish  lances.  No  sooner  had 
they  begun  to  waver,  than  their  own  allies,  the 
assured  Borderers,  who  had  been  waiting  the 
event,  threw  aside  their  red  crosses,  and.  join- 
ing their  countrymen,  made  a  most  merciless 
slaughter  among  the  English  fugitives,  the 
pursuers  calling  npon  ench  other  to  "remem- 
ber Broomhouse !" — Lesley,  p.  478. 

ID  the  battle  fell  Lord  Evers,  and  his  son, 
together  with  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  and  800  Eng- 
lishmen, many  of  whom  were  persons  of  rank 
A  thousand  prisoners  were  taken.  Among 
these  was  a  patriotic  alderman  of  London, 
Read  by  name,  who,  having  contumaciously 
refused  to  pay  his  portion  of  a  benevolence, 
demanded  from  the  city  by  Henry  VIII.,  was 
sent  by  royal  authority  to  serve  against  the 
Scots.  These,  at  settling  his  ransom,  he  found 
still  more  exorbitant  in  their  exactions  than 
the  monarch.  —  Redpath's  Border  History,  p. 
563. 

Evers  wns  much  regretted  by  King  Henry, 
who  swore  to  avenge  his  death  upon  Angus, 
against  whom  h«  conceived  himself  to  have 
particular  grounds  of  resentment,  on  account 
of  favours  received  hy  the  earl  at  his  hands. 
The  answer  of  Angus  was  worthy  of  a  Dou- 

1  Angus  had  married  the  widow  of  Jaraai  IV.,  lialer  to 


glas:  "Is  our  brother-in-law  offended,"  '  said 
he,  "  that  I,  as  a  good  Scotsman,  have  avenged 
my  ravaged  country,  and  tlie  defaced  tombs 
of  my  ancestors,  upon  Ralph  Evers  ?  They 
were  better  men  than  he,  and  I  was  bound  to 
do  no  less— and  will  he  take  my  life  for  that  ? 
Litile  knows  King  Henry  the  skirts  of  Kirne- 
table:"  I  can  keep  myself  there  agamst  all 
his  English  host." — Goilscrofl. 

Such  was  the  noted  battle  of  Ancram  Moor. 
The  spot,  on  which  it  was  fought,  is  called 
Lilyard's  Edge,  from  an  Amazonian  Scottish 
woman  of  that  name,  who  is  reported,  by  tra- 
dition, to  have  distinguished  herself  in  the 
same  manner  as  Squire  Witherineton.3  The 
old  people  point  out  her  monument,  now  bro- 
ken and  defaced.  The  inscription  is  said  to 
have  been  legible  within  this  century,  and  to 
have  run  thus : 

"  Fair  maiden  Lylliard  lies  under  this  stane. 
Little  was  her  stature,  but  great  was  her 

fame ; 
Upon    the    English    loans   she    laid    mony 

thumps, 

And,  when   her  legs  were  cutted  off,  she 
fought  upon  her  stumps." 

Vide  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Mtlrox. 

It  appears,  from  a  passage  in  Stowe,  that  an 
ancestor  of  Lord  Evers  held  also  a  grant  of 
Scottish  lands  from  an  English  monarch.  "  I 
have  seen,"  says  the  historian,  "under  the 
broad-seale  of  the  said  King  Edward  1.,  a 
manor,  called  Kelnes,  in  the  county  of  Forfare, 
in  Scotland,  and  neere  the  furthest  part  of  the 
same  nation  northward,  given  to  John  Ure  and 
his  heires,  ancestor  to  the  Lord  Ure.  that  now 
is.  for  his  service  done  in  these  panes,  with 
market.  &c.  dated  at  Lnnercost.  the  20th  day 
of  October',  anno  regis,  3i."—Sloiee's  Annals, 

E.  210.    This  grant,  like  that  of  Henry,  must 
ave  been  dangerous  to  the  receiver. 


NOTE  B. 

That  nun  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day.— P.  497. 

The  circumstance  of  the  nun,  "who  never 
saw  the  day,"  is  not  entirely  imaginary.  About 
fifty  years  ago,  an  unfortunate  female  wan- 
derer took  up  her  residence  in  a  dark  vault, 
among  the  ruins  of  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which, 
during  the  day,  she  never  quitted'  When 
night  fell,  she  issued  from  this  miserable  habi- 
tation, arid  went  to  the  house  of  .Mr  Halibur- 
ton  of  Newmains,  the  Editor's  great-grand- 
father, or  to  that  of  Mr.  Krskine  (if  Sheffield, 
two  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood.  From 
their  charity,  she  obtained  such  necessaries 
as  she  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  accept.  At 
twelve,  each  night,  she  lighted  her  candle,  and 
returned  to  her  vault,  assuring  her  friendly 
neighbours,  that,  during  her  absence,  her  habi- 
tation was  arranged  by  a  spirit,  to  whom  she 
fave  the  uncouth  name  of  Fallrps;  describing 
mi  as  a  little  man.  wearing  heavy  iron  sln.es. 
with  which  he  trampled  the  clay"  floor  of  the 
vault,  to  dispel  the  damps.  This  circumstance 

3  Kirnelable,  now  called  Cair.table,  n  a  mounlunoo. 
tract  at  the  bead  of  Douglaadule. 
3  See  duty  Cluae. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


499 


Her  lover  never  returned.    He  fell  during  the 
civil  war  of  1745-6,  and  she  never  more  would 

hi'hoiri  thp  lif»ht  nf  iluv 


caused  her  to  he  regarded,  by  (lie  well-in- 
formed, with  compassion,  as  deranged  in  her 
understanding;  and  by  the  vulgar,  with  some 
degree  of  terror.  The  cause  of  her  adopting 
this  extraordinary  mode  of  life  she  would 
never  explain.  It  was,  however,  believed  to 
have  been  occasioned  by  a  vow,  that,  during 
the  absence  of  a  man  to  whom  she  was  at- 
tached, she  would  never  look  upon  the  sun. 


The  ruins  of  Cadyow,  or  Cadzow  Castle,  the 
ancient  baronial  residence  of  the  family  of 
Hamilton,  are  situated  upon  the  precipitous 
hanks  of  the  river  Evan,  about  two  miles 
above  its  junction  with  the  Clyde.  It  was 
dismantled,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  Civil 
Wars,  during  the  reign  of  I  he  unfortunate 
Mary,  to  whose  cause  the  house  of  Hamilton 
devoted  themselves  with  a  generous  zeal, 
which  occasioned  their  temporary  obscurity, 
and,  very  nearly,  their  total  ruin  The  situa- 
tion of  the  rums,  embosomed  in  wood,  dark- 
ened by  ivy  and  creeping  shrubs,  and  over- 
hanging the  brawling  torrent,  is  romantic  in 
the  highest  degree.  In  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  Cadyow  is  a  grove  of  immense  oaks,  the 
remains  of  the  Caledonian  Forest,  which  an- 
ciently extended  through  the  south  of  Scot- 
land, from  the  eastern  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
Some  of  these  trees  measure  twenty-five  feet, 
and  upwards,  in  circumference  :  and  the  state 
of  decay,  in  which  they  now  appear,  shows 
that  they  have  witnessed  the  rites  of  the 
Druids.  The  whole  scenery  is  included  in  the 
magnificent  and  extensive  park  of  the  Duke 
of  Hamilton.  There  was  long  preserved  in 
this  forest  the  breed  of  the  Scottish  wild 
cattle,  until  their  ferocity  occasioned  their 
being  extirpated,  about  forty  years  ago.  Their 
appearance  was  beautiful,  being  rnilk-white, 
with  black  muzzles,  horns,  and  hoofs.  The 
bulls  are  described  by  ancient  authors  as 
having  white  manes;  but  those  of  latter  days 
had  lost  that  peculiarity,  perhaps  by  inter- 
mixture with  the  tame  breed.' 

In  detailing  the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray, 
which  is  made  the  subject  of  the  following 
ballad,  it  would  be  injustice  to  my  reader  to 
use  other  words  than  those  of  Dr.  Robertson, 
whose  account  of  that  memorable  event  forms 
a  beautiful  piece  of  historical  painting. 

"Hamilton  of  Bothwellhaugh  was  the  per- 
son who  committed  this  barbarous  action. 
He  had  been  condemned  to  death  soon  after 
the  battle  of  Langside,  as  we  have  already  re- 

1  They  were  formerly  kept  in  the  park  at   Drumlanrip, 
and  arc  alii!  lo  be  seen  at  Chillingtiam  Caatle,  in  Northum- 
berland.    For  their  nature  and  ferocity,  we  Notes. 

2  This  was  Sir  James   Belleuden,   Lord  Justice-Clerk, 

cattf-lrophe  in  the  text.— SpwHwieoorfe. 


lated,  and  owed  his  life  to  the  Regent's  cle- 
mency. But  part  of  his  estate  had  been  be- 
stowed upon  one  of  the  Regent's  favourites.5 
who  seized  his  house,  and  turned  out  his  wife, 
naked,  in  a  cold  night,  into  the  open  fields, 
where,  before  next  morning,  she  became 
furiously  mad.  This  injury  made  a  deeper 
impression  on  him  than  the  benefit  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  from  that  moment  he  vowed  to  be 
revenged  of  the  Regent.  Party  rage  strength- 
ened and  inflamed  his  private  resentment. 
His  kinsmen,  the  Hamiltnns.  applauded  the 
enterprise.  The  maxims  of  that  age  justified 
the  most  desperate  course  he  could  take  to 
obtain  vengeance.  He  followed  the  Regent 
for  some  time,  and  watched  for  an  opportunity 
to  strike  the  blow.  He  resolved  at  last  to 
wait  till  his  enemy  should  arrive  at  Linlith- 
gow,  through  which  he  was  to  pass  in  his  way 
from  Stirling  to  Edinburgh.  He  took  his  stand 
in  a  wooden  gallery ,3  which  had  a  window  to- 
wards the  street;  spread  a  feather-bed  on  the 
floor  to  hinder  the  noise  of  his  feet  from  being 
heard  ;  hung  up  a  black  cloth  behind  him.  that 
his  shadow  might  not  he  observed  from  with- 
out; and,  after  all  this  preparation,  calmly 
expected  the  Regent's  approach,  who  had 
lodged,  during  the  night,  in  a  house  not  far 
distant.  Some  indistinct  information  of  the 
danger  which  threatened  him  had  been  con- 
veyed to  the  Regent,  and  he  paid  so  much  re- 
gard to  it,  that  he  resolved  to  return  by  the 
same  gate  through  which  he  had  entered,  and 
to  fetch  a  compass  round  the  town.  But,  as 
the  crowd  about  the  gale  was  great,  and  he 
himself  unacquainted  with  fear,  he  proceeded 
directly  along  the  street ;  and  the  throng  of 
people  obliging  him  to  move  very  slowly,  gave 
the  assassin  time  to  take  so  true  an  aim,  that 
he  shot  him,  with  a  single  bullet,  through  the 
lower  part  of  his  belly,  and  killed  the  horse 
of  a  gentleman  who  rode  on  his  other  side. 
His  followers  instantly  endeavoured  to  break 
into  the  house  whence  the  blow  had  come ; 
but  they  found  the  door  strongly  barricadoed, 


the  Duke  of  Ch 
ault,  and  uncle  to  Bothwellhaugh.    This,  among  many 


500 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and,  before  it  could  be  forced  open,  Hamilton  jThen,  thrilling  to  the  harp's  gay  sound, 
had  mounted  a  fleet  horse.'  which  stood  ready  I     So  sweetly  run?  each  vaulted  i     " 


for  him  at  a  back  passage,  and  was  eot  far  be- 
yond their  reach.  The  Kfgerit  died  the  same 
night  of  his  wound."  —  history  of  Scotland, 
book  v. 

Bothwellhaugh  rode  straight  to  Hamilton, 
where  he  was  received  in  triumph;  for  the 
ashes  of  the  houses  in  Clydesdale,  which  had 
been  burned  by  Murray's  army,  were  yet 
smoking;  and  party  prejudice,  the  habits  of 
the  age,  and  the  enormity  of  the  provocation, 
seemed  to  his  kinsmen  to  justify  the  deed. 
After  a  short  abode  at  Hamilton,  this  fierce 


And  echoed  lieht  the  dancer's  hound. 

As  mirth  and  music  cheer'd  the  halL 
But  Cadyow's  towers,  in  ruins  laid, 

And  vaults,  by  ivy  mantled  o'er, 
Thrill  to  the  music  of  the  shade, 

Or  echo  Evan's  hoarser  roar. 
Yet  still,  of  Cadyow's  faded  fame, 

You  bid  rne  tell  a  minstrel  tale. 
And  tune  my  harp,  of  Border  frame, 

On  the  wild  banks  of  Evandaie. 


and  determined  man  left  Scotland!  and  served  I  For  tnou-  from  scenes  of  courtly  pride, 

in  France,  under  the  patronage  of  the  family    ^tT.°™  pleasure's  iiehter  scenes,  canst  turn, 


of  Guise,  to  whom  he  was  doubtless  recom- 
mended by  bavins  avenged  the  cause  of  their 
niece.  Queen  Mary,  upon  her  ungrateful  bro- 
ther. De  Thou  has  recorded,  that  an  attempt 
was  made  to  engage  him  to  assassinate  Caspar 
de  Coligni.  the  famous  Admiral  of  France,  and 
the  buckler  of  the  Huguenot  cause.  But  the 
character  of  Bothwellhaugh  was  mis'aken. 
He  was  no  mercenary  trader  in  blood,  and 
rejected  the  offer  with  contempt  and  indigna- 
tion He  had  no  authority,  he  said,  from  Scot- 
land to  commit  murders  in  France:  he  had 
avenged  his  own  just  quarrel,  but  he  would 
neither,  for  price  nor  prayer,  avenge  that  of 
another  mnn — Thuanus.  cap.  46. 

The  Regent's  death  happened  23d  January, 
1569.  It  is  applauded  or  stiematized.  by  con- 
temporary historians,  according  to  their  reli- 
gious or  party  prejudices.  The  triumph  of 


ilackwood  is  unbounded.    He  not  only 
the  pious  feat  of  Bothwellhaugh,  "wr 


xtols 
he 


observes,  "satisfied,  with  a  single  ounce  of 
lead,  him  whose  sacrilegious  avarice  had 
stripped  the  metropolitan  church  of  St.  An- 
drews of  its  covering;"  but  he  ascribes  it  to 
immediate  divine  inspiration,  and  the  escape 
or  H;imilton  to  little  less  than  the  miraculous 
interference  of  the  Deity.  —  Jebb.  vol.  ii.  p  263. 
With  equal  injustice,  it  was,  by  others.  m;ide 
the  ground  of  a  general  national  reflection; 
for,  when  Mather  urged  Berney  to  assassinate 
Burleigh,  and  quoted  the  examples  of  Poltrot 
and  Bothwellhaugh.  the  other  conspirator  an- 
swered, "that  neyther  Poltrot  nor  Hambleton 
did  attempt  their  enterpryse,  without  some 
reason  or  consideration  to  lead  them  to  it  ;  as 
the  one.  by  hyre,  and  promise  of  preferment 
orrewarde;  the  other,  upon  desperate  mind 
of  revenee,  for  a  lyttle  wrong  done  unto  him, 
as  the  report  goethe,  according  to  the  vyle 
trayterous  dysposysyon  of  the  hoole  iiatyon 
of  the  Scottes."  —  Murdin's  State  Papers,  vol.  i. 
p.  197. 


Castle. 

ADDRESSED  TO   THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

LADY  ANNE  HAMILTON. 

When  princely  Hamilton's  abode 
Ennobled  Cadyow's  Gothic  towers, 

The  song  went  round,  the  goblet  flow'd, 
And  revel  sped  the  laughing  hours. 


niton,  Con 


leodator  of  Ar» 


To  draw  oblivion's  pall  aside. 
And  mark  the  long-forgotten  urn. 

Then,  noble  maid  !  at  thy  command. 
Again  the  crumbled  halls  shall  rise; 

1.0 !  as  on  Evan's  hanks  we  stand. 
The  past  returns— the  present  flies. 

Where,  with  the  rock's  wood-cover'd  side, 
Were  blended  late  the  ruins  green, 

Rise  turrets  in  fantastic  pride, 
And  feudal  banners  flaunt  between : 

Where  the  rude  torrent's  brawling  course 
Was  shagg'd  with  thorn  and  tangling  sloe, 

The  ashler  buttress  braves  its  furce. 
And  ramparts  frown  in  battled  row. 

'Tis  night — the  shade  of  keep  and  spire 
Oliscurely  dance  on  Evan's  stream ; 

And  on  the  wave  the  warder's  fire 
Is  chequering  the  moonlight  beam. 

Fades  slow  their  light ;  the  east  is  grey; 

The  weary  warder  leaves  his  tower  ; 
Steeds  snort;  uncoupled  Kwc-booodl  bay. 

And  merry  hunters  quit  the  bower. 

The  drawbridge  falls — they  hurry  out — 
Clatters  each  plank  and  swinging  chain, 

As.  dashing  o'er,  the  jovial  rout 
Urge  the  shy  steed,  and  slack  the  rein. 

First  of  his  troop,  the  Chief  rode  on  ;  » 
His  shoutins  merry-men  throng  behind ; 

The  steed  of  princely  Hamilton 
Was  fleeter  than  the  mountain  wind. 

From  the  thick  copse  the  roebucks  bound, 
The  startled  red-deer  scuds  the  plain, 

For  the  hoarse  bugle's  warrior-sound 
Has  roused  their  mountain  haunts  again. 

Through  the  huge  oaks  of  Evandaie. 

Whose  limbs  a  thousand  years  have  worn, 
What  sullen  roar  conies  down  the  gale, 

And  drowns  the  hunter's  pealing  horn  T 

Mizhtiest  of  all  the  beasts  of  chase, 

That  roam  in  W'»*ly  Palfdun, 
Crashing  the  I'-ms-  <>>  I. is  race. 

The  Mountain  Bull  comes  thundering  on. 

Fierce,  on  the  hnn'er's  qniver'd  band, 
He  rolls  his  eyes  of  swarthy  glow, 

Spurns,  with  black  hoof  and  horn,  the  sand, 
And  tosses  high  his  mane  of  snow. 


2  The  hewl  of  the  family  o 
»me«,  Earl  of  Arran.  Ouke 
-•'  first  pe«r  of  tne  aroltinh 
led  by  Queen  Mary  her  Ii< 


nilton,  at  this  period,  wai 
"hstrflieraiilt,  in  France, 
1m.     In  1509.  he  wan  ap- 
pointed by  Queen  Mary  her  lieutenant-general  in  Scotland, 
mder  tbe  singular  title  of  her  adopted  father. 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    MINSTRELSY.         501 

Aim'd  well,  the  Chieftain's  lance  has  flown  ; 

Sternly  he  spoke—"  Tis  sweet  to  hear 

Struggling  in  blood  the  savage  lies  ; 

In  good  greenwood  the  bugle  blown, 

His  roar  is  sunk  in  hollow  groan- 

But  sweeter  to  Revenge's  ear. 

Sound,  merry  huntsmen  !  sound  the  pryse!  ' 

To  drink  a  tyrant's  dying  groan. 

'Tis  noon  —  against  the  knotted  oak 
The  hunters  rest  tiie  idle  spear; 
Curls  through  the  trees  the  slender  smoke. 
Where  yeomen  dight  the  woodland  cheer. 

"  Your  slaughter'd  quarry  proudly  trode. 
At  dawning  morn,  o'er  dale  and  down, 
But  prouder  base-born  Murray  rode 
Through  old  Linlithgow's  crowded  town. 

Proudly  the  Chieftain  mark'd  his  clan, 
On  greenwood  lap  all  careless  thrown, 
Yet  iniss'd  his  eye  the  boldest  man 
That  bore  the  name  of  Hamilton. 

"  From  the  wild  Border's  bumbled  side,8 
In  haughty  triumph  marched  he, 
While  KIIP.T.  relax'd  his  bigot  pride, 
And  srr.iled,  the  traitorous  pomp  to  see. 

"  Why  fills  not  Bothwellhaugh  his  place. 

"  But  '.an  stern  Power,  with  all  his  vaunt, 

Why  comes  he  not  our  sport  to  grace  ? 
Why  shares  he  not  our  hunter's  fare  7"  — 

Or  j'omp,  with  all  her  courtly  glare, 
The  settled  heart  of  Vengeance  daunt, 
Or  change  the  purpose  of  Despair  1 

Stern  Claud  replied,*1  with  darkening  face, 
(Grey  Paisley*!)  haughty  lord  was  he,) 
"  At  merry  feast,  or  buxom  chase. 
No  more  the  warrior  wilt  thou  see. 

"  Few  suns  have  set  since  WoodhouseleeS 

"  With  hackbut  bent,'  my  secret  stand. 
Dark  as  the  purposed  deed,  I  chose, 
And  mark'd.  where,  mingling  in  his  band. 
Troop'd  Scottish  pikes  and  English  bows. 

Saw  Bothwellhaugh's  bright  goblets  foam, 

"  Dark  Morton.  8  girt  with  many  a  spear, 

When  to  his  hearths,  in  social  glee. 

Murder's  foul  minion,  led  the  van; 

The  war-worn  soldier  turn'  d  him  home. 

And  clash'd  their  broadswords  in  the  rear 

"  There,  wan  from  her  maternal  throes, 

The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan.* 

His  Margaret,  beautiful  and  mild, 
Sate  in  her  bower,  a  pallid  rose, 

"Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead  ">  were  nigh, 
Obsequious  at  their  Regent's  rein, 

And  peaceful  nursed  her  new-born  child. 

And  haggard  Lindesay's  iron  eye, 

"  O  change  accursed  !  past  are  those  days  ; 

That  saw  fair  .Mary  weep  in  vain.'l 

False  Murray's  ruthless  spoilers  came, 

"'Mid  pennon'd  spears,  a  steelv  grove, 

And,  for  the  hearth's  domestic  blaze, 

Proud  Murray's  plumage  floated  high; 

Ascends  destruction's  volumed  flame. 

Scarce  could  his  trampling  charger  move. 

"  What  sheeted  phantom  wanders  wild. 

So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh.1'* 

Where  mountain   Eske   through  woodland 

"  From  the  raised  vizor's  shade,  his  eye, 

flows. 

Dark-rolling,  glanced  the  ranks  along, 

Her  arms  enfold  a  shadowy  child  — 

And  his  steel  truncheon,  waved  on  high, 

Oh  !  is  it  she,  the  pallid  rose  1 

Seem'd  marshalling  the  iron  throng. 

"The  wilder'd  traveller  sees  her  glide. 

"  But  yet  his  sadden'd  brow  confess'd 

And  hears  her  feeble  voice  with  awe  — 

A  passing  shade  of  doubt  and  awe  ; 

'  Revenge,'  she  cries,  '  on  Murray's  pride  ! 

Some  fiend  was  whispering  in  his  breast; 

And  woe  for  injured  Bothwellhaugh!'" 

'Beware  of  injured  Bothwellhaugh  !' 

He  ceased  —  and  cries  of  rage  and  grief 
Burst  mingling  from  the  kindred  band, 

"The  death-shot  parts  —  the  charger  springs  — 
Wild  rises  tumult's  startling  roar! 

And  half  arose  the  kindling  Chief. 

And  Murray's  plumy  helmet  rings  — 

And  half  unsheathed  his  Arran  brand. 

—  Rings  on  the  ground,  to  rise  no  more. 

But  who,  o'er  bush,  o'er  stream  and  rock, 
Rides  headlong,  with  resistless  speed, 

"  What  joy  the  raptur'd  youth  can  feel, 
To  hear  her  love  the  loved  one  tell  — 

Whose  bloody  poniard's  frantic  stroke 

Or  he,  who  broaches  on  his  steel 

Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed  ;  * 

The  wolf,  by  whom  his  infant  fell  ! 

Whose  cheek  is  pale,  whose  eyeballs  glare, 
As  one  some  vision'd  sight  that  saw, 

"  But  dearer  to  my  injured  eye 
To  see  in  dust  proud  Murray  roll  ; 

Whose  h;mds  are  blond?,  loose  his  hair?  — 

And  mine  was  ten  times  trebled  joy, 

'Tis  he!  'tis  he!  'tis  Bothwellhaugu. 

To  hear  him  groan  his  felon  soul. 

From  gory  selle.5  and  reeling  steed, 
Sprung  the  fierce  horseman  with  a  bound, 

"  My  Margaret's  spectre  glided  near  ; 
With  pride  her  bleeding  victim  saw; 

Anil,  reeking  from  the  recent  deed. 

And  shriek'd  in  his  death-deafen*d  ear, 

He  dash'd  his  carbine  on  the  ground. 

'  Kemember  injured  Bothwellhaugh!' 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  A.                 2  Ibid,  Note  B. 

active  in  the  murder  of  David  Rixzio,  and  at  least  privy  to 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  C.                 4  Ibid,  Note  D. 

that  of  Darnley. 

ft  »Me-Sadii;e.    A  word  u«ed  by  Spenser,  and  other  an- 

9 See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

cient  authon. 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  E.                 T  Ibid,  Note  F. 

11  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

8  Of  this  noted  person,  it  is  enough  to  ray,  that  he  vat 

12  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

502                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

•  Then  speed  thee,  noble  Chatlerault  ! 

For  the  loud  bugle,  pealing  high. 

Spread  to  the  wind  thy  banner'd  tree  !  1 

The  blackbird  wins'  U-s  down  the  vale, 

Each  warrior  bend  his  Clydesdale  bow  !  — 

And  sunk  in  ivied  ruins  lie 

Murray  is  fall'n,  and  Scotland  free  !" 

The  bauuer'd  towers  of  Evandale. 

Vaults  every  warrior  to  his  steed  ; 

For  Chiefs,  intent  on  bloody  deed, 

Loud  bugles  join  their  wild  acclaim  — 

And  Vengeance  shouting  o'er  the  slain, 

"  Murray  is  fall'n,  and  Scotland  freed  ! 

Lo!  high-born  Beauty  rules  the  steed, 

Couch,  Arran  !  couch  thy  spear  of  Same  !" 

Or  graceful  guides  the  silken  rein. 

But,  see  !  the  minstrel  vision  fails  — 

And  long  may  Peace  and  Pleasure  own 

The  glimmering  spears  are  seen  no  more  ; 

The  maids  who  list  the  mmsirel's  tale; 

The  shouts  of  war  die  on  the  gales, 

Nor  e'er  a  ruder  guest  be  known 

Or  sink  in  Evan's  lonely  roar. 

On  the  fair  banks  of  Evandale  ! 

APPENDIX. 

NOTE  A. 

NOTE  C. 

sottnd  the  PTVSC  '    P  501 

Woodhouselec.—  P.  501. 

Pryse—  The  note  blown  at  the  death  of  the 
game.  —  In  Caledonia  olim  freqwns  erat  sylves- 
tris  qvidam  bos.  nunc  vero  ranor,  qta,  colort 
cnndidissimo,  jubam  deiisam  et  demtssam  instar 

This  barony,  stretching  alone  the  banks  of 
the  tsk,  near  Auchendinny.  belonged  to  Both- 
wellhansh.  in  risht  of  his  wife.    The  ruins  of 
the  mansion,  from  whence  she  was  expelled 

leonis  gestat,  trucultnttis  ac  ferns  ab  humano 
genrrc  aohorrens,  tit  qtuteunauf  homines  vet  ma- 
nibus  contrectarint.  vtl  halitu  perflaverint,  ab  iis 
muUos  post  dies  omnino  abstinuerunt.    Ad  hoc 
tanta  audacia  hide  bovi  iiulita  erat,  ul  rum  solum 
irritatus  eqtates  furentcr  prosterneret,  led  ne 
tantillum  lacessitus  omnes  promisctie  homines 
cornitnts  ac  tau/ulis  peterit  ;  ac  canton,  qui  apud 
ncs  ferocwsimi  sunt.  impetus  plane  contemneret. 
Ejus  carnrs  cartilaginosce.  serf  saporis  suavtssimi. 
Erat  is  olim  per  Ulam  vastisstmam  Caledonia 
sylvam  frequens,  ted  humana  inohcvie  jam  as- 
sumplus  tribtts  tantian  locis  est  rehauus,  Strivi- 
linjii.  Cumternalditz,  et  Kincarnia.  —  Isslanta, 
Scotiz  Desrriptio,  p.  13  —  [See  a  note  on  Castle 
Dangerous,  Waverley  Novels.  —  JSd.] 

in  tlie   brutal  manner  which  occasioned  her 
death,  are  still  to  be  seen  in  a  hollow  glen  be- 
side the  river.     Popular  report  tenants  them 
with  the  restless  ghost  of  the  Lady  Bothweli- 
haugb:   whom,   however,  it  confounds  with 
Lady  Anne  Bothwell.  whose  Lament  is  so  po- 
pular.   This  spectre  is  so  tenacious  of  her 
rights,  that  a  part  of  the  stones  of  the  ancient 
edifice  having  been  employed  in  building  or 
repairing  the  present  Woodhouselee,  she  has 
deemed  it  a  part  of  her  privilege  to  haunt  that 
house  also  ;  and,  even  of  very  late  years,  has 
excited  considerable  disturbance  and   terror 
among  the  domestics.   This  is  a  more  remark- 
able vindication  of  the  riyhts  of  ghosts,  as  the 
present  Woodhouslee,  which  gives  his  title  to 
the   Honourable   Alexander  Fraser  Tytler,  a 

senator  of  the  College  of  Justice,  is  situated 

on  the  slope  of  the  Penlland  hills,  distant  at 

NOTE  B. 

east  four  miles  from  her  proper  abode.    She 
always  appears  in  white,  and  with  her  child 

Stern  Claud  replied.—?.  501. 

in  her  arms. 

Lord   Claud   Hamilton,  second   son  of  the 

Duke  of  Chatelherault.  and  commendator  of 

the  Abbey  of  Paislev.  acted  a  distinguished 
part  during  the   troubles  of   Queen    Mary's 

NOTE  D. 

reign,  and  remained  unalterably  attached  to 
the  cause  of  that  unfortunate  princess.     He 

Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed.  —  P.  501. 

led  the  van  of  her  army  at  the  fatal  battle  of 
Langside,  and  was  one  of  the  commanders  at 
the  Raid  of  Stirling,  which  had  so  nearly  given 
complete  success  to  the  Queen's  faction.     He 
was  ancestor  of  the  present  Marquis  of  Aber- 

Birrel  informs  us,  that  Bothwellhaugh.  be- 
ing clnselv  pursued.  "  after  that  spur  and  wand 
had  failed  him.  he  drew  forth  his  daseer.  und 
strocke  his  horse  behind,  whilk  caused  ihe 
horse  to  leap  a  very  brode  stanke  [i.  e.  ditch]. 

corn. 

bv  whilk  means  he  escapit,  and  gat  away  from 

1  An  oak,  halMawn,  with  the  motto  through,  'is  an  an- 

all the  rest  of  the  horses."  —  Birrefs  Diary, 

cient  cognisance  of  the  family  of  Hamilton. 

p.  18. 

CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


503 


NOTE  E. 

From  the  wild  Border's  humbled  side. — P.  501. 
Murray's  death  took  place  shortly  after  an 
expedition  to  the  Borders;  which  is  tlms com- 
memorated hy  the  author  of  his  Elegy  : — 

"  So  having  stablischt  all  thins  in  this  sort, 
To  Liddisdaill  agane  he  did  resort, 
Throw  Kwisdail,  Eskdail,  and  all  the  daills 

rode  lie. 

And  also  lay  three  nishts  in  Cannabie, 
Whair  na  prince  lay  thir  hundred  yeiris  be- 
fore. 
Nae  thief  durst  slir,  they  did  him  feir  s 

sair; 
And,  i  hat   they  suld   na  mair  thair  thift 

allege, 
Threescore  and  twelf  he  brocht  of  thanie  in 

pledge. 
Syne  wardit  thame,  whilk  maid  the  rest  keep 

ordour ; 
Than  mvchr  the  rasch-bus  keep  ky  on  the 

Border." 

Scottish  Poems,  Kith  century,  p.  232. 


NOTE  F. 

With  hackbut,  bent.— P.  501. 
Hackbut  brnt —  Gun  cock'd.  The  carbine, 
with  which  the  Regent  was  shot,  is  preserved 
at  Hamilton  Palace.  It  is  a  brass  piece,  of  a 
middling  length,  very  small  in  the  bore,  and, 
what  is  rather  extraordinary,  appears  to  have 
been  rifled  or  indented  in  the  barrel.  It  had  a 
matchlock,  for  which  a  modern  firelock  has 
been  injudiciously  substituted. 


NOTE  G. 

The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan.— P.  501. 

This  clan  of  Lennox  Highlanders  were  at- 
tached to  the  Keaent  Murray.  Hollinshed. 
speaking  of  the  battle  of  Langside,  says,  "In 
this  batayle  the  valiancie  of  an  Heiland  gen- 
tleman, named  Macfarlane.  stood  the  Regent's 
part  in  ereat  steede;  for,  in  the  hottest  brunte 
of  the  fighte,  he  came  up  with  two  hundred 
of  his  friendes  and  countrymen,  and  so  man- 
fully gave  in  upon  the  flankes  of  the  Queen's 
people,  that  he  was  a  great  cause  of  the  dis- 
ordering of  them.  This  Macfarlane  had  been 
lately  before,  as  I  have  heard,  condemned  to 
die,  for  some  outrage  by  him  committed,  and 
obtayning  pardon  through  suyte  of  the  Coun- 
tess of  Murray,  he  recompensed  that  clemencie 
by  this  piece  of  service  now  at  this  batayle." 
Calderwood's  account  is  less  favourable  to  the 


Macfarlanes.  He  states  that  "  Macfarlane, 
with  his  Highlandmen.  fled  from  the  win? 
where  they  were  set.  The  Lord  Lindsay,  who 
stood  nearest  to  them  in  the  Regent's  battle, 
said,  'Let  them  go!  I  shall  fill  their  place 
better :'  and  so.  stepping  forward,  with  a  com- 
pany of  fresh  men,  charged  the  enemy,  whose 
spears  were  now  spent,  with  loug  weapons,  so 
that  they  were  driven  back  by  force,  being  be- 
fore almost  overthrown  hy  the  avaunt-euard 
and  harquebusiers.  and  so  were  turned  to 
flight."—  Calderwood's  MS  apud  Keith,  p.  480. 
Melville  mentions  the  flight  of  the  vanguard, 
but  states  it  to  have  been  commanded  by 
Morton,  and  composed  chiefly  of  commoners 
of  the  barony  of  Renfrew. 


NOTE  H. 

Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead  were  nigh. 

P.  501. 

The  Earl  of  Glencairn  was  a  steady  adhe- 
rent of  the  Regent.  George  Douglas  o'f  Park- 
head  was  a  natural  brother  of  the  Earl  of 
Morton,  whose  horse  was  killed  by  the  same 
ball  by  which  Murray  fell. 


NOTE  I. 


-  haggard  Linrlfsny's  iron  eye. 


That  saw  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain. — P.  501. 

Lord  Lindsay,  of  the  Byres,  was  the  most 
ferocious  and  brutal  of  the  Regent's  faction, 
and,  as  such,  was  employed  to  extort  Mary's 
signature  to  the  deed  of  resignation  presented 
to  her  in  Loehleven  castle.  He  discharged 
his  commission  with  the  most  savage  rigour; 
and  it  is  even  said,  that  when  the  weeping 
captive,  in  the  act  of  signing,  averted  her  eyes 
from  the  fatal  deed,  he  pinched  her  arm  with 
the  grasp  of  his  iron  glove. 


NOTE  K. 

&>  close  the  minions  crowded  nvjh. — P.  501. 

Not  only  had  the  Regent  notice  of  the  in- 
tended attempt  upon  his  life,  but  even  of  the 
very  house  from  which  it  was  threatened. 
With  that  infatuation  at  which  men  wonder, 
after  such  events  have  happened,  he  deemed 
it  would  be  a  sufficient  precaution  to  ride 
briskly  past  the  dangerous  spot.  But  even 
this  was  prevented  by  the  crowd :  so  that 
Bothwellhaugh  had  time  to  take  a  deliberate 
aim.— Spottiswoode,  p.  233.  Buchanan. 


504                   SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

CJIE  (0mtj  3SrntIjjr. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

The  imperfect  state  of  this  ballad,  which 

halted  a  little,  leaning  upon  a  chair-back,  with 

was  written  several  years  ago,  is  r.ot  a  circum- 

his face  covered  ;  when  he  lifted  up  his  head, 

stance  affected  for  the  purpose  o'.  giving  it  that 

he  said,  "They  are  in  this  house  that  I  have 

peculiar  interest  which  is  often  found  to  arise 

not  one  word  of  salvation  unto  ;'  he  halted  a  : 

from  ungratified  curiosity.    On  the  contrary. 

little  again,  saying,  •  This  is  strange,  that  the  \ 

it  was  the  Editor's  intention  to  have  completed 

devil  will  not  go  out,  that  we  may  begin  our 

the  tale,  if  he  had  found  himself  able  to  suc- 

work !'    Then  there  was  a  woman  went  out. 

ceed  to  his  own  satisfaction.    Yielding  to  the 

iil-looked  upon  almost  all  her  life,  and  to  her 

opinion  of  persons,  whose  judgment,   if  not 

dying  hour,  for  a  witch,  with  many  presump- 

biassed  by  the  partiality  of  friendship,  is  en- 

tions of  the  same.     It  escaped  me,  in  the  for- 

titled  to  deference,  he  has  preferred  inserting 

mer  passages,  what  John  Muirhead  (whom  I  j 

these  verses  as  a  fragment,  to  his  intention  of 

have  often  mentioned)  told  me,  that  when  he 

entirely  suppressing  them. 

came  from  Ireland  to  Galloway,  he  was  at 

The  tradition,  upon  which  the  tale  is  found- 

family-worship, and  giving  some  notes  upon 

ed,  regards  a  house  upon  the  barony  of  Gil- 

the  Scripture   read,  when  a  very  ill-looking 

merton,  near  Lasswade.  in  Mid-Lothian.    This 

man  came,  and  sat  down  within  the  door,  at 

building,  now  called  Gilmerton  Grange,  was 

the  back  of  the  kalian,  [partition  of  the  cot-  i 

originally  named  Burndale,  from  the  following 

tage  :]  immediately  he  halted  and  said,  '  There  i 

tragic  adventure.    The  barony  of  Gilmerton 
belonged,  of  yore,  to  a  gentleman  named  He- 

is some  unhappy  body  just  now  come  into  this 
house.     I  charge  him  to  go  out,  and  not  stop 

ron,  who  had  one  beautiful  daughter.    This 

my  mouth  !'    This  person  went  out,  and  he 

young  ladv  was  seduced  by  the  Abbot  of  New- 

insisted  [went  on.]  yet  he  saw  him  neither  ' 

battle,  a  richly  endowed  abbey,  upon  the  banks 

come  in  nor  go  out."  —  The  Life  and  Prophecies  \ 

of  the  South  Esk.  now  a  seat  of  the  Marquis 

of  Mr.  Alexander  Peden,  late  Minister  of  the 

of  Lothian.    Heron  came  to  the  knowledge 

Gospel  at  New  Glenlnce,  in  Galloway,  part  ii.  ; 

of  this  circumstance,  and   learned  also,  that 

§26 

the  lovers  earned  on  their  guilty  intercourse 

A  friendly  correspondent  remarks,  "  that  the 

by  the  connivance  of  the  lady's  nurse,  who 
lived  at  this  house  of  Gilmerton  Grange,  or 
Burndale.     He  formed  a  resolution  of  bloody 

incapacity  of  proceeding  in  the  performance  j 
of  a  religious  duty,  when  a  contaminated  per- 
son is  present,  is  of  much  higher  antiquity 

vengeance,  undeterred  by  the  supposed  sanc- 

than the  era  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Alexander 

tity  of  the  clerical  character,  or  by  the  stronger 

Peden."—  Vide  Hygini  Falmlas.  cap.  26.     "Me- 

claims of  natural  affection.     Choosing,  there- 

dea Corintho  exul,  Athena  s.  ad  JBmaan  Pandio-  1 

fore,  a  dark  and  windy  night,  when  the  objects 

nis  filium  devenit  in  hospitium,  eit/ue  ntipsit. 

of  his  vengeance  were  engaged  in  a  stolen  in- 

  "  Poslea  sacerdos  Diana;  Medeam  exa- 

terview,  he  set  tire  to  a  stack  of  dried  thorns. 

oilare  capit,  ret/iatte  negabat  sacra,  caste  facere 

and  other  combustibles,  which  he  had  caused 

jiosse,  eo  quod  in  ea  civitate  esset  mulier  vencfica 

to  be  piled  against  the  house,  and  reduced  to 

et  scelerata  ;  tune  exulatur." 

a  pile  of  glowing  ashes  the  dwelling,  with  all 

its  inmates.1 

The  scene  with  which  the  ballad  opens,  was 

suggested  by  the  following  curious  passage, 
extracted  from  the  Life  of  Alexander  Peden. 

2Tf)e  (5ra»  Brother. 

one  of  the  wandering  and  persecuted  teachers 
of  the  sect  of  Cameronians,  durum  the  reign 

The  Pope  he  was  saving  the  high,  high  mass, 

of  Charles  11.  and  his  successor,  James.    This 

All  on  Saint  Peter's  day. 

person  was  supposed  by  his  followers,  and. 

With  the  power  to  him  given,  by  the  saints 

perhaps,  really  believed  himself,  to  be  pos- 

in heaven. 

sessed  of  supernatural   gifts;    for  the   wild 

To  wash  men's  sins  away. 

scenes  which  they  frequented,  and  the  con- 
stant dangers  which  were  incurred  through 
their  proscription,  deepened  upon  their  minds 
the  gloom  of  superstition,  so  general  in  that 
age. 

The  Pope  he  was  saying  the  blessed  mass, 
And  the  people  kneel'd  around. 
And  from  each  man's  soul  his  sins  did  pass, 
As  he  kiss'd  the  holy  ground. 

"  About  the  same  time  he  [Peden]  came  to 
Andrew  Normand's  house,  in  the  parish  of 
Alloway,  in  the  shire  of  Ayr,  being  to  preach 
at  night  in  his  barn.    After  he  came  in,  he 

And  all,  among  the  crowded  throng, 
Was  still,  both  limb  and  tongue. 
While,  through  vaulted  roof  and  aisles  aloof, 
The  holy  accents  rung. 

1  Tbi,  tradition  wa.  communicated  to  me  by  John  Clerk, 

nio,  of  Britain  to  concentrate  her  tbuiukn.  and  to  laaucb  \ 

will  be  remembered  by  posterity,  an  having  taught  the  Gr- 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO   MINSTRELSY.         505 

At  the  holiest  word  he  quiver'd  for  fear, 
And  falter'd  in  the  sound  — 

Yet  never  a  path,  from  day  to  day, 
The  pilgrim's  footsteps  range, 

And,  when  he  would  the  chalice  rear, 
He  dropp'd  it  to  the  ground. 

Save  hut  the  solitary  way 
To  Burndale's  ruin'd  grange. 

"The  breath  of  one  of  evil  deed 
Pollutes  our  sacred  day; 
He  has  no  portion  in  our  creed, 
No  part  in  what  I  say. 

A  woful  place  was  that,  I  ween, 
As  sorrow  could  desire  ; 
For  nodding  to  the  fall  was  each  crumbling 
wall. 

"  A  being,  whom  no  blessed  word 

And  the  roof  was  scathed  with  fire. 

To  ghostly  peace  can  bring  ; 
A  wretch,  at  whose  approach  abhorr'd. 

It  fell  upon  a  summer's  eve. 

Recoils  each  holy  thing. 

While,  on  Carnethy's  head. 

The  last  faint  gleams  of  the  sun's  low  beams 

"  L'p,  up,  unhappy  !  haste,  arise  ! 

Had  streak'd  the  grey  with  red  : 

My  adjuration  fear! 
I  charge  thee  not  to  stop  my  voice, 

And  the  convent  bell  did  vespers  tell, 

Nor  longer  tarry  here  !"  — 
Amid  them  all  a  pilgrim  kneel'd, 

Newbattle's  oaks  among. 
And  mingled  with  the  solemn  knell 
Our  Ladye's  evening  song: 

In  gown  of  sackcloth  grey  ; 
Far  journeying  from  his  native  field, 
He  first  saw  Home  that  day. 

The  heavy  knell,  the  choir's  faint  swell, 
Came  slowly  down  the  wind. 
And  on  the  pilgrim's  ear  they  fell. 

For  forty  days  and  nights  so  drear, 

And  his  wonted  path  he  did  find. 

1  ween  he  had  not  spoke. 

Deep  sunk  in  thought,  I  ween,  he  was, 

And,  save  with  bread  and  water  clear, 

Nor  ever  raised  his  eye, 

His  fast  he  ne'er  hud  broke. 

Until  he  came  to  that  dreary  place, 

Which  did  all  in  ruins  lie. 

Amid  the  penitential  flock. 

Seem'd  none  more  bent  to  pray  ; 

He  gazed  on  the  walls,  so  scathed  with  fire, 

But,  when  the  Holy  Father  spoke. 

With  many  a  bitter  groan  — 

He  rose  and  went  his  way. 

And  there  was  aware  of  a  Gray  Friar, 

Resting  him  on  a  stone. 

Again  unto  his  native  land 
His  weary  course  he  drew. 

"Now,  Christ  thee  save  !"  said  the  Gray  Bro- 

To Lothian's  fair  and  fertile  strand, 
And  Pentland's  mountains  blue. 

ther; 
"  Some  pilgrim  thou  seemest  to  be." 
But  in  sore  amaze  did  Lord  Albert  gaze, 

His  unhlest  feet  his  native  seat, 

Nor  answer  again  made  he. 

'Mid  Eske's  fair  woods,  regain  : 
Thro'  woods  more  fair  no  stream  more  sweet 
Rolls  to  the  eastern  main. 

"  O  come  ye  from  east,  or  come  ye  from  west, 
Or  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea; 
Or  come  ye  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the 

And  lords  to  meet  the  pilgrim  came, 

divine, 

And  vassals  bent  the  knee  ; 

Or  St.  John  of  Beverley  ?"— 

For  all  'mid  Scotland's  chiefs  of  fame, 
Was  none  more  famed  than  be. 

"I  come  not  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the 
divine, 

And  boldly  for  his  country,  still, 
In  battle  he  had  stood. 

Nor  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea; 
I  bring  but  a  curse  from  our  father,  the  Pope, 

Ay,  even  when  on  the  banks  of  Till 

Which  for  ever  will  cling  to  me."  — 

Her  noblest  pour'd  their  blood. 

"  Now,  woful  pilgrim,  say  not  so  ! 

Sweet  are  tt.  3  paths.  O  passing  sweet  ! 

But  kneel  thee  down  to  me. 

By  Eske's  .air  streams  that  run. 

And  shrive  thee  so  clean  of  thy  deadly  sin. 

O'er  airy  steep,  through  copsewood  deep, 

That  absolved  thou  mayst  be."  — 

Impervious  to  the  sun. 

"  And  who  art  thou,  thou  Gray  Brother, 

There  the  rapt  poet's  step  may  rove, 
And  yield  the  muse  the  day  ; 

That  I  should  shrive  to  thee, 
When  He,  to  whom  are  given  the  keys  of  earth 

There  Beauty,  led  by  timid  Love, 
May  shun  the  tell-tale  ray  ; 

and  heaven. 
Has  no  power  to  pardon  me  ?"  — 

From  that  fair  dome,  where  suit  is  paid 
By  blast  of  bugle  free,' 
To  Anchendinny's  hazel  glade.2 
And  haunted  Woodhouselee.s 

"O  I  am  sent  from  a  distant  clime. 
Five  thousand  miles  away. 
And  all  to  absolve  a  foul,  foul  crime, 
Done  here  'twixt  night  and  day." 

Who  knows  not  Melville's  beechy  grove,* 
And  Koshn's  rocky  glen.s 
Dalkeith,  which  all  the  virtues  love,' 
And  classic  Hawthornden  ?  ' 

The  pilgrim  kneel'd  him  on  the  sand. 
And  thus  began  his  saye  — 
When  on  his  neck  an  ice-cold  hand 
Did  that  Gray  Brother  laye. 

1  See  Appendix,  Notes  1  to  7. 

506 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTES  1  to  7. 

SCENERY  OF  THE  ESK. 

P.  505. 

1  The  barony  of  Pennycuik,  the  property  of 
Sir  George  Clerk.  Bart.,  is  held  by  a  singular 
tenure  ;  the  proprietor  being  bound  lo  sit  upon 
a  large  rocky  fragment  called  the  Buckstane. 
and  wind  three  blasts  of  a  horn,  when  the 
King  shall  come  to  hunt  nn  the  Borough  Mnir, 
near  Edmbureh.   Hence  the  family  have  adopt- 
ed as  their  crest  a  demi-forester  proper,  wind- 
in?  a  horn,  with  the  motto.  Free  for  a  Blast. 
The  beautiful  mansion-house  of  Pennycuik  is 
much  admired,  both  on  account  of  the  archi- 
tecture and  surrounding  scenery. 

2  Auchendinny.  situated  upon  the  Eske,  be- 
low Pennycuik,  the  present  residence  of  the 
ingenious  H.  Mackenzie,  Esq..  author  of  the 
Man  ofFeeliny,  <frc.— Edition  1803 

3  •' Haunted  Woodhouselee '" — For  the  tra- 
ditions connected  with  this  ruinous  mansion, 
see  Ballad  of  Codyow  Castle,  Note,  p.  502. 

<  Melville  Castle,  the  seat  of  the  Right  Ho- 
nonrable  Lord  Melville,  to  whom  it  gives  the 
title  of  Viscount,  is  delightfully  situated  upon 
the  Eske,  near  Lasswade. 

•  The  ruins  of  fioslin  Castle,  the  baronial 
residence  of  the  ancient  family  of  St.  Clair. 
The  Gothic  chapel,  which  is  still  in  beautiful 
preservation,  with  the  romantic  and  woody 
dell  in  which  they  are  situated,  belong  to  the 


Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Rosslvn.  the  re- 
presentative of  the  former  Lords  of  Roslin. 

6  The  village  and  castle  of  Dalkeitli  belong- 
ed of  old  to  the  famous  Earl  of  Morton,  hut  is 
now  the  residence  of  the  noble  family  of  Bnc- 
cleuch.    The  park  extends  along  the  Eske. 
which  is  there  joined  by  its  sister  stream  of 
the  same  name. 

7  Hawthomden.  the  residence  of  the  poet 
Drummond.    A  house  of  more  modern  date  is 
enclosed,  as  it  were,  by  the  ruins  of  the  an- 
cient castle,  and  overhangs  a  tremendous  pre- 
cipice upon  the  banks  of  the  Eske,  perforated 
by  winding  caves,  which  in  former  times  were 
a  refuge  to  the  oppressed  patriots  of  Scotland. 
Here  Drummond  received  Ben  Jonson.  who 
journeyed  from   London  on  f»ot  in  order  to 
visit  him.     The  beauty  of  this  striking  scene 
has  been  much  injured  of  late  years  by  the 
indiscriminate  use  of  the  axe.     The  traveller 
now  looks  in  vain  for  the  leafy  bower, 

"Where  Jonson  sat  in  Drummond's  social 

shade." 

Upon  the  whole,  tracing  the  Eske  from  its 
source  till  it  joins  the  sea  at  Musselburgh,  no 
stream  in  Scotland  can  boast  such  a  varied 
succession  of  the  most  interesting  objects,  as 
well  as  of  the  most  romantic  and  beautiful 
scenery.  1803.  .  .  .  The  beautiful  scenery  of 
Hawthomden  has,  since  the  above  note  was 
written,  recovered  all  its  proper  ornament  of 
wood.  1831. 


OF  THE 

ROYAL  EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DRAGOONS. 


"  Nenma.    Is  not  peace  the  end  of  arms  t 
"  Caralach.    Not  where  the  cause  implies  a 

general  conquest. 

Had  we  a  difference  with  some  petty  isle, 
Or  with  our  neighbours,  Britons,  for  our  land- 
marks. 

The  taking  in  of  some  rebellious  lord, 
Or  making  head  against  a  slight  commotion. 
After  a  day  of  blood,  peace  might  be  argued  : 
But  where'  we  grapple  for  the  land  we  live  on, 
The  liberty  we  hold  more  dear  than  life. 
The  gods  we  worship,  and,  next  these,  our  ho- 

'  nours, 
And,  with  those,  swords  that  know  no  end  of 

battle— 

Those  men,  beside  themselves,  allow  no  neigh- 
bour. 


Those  minds,  that,  where  the  day  is,  claim  in- 
heritance, 

And,  where  the  sun  makes  ripe  the  fruit,  their 
harvest, 

And,  where  they  march,  but  measure  out  more 
ground 

To  add  to  Rome 

It  must  not  be — No !  as  they  are  our  foes. 

Let's  use  the  peace  of  honour  —  that's  fair 
dealing; 

But  in  our  hands  our  swords.    The  hardy  Ro- 
man. 

That  thinks  to  graft  himself  into  my  stock, 

Must  first  begin  his  kindred  under  ground, 

And  be  allied  in  ashes." 

Bonduca. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


507 


The  following  War-Song  was  written  during 
the  apprelienskm  of  an  invasion.  The  corps 
of  volunteers  to  which  it  was  addressed,  was, 
raised  in  1797,  consisting  of  gentlemen,  mount- 
ed and  armed  at  their  own  expense.  It  still 
subsists,  as  the  Right  Troop  of  the  Koyal  Mid- 
Lothian  Light  Cavalry,  commanded  by  the 
Honourable  Lieutenant-Colonel  Dundas.t  The 
noble  and  constitutional  measure  of  arming 
freemen  in  defence  of  their  own  rights,  was 
•nowhere  more  successful  than  in  Edinburgh 
which  furnished  a  force  of  3000  armed  and 
disciplined  volunteers,  including  a  regiment 
of  cavalry,  from  the  city  and  county,  and  two 
corps  of  artillery,  each  capable  of  serving 
twelve  guns.  To  such  a  force,  above  all  others, 
might,  in  similar  circumstances,  be  applied  the 
exhortation  of  our  ancient  Galgacus  :  "  Proinde 
ituri  in  acirm,  ft  majores  veslros  et  posteros 
covitate."  1812. 


OF   THE 

ROYAL  EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DRA- 
GOONS. 

To  horse !  to  horse  !  the  standard  flies, 

The  bugles  sound  the  call ; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas, 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze. 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  all ! 

From  high  Dunedin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true ; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 
With  Scotland's  hardy  thistle  crown'd  ; 

We  boast  the  red  and  blue.3 

Though  tamely  crouch  to  Gallia's  frown 
Dull  Holland's  tardy  train  ; 


Their  ravish'd  toys  though  Romans  mourn ; 
Though  gallant  Switzers  vainly  spurn, 
And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain ; 

Oh !  had  they  mark'd  the  avenging  call  3 

Their  brethren's  murder  eave, 
Disunion  ne'er  their  ranks  had  mown, 
Nor  patriot  valour,  desperate  grown, 

Sought  freedom  in  the  grave ! 

Shall  we,  too.  bend  the  stubborn  head, 

In  Freedom's  temple  born, 
Dress  our  pale  cheek  in  timid  smile, 
To  hail  a  master  in  our  isle. 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn  1 

No.  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pouring  as  a  flood. 
The  sun.  that  sees  our  falling  day, 
Shall  mark  our  sabres'  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

For  gold  let  Gallia's  legions  fight, 

Or  plunder's  bloody  gain  ; 
Unbribed,  unbought.  our  swords  we  draw 
To  guard  our  king,  to  fence  our  law, 

Nor  shall  their  edge  be  vain. 

If  ever  breath  of  British  gale 

Shall  fan  the  tri-color. 
Or  footstep  of  invader  rude, 
With  rapine  foul,  and  red  with  blood, 

Pollute  our  happy  shore, — 

Then  farewell  home!  and  farewell  friends! 

Adieu  each  tender  tie ! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide. 
Where  charging  squadrons  furious  ride, 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

To  horse !  to  horse  !  the  sabres  gleam ; 

High  sounds  our  bugle-call ; 
Combined  by  honour's  sacred  tie, 
Our  word  is  Laws  and  Liberty! 

March  forward  one  and  all ! 


iinl  Melville.— 1831. 


lessly  slaughtered  in  discharge  of  their  duly, 

authorizi-d    the   progrew  " 
Alps,  once  the  seat   of  the 


regarded  the  death  of  their  biav 


graded  it  half  enslaved.— 1813. 


icouraged 

ve  injustice,  oy  which  ' 
noat  virtuous  and  free  pec 
length,  bcefi  converted  i 

.ry  despot.     A  state  de- 


END  OF  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  BORDER. 


508 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


TRANSLATED,  OR  IMITATED, 

FROM   THE   GERMAN,  &c. 


CSiffllfam  ant)  ffieleit. 

[1796.] 
IMITATED  FROM  THE  ••  LENORE"  OF  BURGER. 

The  author  had  resolved  to  omit  the  follow- 
in?  version  of  a  well-known  Poem,  in  any 
collection  which  he  nnshl  make  of  his  poetical 
trifles.  But  the  puhlishers  having  pleaded  for 
its  admission,  the  A  uthor  has  consented,  though 
not  unaware  of  the  disadvantage  at  which  this 
youthful  essay  (for  it  was  written  in  1795)  must 
appear  with  those  which  have  been  executed 
by  much  more  able  hands,  in  particular  that 
of  Mr.  Taylor  of  Norwich,  and  that  of  Mr. 
Spencer. 

The  following  Translation  was  written  long 
before  the  Author  saw  any  other,  and  origi- 
nated in  the  following  circumstances  : — A  lady 
of  high  rank  in  the  literary  world  read  this 
romantic  tale,  as  translated  by  Mr.  Taylor,  in 
the  house  of  the  celebrated  Professor  Dueald 
Stewart  of  Edinburgh.  The  Author  was  not 
present,  nor  indeed  in  Edinburgh  at  the  time : 
but  a  gentleman  who  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  the  ballad,  afterwards  told  him  the 
story,  and  repeated  the  remarkable  chorus — 

"  Tramp !  tramp !  across  the  land  they  speede, 

Splash!  splash!  across  the  sea; 
Hurrah  !  The  dead  can  ride  apace ! 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ?'' 

In  attempting  a  translation,  then  intended 
only  to  circulate  among  friends,  the  present 
Author  did  not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  this 
impressive  stanza;  for  which  freedom  he  has 
since  obtained  the  forgiveness  of  the  ingenious 
gentleman  to  whom  it  properly  belongs. 


2®illfam  arrti 
i. 

From  heavy  dreams  fair  Helen  rose. 
And  eyed  the  dawning  red  : 

"Alas,  my  love,  thou  tamest  long  ! 
O  art  thou  false  or  dead  ?"— 

II. 
With  gallant  Fred'rick's  princely  power 

He  sought  the  bold  Crusade : 
But  not  a  word  from  Judah's  wars 

Told  Helen  how  he  sped. 


m. 

With  Paynim  and  with  Saracen 
At  length  a  trace  was  made. 

And  every  knight  return'd  to  dry 
The  tears  his  love  had  shed. 

IV. 

Oar  gallant  host  was  homeward  bound 

With  many  a  song  of  joy ; 
Green  waved  the  laurel  in  each  plume, 

The  badge  of  victory. 


And  old  and  young,  and  sire  and  son, 
To  meet  them  crowd  the  way, 

With  shouts,  and  mirth,  and  melody, 
The  debt  of  love  to  pay. 

VI. 

Full  many  a  maid  her  true-love  met, 

And  sobb'd  in  his  embrace. 
And  flutt'rina  joy  in  tears  and  smiles 

Array'd  full  many  a  face. 

VII. 

Nor  joy  nor  smile  for  Helen  sad ; 

She  sought  the  host  in  vain ; 
For  none  could  tell  her  William's  fate, 

If  faithless,  or  if  slain. 

VIII. 
The  martial  band  is  past  and  gone; 

She  rends  her  raven  hair. 
And  in  distraction's  bitter  mood 

She  weeps  with  wild  despair. 

IX. 

"0  rise,  my  child."  her  mother  said, 

"  Nor  sorrow  thus  in  vain  ; 
A  perjured  lover's  fleeting  heart 

No  tears  recall  again." — 

X. 

"  0  mother,  what  is  gone,  is  gone, 

What's  lost  for  ever  lorn  : 
Death,  death  alone  ran  comfort  me ; 

O  had  I  ne'er  been  born ! 

XI. 

"  O  break,  my  heart, — 0  break  at  once  ! 

Drink  my  life-blood.  Despair ! 
No  joy  remains  on  earth  for  me, 

For  me  in  heaven  no  share." — 


BALLADS   FROM   THE   GERMAN. 


509 


XII. 
"O  enter  not  in  judgment,  Lord  !" 

The  pious  mother  prays ; 
"  Impute  not  guilt  to  thy  frail  child  ! 

She  knows  not  what  she  says. 

XIII. 
"  0  say  thy  pater  noster,  child  ! 

O  turn  to  God  and  grace  ! 
His  will,  that  turn'd  thy  bliss  to  bale, 

Can  change  thy  bale  to  bliss.'" — 

XIV. 
"0  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss? 

O  mother,  what  is  balet 
My  William's  love  was  heaven  on  earth, 

Without  it  earth  is  hell. 

XV. 

"  Why  should  I  prav  to  ruthless  Heaven, 
Since  my  loved  William's  slain? 

I  only  pray'd  for  William's  sake, 
And  ail  my  prayers  were  vain." — 

XVI. 
"  O  take  the  sacrament,  my  child. 

And  check  these  tears  that  flow ; 
By  resignation's  humble  prayer, 

0  hallow'd  be  thy  woe  !" — 

XVII. 
"  No  sacrament  can  quench  this  fire, 

Or  slake  this  scorching  pain  : 
No  sacrament  can  hid  the  dead 

Arise  and  live  again. 


XIX. 
"  0  enter  not  in  judgment.  Lord, 

With  thy  frail  child  of  clay  ! 
She  knows  not  what  her  tongue  has  spoke  ; 

Impute  it  not,  I  pray ! 

XX. 

"  Forbear,  my  child,  this  desperate  woe, 

And  turn  to  God  and  erace ; 
Well  can  devotion's  heavenly  glow 

Convert  thy  bale  to  bliss." — 

XXI. 

"  O  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss  T 

O  mother,  what  is  bale  t 
Without  my  William  what  were  heaven, 

Or  with  him  what  were  hell  ?"— 

XXTL 

Wild  she  arraisns  the  eternal  doom, 

Upbraids  each  sacred  power, 
Till,  spent,  she  souzht  her  silent  room, 

All  in  the  lonely  tower. 

XXIII. 
She  beat  her  breast,  she  wrung  her  hands, 

Till  sun  and  day  were  o'er, 
And  through  the  glimmering  lattice  shone 

The  twinkling  of  the  star. 

43. 


XXIV. 

Then,  crash !  the  heavy  drawbridge  fell 

That  o'er  the  moat  was  hung; 
And.  clatter!  clatter!  on  its  boards 

The  hoof  of  courser  rung. 

XXV. 
The  clank  of  echoing  steel  was  heard 

As  off  the  rider  bounded  ; 
And  slowly  on  the  winding  stair 

A  heavy  footstep  sounded. 

XXVI. 
And  hark!  and  hark!  a  knock— Tap!  tap! 

A  rust  ling  stifled  noise;— 
Door-latch  and  tinkling  staples  ring; — 

At  length  a  whispering  voice. 

XXVII. 
"  Awake,  awake,  arise,  my  love ! 

How,  Helen,  dost  thou  fare  ? 
Wak'st  thou.  or  sleep'st  ?  laugh'st  thou,  or 
weep'stT 

Hast  thought  on  me.  my  fair?" — 

xxvin. 

"  My  love  !  my  love !— so  late  by  night  !— 

I  waked.  I  wept  for  thee : 
Much  have  I  borne  since  dawn  of  morn ; 

Where,  William,  couldst  thon  be?" — 

XXIX. 
"  We  saddle  late — from  Hungary 

I  rode  since  darkness  fell ; 
And  to  its  bourne  we  both  return 

Before  the  matin-hell." — 

XXX. 
"  0  rest  this  night  within  my  arms. 

And  warm  thee  in  their  fold  ! 
Chill  howls  through  hawthorn  bush  the 
wind  : — 

My  love  is  deadly  cold." — 

XXXI. 

Let  the  wind  howl  through  hawthorn  bush ! 

This  nisht  we  must  away ; 
The  steed  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright ; 

I  cannot  stay  till  day. 

XXXII. 

"Busk,  busk,  and  boune !  Thou  mount'st  be- 
hind 

Upon  my  black  barb  steed  : 
O'er  stock  and  stile,  a  hundred  miles, 

We  haste  to  bridal  bed." — 

XXXIII. 
"To-night— to-night  a  hundred  miles! — 

O  dearest  William,  stay  ! 
The  bell  strikes  twelve— dark,  dismal  hour ! 

0  wait,  my  love,  till  day  !" — 

XXXIV. 
"Look  here,  look  here  —  the  moon  shines 

clear- 
Full  fast  I  ween  we  ride ; 
Mount  and  away !  for  ere  the  day 
We  reach  our  bridal  bed. 
XXXV. 

"  The  black  barb  snorts,  the  bridle  rings  : 
Haste,  busk,  and  boune.  and  seat  thee ! 
The  feast  is  made,  the  chamber  spread, 
The  bridal  guests  await  thee." — 


510 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXXVI. 

Strong  love  prevail'd  :  She  husks,  she  bouues, 

She  mounts  the  harb  behind, 
And  round  her  darling  William's  waist 

Her  lily  arms  she  twined. 

XXXVH. 
And,  hurry!  hurry!  off  they  rode, 

As  fust  as  fast  might  be ; 
•Spnrn'd  from  the  courser's  thundering  heels 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XXXVIII. 
And  on  the  right,  and  on  the  left, 

Ere  they  could  snatch  a  view, 
Fast,  fast  each  mountain,  mead,  and  plain, 

And  cot,  and  castle,  flew. 

XXXIX. 

"Sit  fast  — dost  fear?  —  The  moon  shines 

clear- 
Fleet  goes  my  barb — keep  hold  ! 

Fear'st  thou  t"— "O  no !"  she  faintly  said ; 
"  But  why  so  stern  and  cold  ? 

XL. 
"  What  yonder  rings  ?  what  yonder  sings  ? 

Why  shrieks  I  he  owlet  grey?" — 
•"Tis  death-bells'  clang,  'tis  funeral  song, 

The  body  to  the  clay. 

XLI. 
"  With  song  and  clang,  at  morrow's  dawn, 

Ye  may  inter  the  dead  : 
To-night  I  ride,  with  my  young  bride, 

To  deck  our  bridal  bed. 

XLII. 
"Come  with  thy  choir,  thou  coffin'd  guest, 

To  swell  our  nuptial  song! 
Come,  priest,  to  bless  our  marriage  feast ! 

Come  all,  come  all  along  !" — 

XL1II. 
Ceased  clang  and  song;  down  sunk  the  bier; 

The  shrouded  corpse  arose  : 
And.  hurry !  hurry !  all  the  train 

The  thundering  steed  pursues. 

XL1V. 
And.  forward  !  forward  !  on  they  go; 

High  snorts  the  straining  steed  ; 
Thick  pants  the  rider's  labouring  breath, 

As  headlong  on  they  speed. 

XLV. 
"O  William,  why  this  savage  haste? 

And  where  thy  bridal  bed  ?" — 
"  'Tis  distant  far.  low,  damp,  and  chill, 

And  narrow,  trustless  maid."— 

XLVI. 
"No  room  for  me ?"— "  Enough  for  both  ; — 

Speed,  speed,  my  barb,  thy  course  !" 
O'er  thundering  bridge,  through  boiling  surge. 

He  drove  the  furious  horse. 

XLVII. 
Tramp!  tramp!  along  the  Innd  they  rode, 

Splash!  splash!  along  the  sea; 
The  scourge  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright. 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 


XLVII1. 
Fled  past  on  right  and  left  how  fast 

Each  forest,  grove,  and  bower  ! 
On  right  and  left  fled  past  how  fast 

Each  city,  town,  and  tower ! 

XLIX. 
"  Dost  fear?  dost  fear?  The  moon  shines  clear. 

Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ? — 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  the  dead  can  ride  !" — 

"O  William,  let  them  be ! — 


"  See  there,  see  there !  What  yonder  swings 
And  creaks  'mid  whistling  rain  ?" — 

"  Gibbet  and  steel,  th'  accursed  wheel ; 
A  murderer  in  his  chain. — 

LI. 
"  Hollo !  thou  felon,  follow  here  : 

To  bridal  bed  we  ride ; 
And  thou  shalt  prance  a  fetter  dance 

Before  me  and  my  bride." — 

LII. 
And.  hurry !  hurry !  clash,  clash,  clash ! 

The  wasted  form  descends  ; 
And  fleet  as  wind  through  hazel  bush 

The  wild  career  attends. 

LIII. 
Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash  !  splash  !  along  the  sea  ; 
The  scourge  is  red.  the  spur  drops  blood, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LIV. 
How  fled  what  moonshine  faintly  show'd! 

How  fled  what  darkness  hid  ! 
How  fled  the  earth  beneath  their  feet, 

The  heaven  above  their  head ! 

LV. 
"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?  The  moon  shines  clear, 

And  well  the  dead  can  ride ; 
Does  faithful  Helen  fear  for  them  ?" — 

"O  leave  in  peace  the  dead  !" — 

LVI. 
"  Barb !  Barb '  methinks  I  hear  the  cock  ; 

The  sand  will  soon  he  run  : 
Barb !  Barb !  1  smell  the  morning  air ; 

The  race  is  wellnigh  done." — 

LVII. 
Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash  !  splash  !  along  the  sea ; 
The  scurge  is  red.  the  spur  drops  blood, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LVIIT. 

"Hurrah!  hurrah!  well  ride  the  dead ; 

The  bride,  the  bride  is  come ; 
And  soon  we  reach  the  bridal  bed. 

For,  Helen,  here's  my  home." — 

LIX. 
Reluctant  on  its  rusty  hinge 

Revolved  an  iron  door, 
And  by  the  pale  moon's  setting  beam 

Were  seen  a  church  and  tower. 


BALLADS   FROM   THE   GERMAN. 


511 


LX. 
With  many  a  shriek  and  cry  whiz  round 

The  birds  of  midnight,  scared ; 
And  rustling  like  autumnal  leaves 

Unhallow'd  ghosts  were  heard. 

LXI. 
O'er  many  a  tomb  and  tombstone  pale 

He  spurr'd  the  fiery  horse. 
Till  sudden  at  an  open  grave 

He  check 'd  the  wondrous  course. 

Lxn. 

The  falling  gauntlet  quits  the  rein, 
Down  drops  the  casque  of  steel, 

The  cuirass  leaves  his  shrinking  side, 
The  spur  his  gory  heel. 

LXIII. 
The  eyes  desert  the  naked  skull, 

The  mould'ring  flesh  the  bone, 
Till  Helen's  lily  arms  entwine 

A  ghastly  skeleton. 

LXIV. 
The  furious  barb  snorts  fire  and  foam, 

And,  with  a  fearful  hound, 
Dissolves  at  once  in  empty  air. 

And  leaves  her  on  the  ground. 

LXV. 
Half  seen  by  fits,  by  fits  half  heard, 

Pale  spectres  flit  along. 
Wheel  round  the  maid  in  dismal  dance, 

And  howl  the  funeral  song; 

LXV1. 

"  E'en  when  the  heart's  with  anguish  cleft, 

Revere  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
Her  soul  is  from  her  body  reft ; 

Her  spirit  be  forgiven  !" 


5Tlbe 


Huntsman. 


This  is  a  translation,  or  rather  an  imitation, 
of  the  Wilde  Jrujer  of  the  German  poet  Bur- 
ger. The  tradition  upon  which  it  is  founded 
bears,  th;it  formerly  a  Wilderave,  or  keeper 
of  a  royal  forest,  named  Faulkenbure,  was  so 
much  addicted  to  the  pleasures  of  the  chase, 
and  otherwise  so  extremely  profligate  and 
cruel,  that  he  not  only  followed  this  unhal- 
lowed amusement  on  the  Sabbath,  and  other 
days  consecrated  to  relisious  duty,  hut  ac- 
companied it  with  the  most  unheard-of  op- 
pression upon  the  poor  peasants,  who  were 
under  his  vassalage.  When  this  second  Nim- 
rod  died,  the  people  adopted  a  superstition, 
founded  probably  on  the  many  various  un- 
couth sounds  heard  in  the  depth  of  a  German 
forest,  during  the  silence  of  the  night.  They 
conceived  they  still  heard  the  cry  of  the  Wild- 
grave's  hounds  ;  and  the  well-known  cheer  of 
the  deceased  hunter,  ihe  sounds  of  his  horses' 
feet,  and  the  rustling  of  the  branches  before 
the  game,  the  pack,  ami  ihe  sportsmen.  are 
also  distinctly  discriminated  ;  but  the  phan- 
toms are  rarely,  if  ever,  visible.  Once,  as  a 
benighted  Chasseur  heard  this  infernal  chase 


pass  by  him,  at  the  sound  of  the  halloo,  with 
which  the  Spectre  Huntsman  cheered  his 
hounds,  he  could  not  refrain  from  crying. 
"  Gl.wk  zu  Falktnbnryh!''  [Good  spurt  to  ye, 
Fulkenhurgh !]  "Dost  thou  wish  me  good 
sport?"  answered  a  hoarse  voice;  "thou  shall 
share  the  game;"  and  there  was  thrown  at 
him  what  seemed  to  he  a  huge  piece  of  foul 
carrion.  The  daring  Chasseur  lost  two  of  his 
best  horses  soon  after,  and  never  perfectly  re- 
covered the  personal  effects  of  this  ghostly 
greeting.  This  tale,  though  told  with  some 
variations,  is  universally  believed  all  over 
Germany. 

The  French  had  a  similar  tradition  concern- 
ing an  aerial  hunter,  who  infested  the  forest 
of  Fontainbleau.  He  was  sometimes  visible; 
when  he  appeared  as  a  huntsman,  surrounded 
with  dogs,  a  tall  grisly  figure.  Some  account 
of  him  may  be  found  in  "Sully's  Memoirs." 
who  says  he  was  called  Le  Grand  Ventur.  At 
one  time  he  chose  to  hunt  so  near  the  palace, 
that  the  attendants,  and.  if  I  mistake  not, 
Sully  himself,  came  out  into  the  court,  sup- 
posing it  was  the  sound  of  the  king  returning 
from  the  chase  This  phantom  is  elsewhere 
called  Saint  Hubert. 

The  superstition  seems  to  have  been  very 
general,  as  appears  frum  the  following  fine 
poetical  description  of  this  phantom  chase,  as 
il  was  heard  in  the  wilds  of  Ross-shire. 

'  Ere  since  of  old,  the  haughty  thanes  of 

Ross, — 

So  to  the  simple  swain  tradition  tells, — 
Were  wont  with  clans,  and  ready  vassals 

throng'd. 

To  wake  the  bounding  stag,  or  guilty  wolf. 
There  oft  is  heard,  at  midnight,  or  at  noon, 
Beginning  faint,  but  rising  still  more  loud. 
And  nearer,  voice  of  hunters,  and  of  hounds. 
And  horns,  hoarse  winded,  blowing  far  and 

keen  :— 

Forthwith  the  hubbub  multiplies ;  the  gale 
Labours  with  wilder  shrieks,  and  rifer  din 
Of  hot  pursuit ;  the  broken  cry  of  deer 
Mangled  by  throttling  dogs ;  the  shouts  of 

men. 

And  hoofs,  thick  beatine-  on  the  hollow  hill. 
Sudden  the  grazing  heifer  in  the  vale 
Starts  at  the  noise,  and  both  the  herdsman's 

ears 

Tingle  with  inward  dread.    Aghast,  he  eyes 
The  mountain's  height,  and  all  the  ridges 

round. 

Yet  not  one  trace  of  living  wight  discerns. 
Nor  knows,  o'erawed,  and  trembling  as  he 

stands. 

To  what,  or  whom,  he  owes  his  idle  fear, 
To  ghost,  to  witch,  to  fairy,  or  to  fiend ; 
But  wonders,  and  no  end  of  wondering  finds." 
Albania— reprinted  in  Scottish  Descriptive 
Poems,  pp  167,168. 

A  posthumous  miracle  of  Father  Lesley,  a 
Scottish  capuchin,  related  to  his  being  buried 
on  a  bill  haunted  by  these  unearthly  cries  <,f 
hounds  and  huntsmen  After  his  sainted  rem£ 
had  been  deposited  there,  the  noise  was  never 
heard  more  The  reader  will  find  this,  and 
other  miracles,  recorded  in  the  life  of  Father 
Bonavenlura,  which  is  written  in  the  choicest 
Italian. 


512 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


THE  WILD  HUNTSMAN". 

[1796] 

The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle-horn. 
To  horse,  to  horse !  halloo,  halloo ! 

His  fiery  courser  snuffs  the  morn. 
And  thronging  serfs  their  lord  pursue. 

The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed, 

Dash  through  the  bush,  the  brier,  the  brake ; 

While  answering  hound,  and  horn,  and  steed, 
The  mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 

The  beams  of  God's  own  hallow'd  day 
Had  painted  yonder  spire  with  gold, 

And.  calling  sinful  man  to  pray, 
Loud,  long,  and  deep  the  bell  had  toll'd : 

But  still  the  Wildgrave  onward  rides; 

Halloo,  halloo  !  and.  hark  again  I 
When,  spurring  from  opposing  sides, 

Two  Stranger  Horsemen  join  the  train. 

Who  was  each  Stranser.  left  and  right, 
Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell; 

The  right-hand  steed  was  silver  white, 
The  left,  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 

The  right-hand  Horseman,  young  and  fair, 
His  smile  was  like  the  morn  of  May ; 

The  left,  from  eye  of  tawny  glare, 
Shot  midnight  lightning's  lurid  ray. 

He  waved  his  huntsman's  cap  on  high. 

Cried,  "  Welcome,  welcome,  noble  lord ! 
What  sport  can  earth,  or  sea.  or  sky, 

To  match  the  princely  chase,  afford  ?" — 

"Cease  thy  loud  bugle's  changing  knell," 
Cried  the  fair  youth,  with  silver  voice ; 

"And  for  devotion's  choral  swell, 
Exchange  the  rude  unhallow'd  noise. 

"To-day,  the  ill-omen'd  chase  forbear, 
Yon  bell  yet  summons  to  the  fane  ; 

To-day  the  Warning  Spirit  hear. 
To-morrow  thou  mayst  mourn  in  vain." — 

"Away,  and  sweep  the  glades  along!" 
The  Sable  Hunter  hoarse  replies ; 

"To  muttering  monks  leave  matin  song, 
And  bells,  and  books,  and  mysteries." 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  ardent  steed, 
And.  launching  forward  with  a  bound, 

"  Who,  for  thy  drowsy  priesthke  rede, 
Would  leave  the  jovial  horn  and  hound? 

'•  Hence,  if  our  manly  sport  offend ! 

With  pious  fools  go  chant  and  pray : — 
Well  hast  thou  spoke,  my  dark-brow'd  friend 

Halloo,  halloo !  and,  hark  away  !" 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  courser  light, 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  o'er  holt  and  bill; 

And  on  the  left  and  on  the  right. 
Each  Stranger  Horseman  follow'd  still. 

Up  springs,  from  yonder  tangled  thorn, 
A  stag  more  white  than  mountain  snow ; 

And  louder  rung  the  Wilclgrave's  horn. 
"  Hark  forward,  forward  !  holla,  ho  !" 


See,  where  yon  simple  fences  meet, 
A  field  with  Autumn's  blcssincs  crown'd  ; 

See,  prostrate  at  the  Wililgrave's  feet, 
A  husbandman  with  toil  embrown'd  : 

'  O  mercy,  mercy,  noble  lord  ! 

Spare  the  poors  pittance."  was  his  cry. 
"  Earn'd  hv  the  sweat  those  brows  have  pour'd, 

In  scorching  hour  of  fierce  July."— 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Straneer  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey  ; 

The  impetuous  Earl  no  warnine  heeds, 
But  furious  holds  the  onward  way. 

Away,  thou  hound  !  so  basely  born, 
Or  dread  the  scourge's  echoing  blow  !"— 
Then  loudly  rung  his  bugle-horn. 
"  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho !" 

So  said,  so  done  :— A  single  bound 
Clears  the  poor  labourer's  humble  pale ; 

Wild  follows  man.  and  horse,  and  hound, 
Like  dark  December's  stormy  gale. 

And  man  and  horse,  and  hound  and  horn, 
Destructive  sweep  the  field  along; 

While,  joying  o'er  the  wasted  corn. 
Fell  Famine  marks  the  maddening  throng. 

Again  uproused.  the  timorous  prey 

Scours  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill ; 
Hard  run,  he  feels  his  strength  decay, 

And  trusts  for  life  his  simple  skill. 
Too  dangerous  solitude  appear'd: 

He  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  crowd  ; 
Amid 'the  flock's  domestic  herd 

His  harmless  head  he  hopes  to  shroud. 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill. 
His  track  the  steady  blood-hounds  trace , 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  unwearied  still, 
The  furious  Earl  pursues  the  chase 

Full  lowly  did  the  herdsman  fall  ;— 
"O  spare,  thou  noble  Baron,  spare 

These  herds,  a  widow's  little  all; 
These  flocks,  an  orphan's  fleecy  care !" — 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey ; 

The  Earl  nor  prayer  nor  pity  heeds. 
But  furious  keeps  the  onward  way. 

"  tlnmanner'd  dog !  To  stop  my  sport 
Vain  were  thy  cant  and  beggar  whine, 

Though  human  spirits,  of  thy  sort, 
Were  tenants  of  these  carrion  kine !" — 

Again  he  winds  his  bugle-horn. 

"  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho !" 
And  through  the  herd,  in  ruthless  scorn, 

He  cheers  his  furious  hounds  to  go. 

In  heaps  the  throttled  victims  fall ; 

Down  sinks  their  mangle.1  herdsman  near ; 
The  murderous  cries  the  stag  appal. — 

Again  he  starts,  new-nerved  by  fear. 

With  blood  besmear'd.  and  white  with  foam. 
While  big  the  tears  of  anguish  pour. 

He  seeks,  amid  the  forest's  gloom, 
The  humble  hermit's  hallow'd  bower. 

But  man  and  horse,  and  horn  and  hound, 

Fast  rattling  on  his  traces  go ; 
The  sacred  chapel  rung  around 

With.  "  Hark  away !  and.  holla,  ho !" 


BALLADS   FROM   THE   GERMAN. 


513 


All  mild,  amid  the  rout  profane. 

The  holy  hermit  pour'd  his  prayer; 
"  Forbear  with  blood  Coil's  house  to  stain ; 

Kevere  his  altar,  and  forbear ! 

"The  meanest  brute  has  rights  to  plead, 
Which,  wrong'd  by  cruelly,  or  pride, 

Draw  ventreance  on  the  ruthless  nead  : — 
Be  warn'd  at  length,  and  turn  aside." 

Still  the  Fair  Horseman  anxious  pleads  ; 

The  Black,  wild  whooping,  points  the  prey  :— 
Alas !  the  Earl  no  warning  heeds. 

But  frantic  keeps  the  forward  way. 

"  Holy  or  not,  or  right  or  wrong. 
Thy  altar,  and  its  rites,  I  spurn  ; 

Not  sainted  martyrs'  sacred  son?. 
Not  God  himself,  shall  make  me  turn!" 

He  spurs  his  horse,  he  winds  his  horn, 
'•  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho  !"— 

But  off,  on  whirlwind's  pinions  borne, 
The  stag,  the  hut,  the  hermit,  go. 

And  horse  and  man,  and  horn  and  hound, 
And  clamour  of  the  chase,  was  gone  ; 

For  hoofs,  and  howls,  and  bugle-sound, 
A  deadly  silence  reign'd  alone. 

Wild  gazed  the  affrighted  Earl  around ; 

He  strove  in  yam  to  wake  his  horn. 
In  vain  to  cull :  for  not  a  sound 

Could  from  his  anxious  lips  be  borne. 

He  listens  for  his  trusty  hounds ; 

No  distant  baying  reach 'd  his  ears : 
His  courser,  rooted  to  the  ground. 

The  quickening  spur  unmindful  bears. 

Still  dark  and  darker  frown  the  shades. 
Dark  as  the  darkness  of  the  grave ; 

And  not  a  sound  the  still  invades. 
Save  what  a  distant  torrent  gave. 

High  o'er  the  sinner's  humbled  head, 
At  length  the  solemn  silence  broke; 

And.  from  a  cloud  of  swarthy  red. 
The  awful  voice  of  thunder  spoke. 

"  Oppressor  of  creation  fair ! 

Apostate  Spirits'  harden'd  tool ! 
Scorner  of  God  !    Scourge  of  the  poor ! 

The  measure  of  thy  cup  is  full. 

"  Be  chased  for  ever  through  the  wood ; 

For  ever  roam  the  affrighted  wild  ; 
And  let  thy  fate  instruct  the  proud, 

God's  meanest  creature  is  his  child." 

'Twas  hush'd  :— One  flash,  of  sombre  glare, 
With  yellow  tinged  the  forests  brown ; 

Uprose  the  Wildgrave's  bristling  hair. 
And  horror  chill'd  each  nerve  and  hone. 

Cold  pour'd  the  sweat  in  freezing  rill ; 

A  rising  wind  began  to  sing ; 
And  louder,  louder,  louder  still. 

Brought  storm  and  tempest  on  its  wing. 

Earth  heard  the  call ;— her  entrails  rend  ; 

From  yawning  nfts,  with  many  a  yell, 
Mix'd  with  sulphureous  flames,  ascend 

The  misbegotten  dogs  of  hell. 

What  ghastly  Huntsman  next  arose. 

Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell ; 
His  eye  like  midnight  lightning  glows, 

His  steed  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 


The  Wildgrave  flies  o'er  bush  and  thoru, 
With  many  a  shriek  of  helpless  woe; 

Jehniil  him  hound,  and  horse,  and  horn, 
And,  "  Hark  away,  and  holla,  ho !" 

With  wild  despair's  reverted  eye. 
Close,  close  behind,  he  marks  the  throng 

With  bloody  fangs  and  eager  cry; 
In  frantic  fear  he  scours  along. — 

Still,  still  shall  last  the  dreadful  chase, 
Till  time  itself  shall  have  an  end  ; 

By  day,  they  scour  earth's  cavern'd  space, 
At  midnight's  witching  hour,  ascend. 

This  is  the  horn,  and  hound,  and  horse, 
That  oft  the  lated  peasant  hears; 

Appall'd.  he  signs  the  frequent  cross. 
When  the  wild  din  invades  his  ears. 

The  wakeful  priest  oft  drops  a  tear 
For  human  pride,  for  human  woe. 

When,  at  his  midnight  mass,  he  hears 
The  infernal  cry  of,  "  Holla,  ho !" 


[1801.] 

This  ballad  was  written  at  the  request  of 
Mr.  Lewis,  to  be  inserted  in  his  "Tales  of 
Wonder."  It  is  the  third  in  a  series  of  four 
ballads,  on  the  subject  of  Elementary  Spirits. 
The  story  is,  however,  partly  historical;  for  it 
is  recorded,  that,  during  the  struggles  of  the 
Latin  Kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  a  Knight-Tem- 
plar, called  Saint-Alhan,  deserted  to  the  Sara- 
cens, and  defeated  the  Christians  in  many 
combats,  till  he  was  finally  routed  and  slain, 
in  a  conflict  with  King  Baldwin,  under  th< 
walls  of  Jerusalem. 


Bold  knights  and  fair  dames,  to  my  harp  give 

an  ear. 

Of  love,  and  of  war,  and  of  wonder  to  hear. 
And  you  haply  may  sigh,  in  the  midst  of  your 

glee. 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert,  and  fair  Rosalie. 

0  see  you  that  castle,  so  strong  and  so  high  ? 
And  see  you  that  lady,  the  tear  in  her  eye  ? 
And  see  you  that  palmer,  from  Palestine's 

land, 
The  shell  in  his  hat,  and  the  staff  in  his 

hand  ? — 

"  Now  palmer,  grey  palmer,  0  tell  unto  me. 
What  news  bring  you  home  from  the  Holy 

Countrie  ? 

And  how  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  strand  ? 
And  how  fare  our  nobles,  the  flower  of  the 

land  !"— 

"O  well  goes  the  warfare  hy  Galilee's  wave. 
For  Gilead.  and  Nablous.  and  Ramah  we  have ; 
And  well  fare  our  nobles  by  Mount  l«banon. 
For  the  Heathen  have  lost,' and  the  Christians 
have  won." 


514 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  fair  chain  of  gold  'mill  her  ringlets  there 

hang; 
O'er  the  palmer's  grey  locks  the  fair  chain  has 


And   in  the  dread  cavern,  deep  deep  under 

ground, 
Which  fifty  steel  gates  and  steel  portals  sur- 


she  flung:  round, 

"  O  palmer,  grey  palmer,  this  chain  be  thy  fee.  He  has  watch'd  until  daybreak,  but  sight  saw 
For  the  news  thou  hast  brought  from  the          he  none, 

Holy  Countrie. 


cross  rosh'd  on  ? 


baantheed 


0  saw  ye  him  foremost  on  Mount  Lebanon  T7*  — 

"O  lady,  fair  lady,  the  tree  green  it  grows; 
O  lady,  fair  lady,  the  stream  pure  it  flows  ; 
Your  castle  stands  strong,  and  your  hopes  soar 

on  high, 
But,  lady,  fair  lady,  all  blossoms  to  die. 

"The  green  boughs  they  wither,  the  thunder- 

bolt falls. 
It  leaves  of  your  castle  but  levin-scorch'd 

walls  ; 
The  pure  stream  runs  muddy  ;  the  gay  hope 

is  gone  ; 
Count  Albert  is  prisoner  on  Mount  Lebanon." 

0  she's  ta'en  a  horse,  should  be  fleet  at  her 

speed  ; 
And  she's  ta'en  a  sword,  should  be  sharp  at 

her  need  ; 
And  she  has  ta'en  shipping  for  Palestine's 

land, 
To   ransom  Count  Albeit   from  Soldanrie's 

hand. 

Small   thought   had   Count   Albert   on   fair 

Rosalie. 
Small  thought  on  his  faith,  or  his  knighthood, 

had  he; 

A  heathenish  damsel  his  light  heart  had  won, 
The  Soldan's  fair  daughter  of  Mount  Lebanon. 

"  0  Christian,  brave  Christian,  my  love  wouldst 

thou  be, 
Three  tilings  must  thou  do  ere  I  hearken  to 

thee  : 
Onr  laws  and  our  worship  on  thee  shalt  thou 

take; 
And  this  shalt  thou  first  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  next,  in  the  cavern,  where  bums  ever- 

more 
The    mystical   flame  which   the   Cnrdmans 

adore, 


Save  the  flame  burning  bright  on  its  altar  of 
stone. 

Sore  murmur'd  the  priests  as  on  Albert  they 

gazed  ; 
They  searched  all  his  garments,  and,  under 

his  weeds. 
Theyfound,  and  took  from  him,  his  rosary 

Again  in  the  cavern,  deep  deep  under  ground. 
He  wittcli'd  the  lone  night,  while  the  winds 

whistled  round; 
Far  off  was  their  murmur,  it  came  not  more 

nigh. 
The  flame  burn'd  unmoved,  and  nought  else 

did  he  spy. 

Loud  murmur'd  the  priests,  and  amazed  was 
the  King. 

While  many  dark  spells  of  their  witchcraft 
they  sing; 

Thev  search'd  Albert's  body,  and,  lo!  on  his 
breast 

Was  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  by  his  father  im- 
press'd. 

The  priests  they  erase  it  with  care  and  with 

pain. 
And  the   recreant   return'd   to   the   cavern 

again  ; 

But,  :is  he  descended,  a  whisper  there  fell : 
It  was  his  good  angel,  who  bade  him  farewell ! 

High  bristled  his  hair,  his  heart  flutter'd  and 

beat. 
And  he  turn'd  him  five  steps,  half  resolv'd  to 

retreat ; 
But  his  heart  it  was  harden'd,  his  purpose  was 

gone, 
When   he    thought   of  the    Maiden    of    fair 

Lebanon. 

Scarce  pass'd  he  the  archwaj',  the  threshold 

scarce  trode. 
When  the  winds  from  the  four  points  of  heaven 

were  abroad, 
They  made  each  steel  portal  to  rattle  and 


Alone,  and  in  silence,  three  nights  shalt  thou    And.  borne  on  the  blast,  came  the  dread  Fire- 
wake  ;  King. 

And  this  thou  shalt   next  do  for  Zulema's  '  „  ,, 

sake  Full  sore  rock'd   the   cavern  whene'er   he 

drew  nigh, 

"And.  last,  thou  shalt  aid  us  with  counsel  and   The  fire  on  the  altar  blazed  bickering  and 
hand,  high : 

To  drive  the  Frank  robber  from  Palestine's   In  volcanic  explosions  the   mountains  pro- 


land  ; 
For  my  lord  and  my  love  then  Count  Albert 

I'll  take. 
When  all  this  is  accomplish 'd  for  Zulema's 

ssJse." 


claim 

The  dreadful  approach  of  the  Monarch  of 
Flame. 


Unmeasur'd   in    height,   undistinguish'd    in 

form. 
He  has  thrown  by  his   helmet,  and  cross-  j  His  breath  it  was  lightning,  his  voice  it  was 

bundled  sword,  storm ; 

Renouncing  his  knighthood,  denying  his  Lord  ;    I  ween  the  stout  heart  of  Count  Albert  was 
He  has  ta'en  the  green  caftan,  and  turban          tame, 

put  on,  I  When  he  saw  in  his  terrors  the  Monarch  of 

For  the  love  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon.     '        Flame. 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


515 


In  his  hand  a  broad  falchion  blue-gliminer'd 

through  smoke 
And  Mount  Lebanon  shook  as  the  monarch  he 

spoke  . 
"With   this   brand  slialt  thou  conquer,  thus 

Ions,  and  no  more. 
Till  tliou  bend  to  the  Cross,  and  the  Virgin 

adore. " 

The  cloml -shrouded  Arm  gives  the  weapon; 

and  see  ! 
The  recreant  receives  the  charm'd  gift  on  his 

knee  : 
The  thunders  growl  distant,  and  faint  gleam 

the  fires, 
As,  borne  on  the   whirlwind,  the   phantom 

retires. 

Count  Albert  has  arm'd  him  the  Paynim 
among. 

Though  his  heart  it  was  false,  yet  his  arm  it 
was  strong ; 

And  the  Red-cross  waz'd  faint,  and  the  Cres- 
cent came  on, 

From  the  day  he  commanded  on  Mount  Leba- 
non. 

From  Lebanon's  forests  to  Galilee's  wave, 
The  sands  of  Sumaar  drank  the  blood  of  the 

brave : 
Till  the  Knights  of  the  Temple,  and  Knights 

of  Saint  John, 
With   Salem's    King   Baldwin,    against    him 

came  on. 

The   war-cymhals   clattered,   the    trumpets 

replied, 
The  lances  were  couch'd,  and  they  closed  on 

each  side  ; 
And  horsemen  and  horses  Count  Albert  o'er- 

threw, 
Till  he  pierc'd  the  thick  tumult  King  Baldwin 

unto. 

Against  the  charm'd  blade  which  Count  Albert 
did  wield. 

The  fence  had  been  vain  of  the  King's  Red- 
cross  shield; 

But.  a  Page  thrust  him  forward  the  monarch 
before. 

And  cleft  the  proud  turban  the  renegade  wore. 

So  fell  was  the  dint,  that  Count  Albert 
stoop'd  low 

Before  the  cross'd  shield,  to  his  steel  saddle- 
how; 

And  scarce  had  he  bent  to  the  Red-cross  his 
head.— 

•'  Bonne  Grace,  Notre  Dame  !"  he  unwittingly 
said. 

Sore  sigh'd  the  charm'd  sword,  for  its  virtue 
was  o'er, 

It  sprung  from  his  grasp,  and  was  never  seen 
more ; 

Bat  true  men  have  said,  that  the  lightning's 
red  wing 

Did  waft  back  the  brand  to  the  dread  Fire- 
King. 

He  clench'd  his  set  teeth,  and  his  gauntletted 

hand: 
He  stretch'd,  with  one  buffet,  that  Page  on  the 

strand ; 


As  back  from  the  stripling  the  broken  casque 

r.ill'd. 
You  misht  see  the  blue  eyes,  and  ringlets  of 

gold. 

Short   time  had  Count   Albert   in   horror  to 

stare 
On  those  death-swimming  eyeballs,  and  blood- 

clotled  hair; 
For  down  came  the  Templars,  like  Cedron  in 

flood. 

And  dyed  their  long  lances  in  Saracen  blood. 
The    Saracens,   Curdiuans,  and   Ishmaelities 

yield 
To  the  scallop,  the   saltier,  and  crossletted 

shield; 
And  the  eagles  were  gorged  with  the  infidel 

dead, 
From    Bethsaida's    fountains    to    Napthali's 

head. 

The  battle  is  over  on  Bethsaida's  plain  — 
Oh,  who  is  yon  Payuim  lies  stretch'd  'mid  the 

slam  ? 

And  who  is  yon  Page  lying  cold  at  his  knee  ?— 
Oli,  who  but  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie  1 

The    Lady   was   buried   in   Salem's   bless'd 

bound. 
The   Count  he  was  left  to  the  vulture  and 

hound  : 

Her  soul  to  high  mercy  our  Lady  did  bring ; 
His  went  on  the  blast  to  the  dread  Fire- King. 

Yet  many  a  minstrel,  in  harping,  can  tell. 
How  the  Ked-cross  it  conquer'd,  the  Crescent 

it  fell : 
And  lords  and  gay  ladies  have  sigh'd,  'mid 

their  glee. 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 


anU 


[1801.] 


This  tale  is  imitated,  rather  than  translated. 
from  a  fragment  introduced  in  Goethe's  "  Chiu- 
dina  Vou  Villa  Bella."  where  it  is  sung  by  a 
member  of  a  gang  of  banditti,  to  engage  the 
attention  of  the  family,  while  Ins  companions 
break  into  the  castle.  It  owes  any  little  merit 
it  may  possess  to  my  friend  Mr.  Lewis,  to 
whom  it  was  sent  in  an  extremely  rude  suite  ; 
and  who.  after  some  material  improvements, 
published  it  in  his  "  Tales  of  Wonder." 


Frederick  leaves  the  land  of  France, 
Homeward  hastes  his  steps  to  measure. 

Careless  casts  the  parting  glance 
On  Hie  scene  of  former  pleasure. 

Joving  in  his  prancing  steed, 
Keen  to  prove  his  untried  blade, 

Hope's  gay  dreams  the  soldier  lead 
Over  mountain,  moor,  and  glade. 

Helpless,  rnin'd,  left  forlorn, 

Lovely  Alice  wept  alone ; 
Monrn'd  o'er  love's  fond  contract  torn, 

Hope,  and  peace,  and  honour  flown. 


516 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Mark  her  breast's  convulsive  throbs 

See.  the  tear  of  anguish  flows!— 
Mingling  soon  with  bursting  sobs, 

Loud  the  laugh  of  freuzy  rose. 
Wild  she  cursed,  and  wild  she  pray'd ; 

Seven  lone  days  and  nights  are  o'er; 
Death  in  pity  brought  his  aid. 

As  the  village  bell  struck  tour. 

Far  from  her,  and  far  from  France, 
Faithless  Frederick  onward  rides  ; 

Marking,  blithe,  the  morning's  glance 
Mantling  o'er  the  mountain's  sides. 

Heard  ye  not  the  boding  sound, 
As  the  tongue  of  yonder  tower, 

Slowly,  to  the  hills  around. 
Told  the  fourth,  the  fated  hour? 

Starts  the  steed,  and  snuffs  the  air, 
Vet  no  cause  of  dread  appears; 

Bristles  high  the  rider's  hair. 
Struck  with  strange  mysterious  fears. 

Desperate,  as  his  terrors  rise. 
In  the  steed  the  spur  he  hides; 

From  himself  in  vain  he  flies  ; 
Anxious,  restless,  on  he  rides. 

Seven  long  days,  and  seven  long  nights, 
Wild  he  wander'd,  woe  the  while! 

Ceaseless  care,  and  causeless  fright, 
Urge  his  footsteps  many  a  mile. 

Dark  the  seventh  sad  night  descends; 

Rivers  swell,  and  ram-streams  pour; 
While  the  deafening  thunder  lends 

All  the  terrors  of  its  roar. 

Weary,  wet,  and  spent  with  toil. 
Where  his  head  shall  Frederick  hide  . 

Where,  but  in  yon  ruin'd  aisle. 
By  the  lightning's  flash  descried. 

To  the  portal,  dank  and  low. 

Fast  his  steed  the  wanderer  bound  : 

Down  a  ruin'd  staircase  slow, 
Next  his  darkling  way  he  wound. 

Long  drear  vaults  before  him  lie  ! 

Glimmering  lights  are  seen  to  glide  !— 
"  Blessed  Mary,  hear  my  cry ! 

Deign  a  sinner's  steps  to  guide  !" 

Often  lost  their  quivering  beam. 

Still  the  lights  move  slow  before, 
Till  they  rest  their  ghastly  gleam 

Right  against  an  iron  door. 

Thundering  voices  from  within, 
Mix'd  with  peals  of  laughter,  rose; 

As  they  fell,  a  solemn  strain 

Lent  its  wild  and  wondrous  close  ! 

Midst  the  din,  he  seem'd  to  hear 
Voice  of  friends,  by  death  removed  ;— 

Well  he  knew  that  solemn  air, 
'Twas  the  lay  that  Alice  loved.— 

Hark  !  for  now  a  solemn  knell 
Four  times  on  the  still  night  broke; 

Four  times,  at  its  deaden'd  swell, 
Echoes  from  the  ruins  spoke. 

As  the  lengthen'd  clangours  die, 

Slowly  opes  the  iron  door ! 
Straight  a  banquet  met  his  eye. 

But  a  funeral's  form  it  wore  ! 


Coffins  for  the  seats  extend  ; 

All  with  black  the  board  was  spread  ; 
Girt  by  parent,  brother,  friend. 

Long  since  number'd  with  the  dead  ! 
Alice,  in  her  grave-clothes  bound, 

Ghastly  smiling,  points  a  se;it ; 
All  arose,  with  thundering  sound  ; 

All  the  expected  stranger  greet. 

High  their  meagre  arms  they  wave. 
Wild  their  notes  of  welcome  swell  ;— 

"  Welcome,  traitor,  to  the  grave  ! 
Perjur'd,  bid  the  light  farewell!" 


Battle  of 


[1818.] 

These  verses  are  a  literal  translation  of  an 
ancient  Swiss  ballad  upon  the  battle  of  Sem- 
pach.  fought  9th  July.  1386.  being  the  victory 
by  which  the  Swiss  cantons  established  their 
independence;  the  author,  Albert  Tchudi, 
denominated  the  Souter,  from  his  profession 
of  a  shoemaker  He  was  a  citizen  of  l.ucrrne, 
esteemed  highly  among  his  countrymen,  both 
for  his  powers  as  a  Mrister-Singer.  or  minstrel, 
and  his  courage  as  a  soldier;  so  that  he  might 
share  the  praise  conferred  by  Collins  on  £s- 
chylus.  that 

[|*«1  the  poet'B  flame, 

id  the  patriot  «teel." 

The  circumstance  of  their  being  written  by 
a  poet  returning  from  the  well-fought  field  he 
describes,  and  in  which  his  country's  fortune 
was  secured,  may  confer  on  Tchudi's  verses 
an  interest  which  they  are  not  entitled  to 
claim  from  their  poetical  merit.  But  ballad 
poetry,  the  more  literally  it  is  translated,  the 
more  it  loses  its  simplicity,  without  acquiring 
either  grace  or  strength  ;  and.  therefore,  some 
of  the  faults  of  the  verses  must  be  imputed  to 
the  translator's  feeling  it  a  duty  to  keep  as 
closely  as  possible  to  his  original.  The 
various  puns,  rude  attempts  at  pleasantry, 
and  disproportioned  episodes,  must  be  set 
down  to  Tchudi's  account,  or  to  the  taste  of 
his  age. 

The  military  antiquary  will  derive  some 
amusement  from  the  minute  particulars  which 
the  martial  poet  has  recorded.  The  mode  in 
which  the  Austrian  men-at-arms  received  the 
charge  of  the  Swiss,  was  by  forming  a 
phalanx,  which  they  defended  with  their  long 
lances.  The  gallant  Wmkelreid.  who  sacri- 
ficed his  own  life  by  rushing  among  the  spears, 
clasping  in  his  arms  as  many  as  he  could 
grasp,  and  thus  opening  a  gap  in  those  iron 
battalions,  is  celebrated  in  Swiss  history,  j 
When  fairly  mingled  together,  the  unwieldy 
length  of  their  weapons,  and  cumbrous  weight 
of  their  defensive  armour,  rendered  the  Aus- 
trian men-at-arms  a  very  unequal  match  for 
the  light-armed  mountaineers.  The  victories 
obtained  by  the  Swiss  over  the  German 
chivalry,  hitherto  deemed  as  formidable  on 
foot  as  on  horseback,  led  to  important  changes 
in  the  art  of  war.  The  poet  describes  the 
Austrian  knights  and  squires  as  cutting  the 


BALLADS    FROM    THE    GERMAN. 


517 


peaks  from  their  boots  ere  they  could  act 
upon  foot,  in  allusion  to  an  inconvenient  piece 
ot'  foppery,  ot'len  mentioned  ill  Ihn  middle 
ages  Leopold  III.,  Archduke  of  Austria, 
tailed  "The  handsome  man-at  arms."  was 
slain  in  the  battle  of  bttiiipach,  with  the 
flower  of  his  chivalry. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH. 

'Twas  when  among  our  linden-trees 

The  bees  had  housed  in  swarms. 
(And  erey-hair'd  peasants  say  that  these 

Betoken  foreign  arms,) 
Then  looked  we  down  to  Willisow, 

The  land  was  all  in  flame  ; 
We  knew  the  Archduke  Leopold 

With  all  his  urmy  came. 
The  Austrian  nobles  made  their  vow, 

So  hot  their  heart  and  bold, 
"On  Swiizer  carles  we'll  trample  now, 

And  slay  both  young  and  old." 
With  clarion  loud,  and  banner  proud, 

From  Zurich  on  the  lake, 
In  martial  pomp  and  fair  array. 

Their  onward  march  they  make. 
"Now  list,  ye  lowland  nobles  all — 

Ye  seeK  the  mountain  strand. 
Nor  wot  ye  what  shall  be  your  lot. 

In  such  a  dangerous  land. 
"  I  rede  ye,  shrive  ye  of  your  sins, 

Before  ye  farther  go ; 
A  skirmish  in  Helvetian  hills 

May  send  your  souls  to  woe." — 
"  But  where  now  shall  we  find  a  priest 

Our  shrift  that  he  may  hear  ?" — 
"  The  Switzer  priest '  has  la'en  the  field. 

He  deals  a  penance  drear. 
"  Right  heavily  upon  your  head 

He'll  lay  his  hand  of  steel ; 
And  with  his  trusty  partizau 

Your  absolution  deal." — 
Twas  on  a  Monday  morning  then, 

The  corn  was  steep'd  in  dew, 
And  merry  maids  had  sickles  ta'en. 

When  the  host  to  Sempach  drew. 
The  stalwart  men  of  fair  Lucerne 

Together  have  they  joined ; 
The  pith  and  core  of  manhood  stern. 

Was  none  cast  looks  behind. 
It  was  the  Lord  of  Hare-castle, 

And  to  the  Duke  he  said, 
••  Yon  little  band  of  brethren  true 

Will  meet  us  undismay'd." — 
"O  Hare-castle.2  thou  heart  of  hare  1" 

Fierce  Oxenstern  replied  — 
"Shalt  see  then  how  the  game  will  fare," 

The  taunted  knight  replied. 

There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright, 

And  closing  ranks  amain  ; 
The  peaks  they  hew'd  from  their  boot  points 

Might  well-nigh  load  a  wain  3 


And  thus  they  to  each  other  said, 

"Yon  haiuifnl  down  to  hew 
Will  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell, 

The  peasants  are  so  few." — 

The  gallant  Swiss  Confederates  there 

They  pray'd  to  God  aloud. 
And  he  display'd  his  r  iinlmw  fair 

Against  u  swarthy  cloud. 
Then    heart  and    pulse  throbb'd  more    and 
more 

With  courage  firm  and  hiirh. 
And  down  the  good  Confederates  bore 

On  the  Austrian  chivalry. 
The  Austrian  Liou<  'gan  to  growl, 

And  toss  his  main  and  tail ; 
And  ball,  and  shall,  and  crossbow  bolt. 

Went  whistling  forth  like  hail. 
Lance,  pike,  and  halbert,  mingled  there, 

The  game  was  nothing  sweet ; 
The  boughs  of  many  a  stately  tree 

Lay  Miiver'd  at  their  feet. 
The  Austrian  men-at-arms  stood  fast, 

So  close  their  spears  they  laid  ; 
It  chafed  the  gallant  Wjnkelreid, 

Who  to  his  comrades  said  — 
"  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  home, 

A  wife  and  infant  son  ; 
I  leave  them  to  my  country's  care,— 

This  field  shall  soon  be  won. 

These  nobles  lay  their  spears  right  thick, 

And  keep  full  firm  array. 
Yet  shall  my  charee  their  order  break, 

And  make  my  brethren  way." 
He  rush'd  against  the  Austrian  band, 

In  desperate  career, 
And  with  his  body,  breast,  and  hand, 

Bore  down  each  hostile  spear. 

Four  lances  splinter'd  on  his  crest, 

Six  shiver'd  in  his  side; 
Still  on  the  serried  files  he  press'd  — 

He  broke  their  ranks,  and  died. 
This  patriot's  self-devoted  deed 

First  tamed  the  Lion's  mood, 
And  the  four  forest  cantons  freed 

from  thraldom  by  his  blood. 

Right  where  his  charge  had  made  a  lane, 

His  valiant  comrades  hurst. 
With  sword,  and  axe,  and  partisan, 

And  hack,  and  stab,  and  thrust. 

The  daunted  Lion  'gan  to  whine, 

And  granted  ground  amain. 
The  Mountain  Bulls  lie  bent  his  brows, 

And  gored  his  sides  again. 
Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield, 

At  Sempach  in  the  flight, 
The  cloister  vaults  at  Koiiig's-fietd 

Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight. 

It  was  the  Archduke  Leopold, 

So  lordly  would  he  ride. 
But  he  came  against  the  Swjtzer  churls, 

And  they  slew  him  in  his  pride. 


1  AlltheSwiurlncr 


fought 


When  ihey  alighted  lo  light  upou  foot,  it  would  eeem  that 
the  Austrian  gentlemen  fount)  il  nrcetwary  to  cut  off  these 
peaks,  that  they  might  move  with  the  necevury  activity 
4  A.  pun  on  the  Archduke'*  name,  Leopold. 


518 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  heifer  said  unto  the  bull. 

••  And  shall  I  not  complain  ? 
There  came  a  foreign  nuhieinan 

To  milk  me  on  tlie  plain. 

"One  thrust  of  thine  outrageous  horn 

Has  gall'd  the  knight  so  sore, 
That  to  the  churchyard  he  is  borne, 

To  range  our  glens  no  more." 
An  Austrian  noble  left  the  stour, 

And  last  the  flight,  'gran  take; 
And  he  arrived  in  luckless  hour 

At  .-empach  on  the  lake. 

He  and  his  squire  a  fisher  call'd. 

(His  name  was  Hans  Von  Hot,) 
"  Kor  love,  or  meed,  or  charity, 

Keceive  us  in  tiiy  boat!" 

Their  anxious  call  the  fisher  heard, 

And.  glad  the  meed  to  win, 
His  shallop  to  the  shore  he  steer'd, 

And  took  the  flyers  in. 

And  while  against  the  tide  and  wind 

Hans  stoutly  rciw'd  his  way, 
The  noble  to  his  follower  sieu'd 

He  should  the  boatman  slay. 

The  fisher's  back  was  to  them  tnrn'd. 

The  squire  his  dagger  drew, 
Hans  saw  his  shadow  in  the  lake, 

The  boat  he  overthrew. 

He  'whelm'd  the  boat,  and  as  they  strove. 

He  stumi'd  them  with  his  oar, 
"Now,  drink  ye  deep,  my  gentle  sirs, 

You'll  ne'er  stab  boatman  more. 
"Two  gilded  fishes  in  the  lake 

'1  his  morning  have  I  caught. 
Their  silver  scales  may  much  avail, 

Their  carrion  flesh  is  nought." 
It  was  a  messenger  of  woe 

Has  sought  the  Austrian  land  : 
"  Ah !  gracious  lady,  evil  news ! 

My  lord  lies  on  the  strand. 

"  At  Sempach,  on  the  battle-field, 

His  bloody  corpse  lies  there." — 
"Ah.  gracious  God  !"  the  lady  cried, 

"  What  tidings  of  despair!" 
Now  would  you  know  the  minstrel  wight 

Who  sings  of  strife  so  stern, 
Albert  the  Souter  is  he  bight, 

A  burger  of  Lucerne. 
A  merry  man  was  he,  I  wot. 

The  night  he  made  the  lay. 
Returning  from  the  bloody  spot. 

Where  God  had  judged  the  day. 


AS  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 
[1819.] 

The  original  of  these  verses  occurs  in  a 
collection  of  German  popular  songs,  entitled, 
Sammlung  Deutschen  Volkslieder,  Berlin, 
1807,  published  by  Messrs.  Busching  and  You 


der  Hagen.  both,  and  more  especially  the  last, 
distinguished  for  their  acquaintance  with  the 
ancient  popular  poetry  and  legendary  history 
of  Germany 

In  the  German  Editor's  notice  of  the  ballad, 
it  is  stated  lo  have  been  extracted  from  a 
manuscript  Chronicle  of  Nicholaus  Thomann, 
chaplain  to  ^amt  Leonard  in  Weisenhorn. 
which  hears  the  date  1533;  and  the  song  is 
stated  by  the  author  to  have  Iwn  generally 
sons  in  the  neighbourhood  at  that  early  period 
Thomann,  as  quoted  by  the  German  Kditor, 
seems  faithfully  to  have  believed  the  event  he 
narrates.  He  quotes  tombstones  and  obitu- 
aries to  prove  the  existence  of  the  personages 
of  the  ballad,  and  discovers  that  there  actually 
died,  on  the  llth  May,  1319.  a  Lady  Von 
Neuffen.  Countess  of  Marrtetten,  who  was.  by 
birth,  of  the  house  of  Morinser.  Tins  lady 
he  supposes  to  have  been  Mormger's  daughter, 
mentioned  in  the  ballad.  He  quotes  the  same 
authority  for  Hie  death  of  lie  rck  hold  Von  | 
Neuffen,  in  the  same  year.  The  editors,  on  : 
the  whole,  seem  to  embrace  the  opinion  of 
Professor  .Smith  of  Ulm,  who,  from  the  lan- 
guage of  the  ballad,  asorilws  its  date  to  the 
15th  century. 

The  legend  itself  turns  on  an  incident  not 
peculiar  to  Germany,  and  which,  perhaps,  was 
not  unlikely  to  happen  in  more  instances  than 
one,  when 'crusaders  abode  long  in  the  Holy 
Land,  and  their  disconsolate  dames  received 
no  tidings  of  their  fate.  A  story,  very  similar 
in  circumstances,  hut  without,  the  imtaoulous 
machinery  of  >amt  Thomas,  is  told  of  one  of 
the  ancient  Ixirdsnf  Haigli-hall.  in  Lancashire, 
the  patrimonial  inheritance  of  the  late  Count- 
ess of  Balcarnis;  and  the  particulars  are 
represented  on  stained  glass  upon  a  window 
in  that  ancient  manor-house. 


THE  NOBLE  MORIXGEE. 


0,   will    yon   hear   a   knightly   tale   of  old 

Bohemian  day. 
It  was  the  noble  -\Ioringer  in  wedlock  bed  he 

lay; 
He  halsed  and  kissed  his  dearest  dame,  that 

was  as  sweet  as  May, 
And  said,  "  Now,  lady  of  my  heart,  attend  the 

words  I  say. 

It 
"Tis  I  have  vow'd  a  pilgrimage  unto  a  distant 

shrine. 
And  1  must  seek  Saint  Thomas-land,  and  leave 

the  land  that's  mine: 
Here  shall  thou  dwell  the  while  in  state,  so 

thou  wilt  pledge  thy  fay. 
That  thou   for  my  return  wilt  wait   seven 

twelvemonths  and  a  day." 

III. 
Then  out  and  spoke  that  Lady  bright,  sore 

troubled  in  her  cheer, 
"Now  tell  me  true,  thou  noble  knight,  what 

order  takest  thou  here ; 
And  who  shall  lead  thy  vassal  band,  and  hold 

thy  lordly  sway. 
And  be  thy  lady's  guardian  true  when  thou 

art  far  away  ?" 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


519 


IV. 

Out  spoke  the  noble  Moringer,  "  Of  thai  have 

i  huu  no  care, 
There's  many  a  valiant  gentleman  of  me  holds 

living  fair; 
The  trustiest  shall  rule  my  land,  my  vassals 

and  my  stale. 
And  he  a  guardian  tried  and  true  to  thee,  my 

lovely  mate. 

V. 

".As   Christian-man,  I   needs  must  keep  the 

vow  which  I  have  plight. 
When  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  remember  thy 

true  knight ; 
And   cease,  my  dearest  dame,  to  grieve,  for 

vain  were  sorrow  now. 
But  grant  thy  Moringer  his  leave,  since  God 

hath  heard  his  vow." 

VI. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  from  bed  he  made 

him  boune, 
And   met   him  there   his  Chamberlain,  with 

ewer  and  with  gown  ; 
He  flung  the  mantle  on  his  back,  'twas  furr'd 

with  miniver, 
He  dipp'd  his  hand  in  water  cold,  and  bathed 

bis  forehead  fair. 

VII. 
••  Now  hear,"  he  said.  "  Sir  Chamberlain,  true 

vassal  art  thou  mine. 
And   such  the  trust  that  I  repose   in  that 

proved  worth  of  thine. 
For  seven  years  shall  thou  rule  my  towers, 

and  lead  my  vassal  train. 
And   pledge   thee   for   my  Lady's  faith  till  I 

return  again." 

VIII. 

The  Chamberlain  was  blunt  and  true,  and 

sturdily  said  he, 
"  Abide,  my  lord,  and  rule  your  own,  and  take 

this  rede  from  me; 
Thar,  woman's  faith  's  a  brittle  trust  —  Seven 

twelvemonths  didst  thou  say  ? 
I'll  pledge  me  for  no  lady's  truth  beyond  the 

seventh  fair  day." 

IX. 

The  noble  Baron  turn'd  him  round,  his  heart 

was  full  of  care, 
His  gallant  Esquire  stood  him  nigh,  he  was 

Marstetten's  heir. 
To  whom   he  spoke  right  anxiously, "  Thou 

trusty  squire  to  me, 
Wilt  thou  receive  this  weighty  trust  when  I  am 

o'er  the  sea? 


"  To  watch  and  ward  my  castle  strong,  and  to 

protect  my  land, 
And  to  the  hunting  or  the  host  to  lead  my 

vassal  band ; 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  Lady's  faith  till  seven 

long  years  are  gone , 
And  guard  her  as  Our  Lady  dear  was  guarded 

by  Saint  John." 


XI. 

Marstetten's  heir  was  kind  and  true,  but  fiery, 
hot,  and  young. 

And  readily  he  answer  made  with  too  presump- 
tuous tongue: 

"  My  noble  lord,  cast  care  away,  and  on  your 
journey  werid, 

And  trust  this  charge  to  me  until  your  pilgrim- 
age have  end. 

XII. 

"  Rely  upon  my  plighted  faith,  which  shall  be 

truly  tried, 
To  guard  your  lands,  and  ward  your  towers, 

and  with  your  vassals  ride : 
And  for  your  lovely  Lady's  faith,  so  virtuous 

and  so  dear, 
I'll  gage  my  head  it   knows  no  change,  be 

absent  thirty  year." 

XIII. 

The  noble  Moringer  took  cheer  when  thus  he 

he  ird  him  speak, 
And  doubt  forsook  his  troubled  brow,  and 

sorrow  left  his  cheek  ; 
A  long  adieu  he  bids  to  all — hoist  topsails  and 

away, 
And   wanders  in   Saint   Thomas-land    seven 

twelvemonths  and  a  day. 

XIV. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  within  an  orchard 

slept, 
When  on  the   Baron's   slumbering  sense  a 

boding  vision  crept ; 
And  whisper'd  in  his  ear  a  voice,  "  'Tis  time, 

Sir  Knight,  to  wake, 
Thy   lady  and  thy  heritage  another  master 

take. 

XV. 

"  Thy  tower  another  banner  knows,  thy  steeds 

another  rein. 
And  stoop  them  to  another's  will  thy  gallant 

vassal  train ; 
And  she,  the  Lady  of  thy  love,  so  faithful  once 

and  fair, 
This  night  within  thy  fathers'  hall  she  weds 

Marstetten's  heir." 

XVI. 

It  is  the  noble  Moringer  starts  up  and  tears 

his  beard, 
••  0  would  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born!  what 

tidings  have  I  heard! 
To  lose  my   lordship  and  my  lands  the  less 

would  be  my  care. 
But,  God  !  that  e'er  a  squire  untrue  should 

wed  my  Lady  fair. 

XVU. 

"O  good    Saint  Thomas,  hear,"  he   pray'd, 

"  my  patron  Saint  art  thou, 
A  traitor  robs  me  of  my  land  even  while  I  pay 

my  vow ! 
My  wife  he  brings  to  infamy  that  was  so  pure 

of  name. 
And  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  aiul  must  endure 

the  shame." 


520 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


xvm. 

It  was   the  good   Saint  Thomas,  (hen,  who 

heard  his  pilgrim's  prayer. 
And  sent  a  sleep  so  deep  and  dead  that  it  o'er- 

power'd  his  care ; 
He  waked  in  fair  Bohemian  land  outstretch'd 

beside  a  rill. 
High  on  th«  right  a  castle  stood,  low  on  the 

left  a  mill. 

XIX. 

The  Moringer  he  started  up  as  one  from  spell 

unbound. 
And  dizzy  with  surprise  and  joy  gazed  wildly 

all  around ; 
"  I  know  my  fathers'  ancient  towers,  the  mill, 

the  stream  I  know. 
Now  blessed  he  my  patron  Saint,  who  cheer'd 

his  pilgrim's  woe !" 

XX. 

He  leant  upon  his  pilgrim  staff,  and  to  the 

mill  he  dr«w. 
So  alter'd  was  liis  goodly  form  that  none  their 

master  knew; 
The  Baron  to  the  miller  said,  "  Good  friend, 

for  charity, 
Tell  a  poor  palmer  in  your  land  what  tidings 

may  there  be  I" 

XXI. 

The  miller  answer'd  him  again,  "  He  knew  of 

little  news,      • 
Save  that  the   I.ady  of  the  land  did  a  new 

bridegroom  choose ; 
Her  husband  died  in  distant  land,  such  is  the 

constant  word. 
His  death  siu  heavy  on  our  souls,  he  was  a 

worthy  Lord. 

xxn. 

Of  him  I  held  the  little  mill  which  wins  me 

living  free, 
God  rest  the  Baron  in  his  grave,  he  still  was 

kind  to  me ! 
And  when   Saint  Martin's  tide  comes  round, 

and  millers  take  their  toll. 
The  priest  that  prays  for  Moringer  shall  have 

both  cope  and  stole. " 

XXIII. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  to  climb  the  hill 

began. 
And  stood  before  the  bolted  gate  a  woe  and 

weary  man  ; 
"  Now  help  me,  every  saint  in  heaven  that 

can  compassion  take, 
To  gain  the  entrance  of  my  hall  this  woful 

match  to  break. 

xxrv. 

His  very  knock  it  sounded  sad,  his  call  was 

sad  and  slow, 
For  heart  and  head,  and  voice  and  hand,  were 

heavy  all  with  woe  ; 
And  to  the  warder  thus  he  spoke  ;  "  Friend,  to 

thy  Lady  say, 
A  pilgrim   from   Saint  Thomas-land  craves 

harbour  for  a  day. 


XXV. 

"  I've  wander'd  many  a  weary  step,  my 
strength  is  wellnigh  done. 

And  if  she  turn  me  from  her  gate  I'll  see  no 
morrow's  sun ; 

I  pray,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  a  pil- 
grim's bed  and  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Monnger's,  her  once- loved 
husband's  soul." 

XXVI. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  he  came  his 
dame  before, 

"A  pilgrim,  worn  and  travel-toil'd,  stands  at 
the  castle  door ; 

And  prays,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  for 
harbour  and  for  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer,  thy  noble  hus- 
band's soul." 

xxvn. 

The  Lady's  gentle  heart  was  noved,"Do  up 
the  gate."  she  said. 

"And  lud  the  wanderer  welcome  be  to  ban- 
quet and  to  bed ; 

And  since  he  names  my  husband's  name,  so 
that  he  lists  to  slay. 

These  towers  shall  be  his  harbourage  a 
twelvemonth  and  a  day." 

XXVIII. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  undid  the  por- 
tal broad, 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  o'er  the  thresh- 
hold  strode ; 

"And  have  thuu  thanks,  kind  heaven,"  he 
said.  "  though  from  a  man  of  sin, 

That  the  true  lord  stands  here  once  more  his 
castle-gale  within  " 

XXIX. 

Then  up  the  halls  paced  Moringer,  his  step 

was  sad  and  slow  ; 
It  sat  full  heavy  on   his  heart,  none  seem'd 

their  Lord  to  know ; 
He  sat  him  on  a  lowly  bench,  oppress'd  with 

woe  and  wrong, 
Short  space  he  sat,  but  ne'er  to  him  seem'd 

little  space  so  long. 

XXX. 

Now  spent  was  day,  and  feasting  o'er,  and 

come  was  evening  hour, 
The  time  was  nigh  when  new-made  brides 

retire  to  nuptial  bower; 
"  Our  castle's  wont,"  a  brides-man  said, "  hath 

been  both  firm  and  long, 
No  guest  to  harbour  in  our  halls  till  he  shall 

chant  a  song." 

XXXI. 

Then  spoke  the  youthful  bridegroom  there  as 

he  sat  by  the  bride. 
"My   merry  minstrel   folk,"  quoth   he,   "lay 

shiilrn  and  harp  aside; 
Our  pilgrim  guest  must  smg  a  lay,  the  castle's 

rule  to  hold, 
And  well  his  guerdon  will  1  pay  with  garment 

and  wiih  gold." — 


BALLADS    FROM    THE    GERMAN. 


521 


XXXII. 

"Chill  flows  the  lay  of  frozen  age,"  'twas  thus 

the  pilgrim  sung, 
"  Nor  golden  meed  nor  garment  gay,  unlocks 

his  heavy  tnnsue ; 
Once  did  1  sit,  thou  bridegroom  gay,  at  board 

as  rich  as  thine, 
And  by  my  side  as  fair  a  bride  with  all  her 

charms  was  mine. 

XXXIII. 

"  But  time  traced  furrows  on  my  face,  and  I 

grew  silver-hair'd. 
For  locks  of  brown,  and  cheeks  of  youth,  she 

left  this  brow  and  beard  ; 
Once  rich,  but  now  a  palmer  poor,  I  tread  life's 

latest  stage, 
And  mingle  with  your  bridal  mirth  the  lay  of 


frozen  age." 


XXXIV. 


It  was  the  noble  Lady  there  this  woful  lay  that 

hears. 
And  for  the  aged  pilgrim's  grief  her  eye  was 

dimm'd  with  tears; 
She  bade    her  gallant   cupbearer  a  golden 

beaker  take, 
And  bear  it  to  the  palmer  poor  to  quaff  it  for 

her  sake. 

XXXV. 

It  was  the  noble  Moririger  that  dropp'd  amid 

the  wine 
A  bridal  ring  of  burning  gold  so  costly  and  so 

fine: 
Now  listen,  gentles,  to  my  song,  it  tells  you 

but  the  sooth, 
'Twas  with  that  very  ring  of  gold  he  pledged 

his  bridal  truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then  to  the  cupbearer  he  said,  "  Do  me  one 

kindly  deed. 
And  should  my  better  days  return,  full  rich 

shall  be  thy  meed; 
Bear  back  the  golden  cup  again  to  yonder 

bride  so  gay. 
And  crave  of  her  the  courtesy  to  pledge  the 

palmer  grey." 

XXXVII. 

The  cupbearer  was  courtly  bred,  nor  was  the 

boon  denied, 
The  golden  cup  he  took  again,  and  bore  it  to 

the  bride ; 
"  Lady."  he  said,  "your  reverend  guest  send 

this,  and  bills  me  pray. 
That,  in  thy  noble  courtesy,  thou  pledge  the 

palmer  grey." 

XXXVIII. 

The  ring  hath  caught  the  Lady's  eye,  sh 

views  it  close  and  near. 
Then  misht.  ynu  hear  her  shriek  aloud,  "Th 

Moringer  is  here  !" 
Then  might  you  see  her  start  from  seat,  whil 

tears  in  torrents  fell. 
But  whether  'twas  for  joy  or  woe,  the  ladies 

best  can  tell. 


XXXIX. 

But  loud  she  utter'd  thanks  to  Heaven,  and 

every  saintly  power, 
'hat   hiid   return'd  the  Moringer  before  the 

midnight  hour: 
And  loud  she  utter'd  vow  on  vow,  that  never 

was  there  bride. 
That  had  like   her  preserved   her  troth,  or 

been  so  sorely  tried. 

XL. 

Yes,  here  I  claim  the  praise,"  she  said,  "  to 

constant  matrons  due, 
Who  keep  the  troth  that  they  have  plight,  so 

stedfastly  and  true ; 
Tor  count  the  term  howe'er  you  will,  so  that 

you  count  aright, 
Seven  twelve-months  and  a  day  are  out  when 

bells  toll  twelve  to-night." 

XLI. 

t  was  Marstetten  then  rose  up,  his  falchion 

there  he  drew, 
Hie  kneel 'd  before  the  Moringer,  and  down  his 

weapon  threw ; 
My  oath  and  knightly  faith  are  broke,"  these 

were  the  words  he  said, 
Then  take,  my  liege,  thy  vassal's  sword,  and 

take  thy  vassal's  head." 

XLII. 

The  noble  Moringer  he  smiled,  and  then  aloud 

did  say. 
He  gathers  wisdom  that  hath  roam'd  seven 

twelve-months  and  a  day; 
My  daughter   now   hath   fifteen  years,  fame 

speaks  her  sweet  and  fair, 
I  give  her  for  the  bride  you  lose,  and  name  her 

for  my  heir. 

XL1II. 

The  young  bridegroom  hath  youthful  bride, 

the  old  bridegroom  the  old. 
Whose  faith  was  kept  till   term  and  tide  so 

punctually  were  told  ; 
But  blessings  on  the  warder  kind  that  oped 

my  castle  gate, 
For  had  I  come  to-morrow  tide,  I  came  a  day 

too  late." 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  OOETHE. 

( The  Erl-King  ?s  a  goblin  that  haunts  the  Black 
Forest  in  Thuringia. — To  be  read  by  a  candle 
particularly  long  in  the  snuff ) 

0,  who  rides  by  night  thro'  the  woodland  so 

wild  ? 

It  is  the  fond  father  embracing  his  child  ; 
And  close  the  hoy  nestles  within  his  loved 

arm, 
To  hold  himself  fast,  and  to  keep  himself 

warm. 

"  O  father,  see  yonder !  see  yonder !"  he  says ; 
"My  boy,  upon  what  doest  thou   fearfully 

gazel"— 


522 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  O,  'tis  the  Erl-Kmg  with  his  crown  and  his 

shroud  '' — 
"  No,  my  son,  it  is  but  a  dark  wreath  of  the 


cloud. 


( The  Erl-King  speaks  ) 


"  0  come  and  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  child  ; 

By  many  a  gay  sport  shall  thy  time  be  be- 
guiled; 

My  mother  keeps  for  thee  full  many  a  fair 
toy. 

And  niany  a  fine  flower  shall  she  pluck  for 
my  boy." 

"O  father,  my  father,  and  did  you  not  hear 

The  Erl-King  whisper  so  low  in  my  ear?"— 

"  Be  still,  my  hearts  darling — my  child,  be  at 
ease; 

It  was  hut  the  wild  blast  as  it  sung  thro'  the 
trees." 

Erl-Kiny. 

"O  wilt  thou  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  boy? 
My  daughter  shall  tend  thee  with  care  aiid 

with  joy ; 
She  shall  bear  thee  so  lightly  thro'  wet  and 

thro'  wild, 
And  press  thee,  and  kiss  thee,  and  sing  to  my 

child." 


"0   father,    my    father,    and    saw    you    not 

plain. 
The  Erl-Kin?'s  pale  daughter  glide  past  thro' 

the  rain  ?" — 
"0  yes,  my  loved  treasure,  1   knew  it  full 

soon ; 
It  was  the  grey  willow  that  danced  to  the 


moon." 


Erl-King. 


"  O  come  and  go  with  me,  no  longer  delay, 
Or  else,  silly  child.  I  will  drag  thee  away." — 
"O  father!  O  father!   now,  now  keep  vour 

hold. 
The  Erl-King  has  seized  me,  his  grasp  is  so 

cold  !" 

Sore  trembled  the  father;  he  spurr'd  thro" 

the  wild. 
Clasping  close   to  his  bosom   his  shuddering 

child  ; 
He  reaches  his  dwelling  iu  doubt   and   in 

dread. 
But,  clasp'd  to  his  bosom,   the   infant  was 

dead!" 

END  OF  DA.LLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


IX    THE 

ORDER  OF  THEIR  COMPOSITION  OR  PUBLICATION. 


3tfnes. 

FROM   VIRQIt. 


1782.— ^TAT.  11. 


"  Scott  s  autobiography  tells  us  tnat  nis 
translations  in  verse  from  Horace  and  Virgil 
were  often  approved  by  Dr.  Adams,  [Rector 
of  the  High  School.  Edinburgh  ]  One  of  these 
little  pieces,  written  in  a  weak  boyish  scrawl, 
within  pencilled  marks  still  visible,  had  been 
carefully  preserved  by  his  mother  :  it  was 
found  folded  up  in  a  cover,  inscribed  by  the 
old  lady  —  -  My  Waller's  first  lines.  1782."— 
Lockhart,  life  of  Seolt,  vol.  i  ,  p.  129. 

In  awful  ruins  .flStna  thunders  nish. 

And  sends  in  pitchy  whirlwinds  to  the  sky 

Black  clouds  of  smoke,  which  still  as  they 

aspire, 

From  their  dark  sides  there  bursts  the  glow- 
ins  fire; 

At  other  times  huge  balls  of  fire  are  toss'd. 
That  lick  the  stars,  and  in  the  smoke  are 

lost: 
Sometimes  the  mount,  with  vast  convulsions 

torn, 
Emits  huge  rocks,  which  instantly  are  borne 


With  loud  explosions  to  the  starry  skies, 
The  stones  made  liquid  as  the  huge  mass  flies. 
Then  bark  again  with  greater  weight  recoils. 
While   JJtna   thundering   from   the    bottom 
boils. 


©n  a  STJmri&er  Storm. 


1783.— ^ET.  12. 


"In  Scott's  Introduction  to  the  Lay,  he 
alludes  to  an  original  effusion  of  these  'school- 
hoy  days.'  prompted  hy  a  thunder-storm,  which 
he  says  'was  much  approved  of.  until  a 
malevolent  critic  sprung  up  in  the  shape  of  an 
apothecary's  hl'ie-huskined  wife.'  <tc.,  <fce. 
These  lines,  and  another  short  piece  •  On  the 
Setting  Sun.'  were  lately  found  wrapped  up  in 
a  cover,  inscribed  by  Dr.  Adams,  '  Walter 
Scott,  July,  ITS!.'" 

Loud  o'er  my  head  thonzh  awful  thunders  roll. 
And  vivid  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole. 
Yet  'tis  thy  voice,  my  God.  that  hids  them  fly, 
Thy  arm  directs  those  lightnings  through  tlie 

"  sky. 

Then  let  the  good  thy  mighty  name  revere, 
And  harden'd  sinners  thy  just  vengeance  fear. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       623 


©n  t&e  Scttfnjj  Sun. 


1783. 


Tlmsp  evening  clouds,  that  setting  ray, 
Ami  heaiiteous  tints,  serve  to  display 

Their  great  Creator'.-;  [>I-:I:M-  ; 
Then  let  the  short-lived  thing  oall'd  man, 
Whose  life's  comprised  within  a  span, 

To  him  his  homage  raise. 

We  often  praise  the  evenins  clouds, 

And  I  mis  M>  gay  and  bold. 
But  seldom  think  upon  our  God, 

Who  tinged  these  clouds  with  gold. 


Violet. 


1797. 


It  appears  from  the  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.,  p. 
333.  that  these  lines,  first  published  in  the 
English  Minstrelsy,  1810,  were  written  in  1797, 
on  occasion  of  the  Poet's  disappointment  in 
hive. 

The  violet  in  her  green -wood  bower, 
Where  hirchen  boughs  with  hazels  mingle, 

May  boast  itself  the  fairest  flower 
In  glen,  or  copse,  or  forest  dingle. 

Though  fair  her  gems  of  azure  hue, 

Beneath  the  dew-drop's  weight  reclining; 

I've  seen  an  eye  of  lovelier  blue, 
More  sweet  through  wat'ry  lustre  shining. 

The  summer  sun  that  dew  shall  dry, 
Ere  yet  the  day  he  past  its  morrow ; 

Nor  longer  in  my  false  love's  eye 
Remained  the  tear  of  parting  sorrow. 


2Eo  a 


•WITH  FLOWERS  FROM  A  ROMAN  WALL. 


Written  in  1797,  on  an  excursion  from  Gills- 
land,  in  Cumberland.    See  Life,  vol.  i.,  p.  365 

Take  these  flowers  which,  purple  waving, 

On  the  ruin'd  rampart  grew, 
Where,  the  sons  of  freedom  braving, 

Koine's  imperial  standards  flew. 

Warriors  from  the  breach  of  danger 

Pluck  no  longer  laur«ls  there ; 
They  but  yield  the  passing  stranger 

Wild-flower  wreaths  for  Beauty's  hair. 


FRAGMENTS. 


(1.)    Botjtoell  ffiastle. 


1799. 


The  following  fraement  of  a  ballad  written 
at  Bothwell  Cattle.  in  the  autumn  of  1T99.  was 
first  printed  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
vol.  ii.,  p.  28. 

When  fruitful  Clydesdale's  apple-bowers 

Are  mellowing  in  the  noon  ; 
When  sighs  round  Pembroke's  ruin'd  towers 

The  sultry  breath  of  June: 

When  Clyde,  despite  his  sheltering  wood, 

Must  leave  his  channel  dry  ; 
And  vainly  o'er  the  limpid  flood 

The  angler  guides  his  fly  ; 

If  chance  by  Bothwell's  lovely  braes 

A  wanderer  thou  hast  been, 
Or  hid  thee  from  the  summer's  blaze 

In  Blautyre's  bowers  of  green, 

Full  where  the  cnpsewood  opens  wild 

Thy  pilgrim  step  hath  staid, 
Where  Bothwell's  towers,  in  ruin  piled, 

O'erlook  the  verdant  glade  ; 

And  many  a  tale  of  love  and  fear 

Hath  mingled  with  the  scene  — 
Of  Bothwell's  hanks  that  bloom'd  so  dear, 

And  Bothwell's  bonny  Jean. 

0,  if  with  rugged  minstrel  lays 

Unsated  be  thy  ear, 
And  tbou  of  deeds  of  other  days 

Another  tale  wilt  hear.  — 

Then  all  beneath  the  spreading  beach, 

Flung  careless  on  the  lea. 
The  Gothic  muse  the  tale  shall  teach 

Uf  Bothwell's  sisters  three. 

Wight  Wallace  stood  on  Deckmont  head, 

He  blew  his  hugle  round, 
Till  the  wild  hull  in  Cadyow  wood 

Has  started  at  the  sound. 

St.  George's  cross,  o'er  Bothwell  hung:, 

Was  waving  far  and  wide, 
And  from  the  lofty  turret  flung 

Its  crimson  blaze  oa  Clyde  ; 

And  rising  at  the  bugle  blast 

That  niark'd  the  .-coltish  foe, 
Old  England's  yeomen  mnsier'd  fast, 

And  bent  the  Norman  how. 

Tall  in  the  midst  Sir  Aylmer  rose, 

Proud  Pembroke's  Earl  was  he  — 
While"  -    ....... 


524 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


(2.)  2Tj)c 


Cale. 


1799. 


"  Another  invperfeet  ballad,  in  which  he  had 
meant  to  hlend  together  two  leeends  familiar 
to  every  reader  (if  Scottish  history  and  ro- 
mance, has  been  found  in  the  same  portfolio, 
and  the  handwriting  proves  it  to  be  of  the 
same  early  date."— Lockhart,  vol.  ii ,  p.  30. 


And  ne'er  but  once,  my  son,  he  says, 

Was  yon  sad  cavern  trod, 
In  persecution's  iron  days. 

When  the  land  was  left  by  God. 

From  Bewlie  bog.  with  slaughter  red, 

A  wnmlerer  hiiher  drew. 
And  oft  he  stnpt  and  turn'd  his  head, 

As  by  fits  the  night  wind  blew ; 

For  trampling  round  by  Cheviot  edge 

Were  heard  the  troopers  keen. 
And  frequent  from  the  Whitelaw  ridge 

The  death-shot  flash 'd  between. 

The  moonbeams  through  the  misty  shower 

On  yon  dark  cavern  fell ; 
Through  the  cloudy  night  the  snow  glearn'd 
white. 

Which  sunbeam  ne'er  could  quell. 

"  Yon  cavern  dark  is  rough  and  rude. 

And  cold  its  jaws  of  snow  ; 
But  more  rough  and  rude  are  the  men  of 
blood. 

That  hunt  my  life  below  ! 

"  Von  spell-bound  den.  as  the  aged  tell. 

Was  hewn  by  demon's  hands ; 
But  I  had  loiird  1  melle  with  the  fiends  of 
hell. 

Than  with  Clavers  and  his  band." 

He  heard  the  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound  bark, 

He  heard  the  horses  neigh, 
He  plunged  him  in  the  cavern  dark, 

And  downward  sped  his  way. 

Now  faintly  down  the  winding  path 

Came  the  cry  of  faulting  hound, 
And  the  mutter'd  oath  o'  baulked  wrath 

Was  lost  in  hollow  sound. 

He  threw  him  on  the  flinted  floor, 

And  held  his  breath  for  fear; 
He  rose  and  bitter  cursed  his  foes, 

As  the  sounds  died  on  his  ear. 

"  O  bare  thine  arm,  thon  battling  Lord, 

For  Scotland's  wandering  hand  ; 
Dash  from  the  oppressor's  grasp  the  sword, 

And  sweep  him  from  the  land  ! 

"Forget  not  thou  thy  people's  groaus 

From  dark  Dunnotter's  tower, 
Mix'd  with  the  seafowl's  shrilly  moans, 

And  Ocean's  bursting  roar  I 


"O.  in  fell  Clavers'  hour  of  pride, 

Even  in  his  mightiest  day, 
As  bold  he  strides  through  conquest's  tide, 

O  stretch  him  on  the  clay  ! 

"  His  widow  and  his  little  ones, 

O  may  their  tower  of  trust 
Remove  its  strong  foundation  stones 

And  crush  them  in  the  dust !" — 

"Sweet  prayers  to  me,"  a  voice  replied, 
"  Thrice  welcome,  guest  of  mine  !" 

And  glimmering  on  the  cavern  side, 
A  light  was  seen  to  shine. 

An  aged  man,  in  amice  brown. 

Stood  by  the  wanderer's  side. 
By  powerful  charm,  a  dead  man's  arm 

The  torch's  light  supplied. 

From  each  stiff  finger,  stretch'd  upright, 

Arose  a  ghastly  flame. 
That  waved  not  "in  the  blast  of  night 

Which  through  the  cavern  came. 

0,  deadly  blue  was  that  taper's  hue, 

That  flamed  the  cavern  o'er. 
But  more  deadly  blue  was  the  ghastly  hue 

Of  his  eyes  who  the  taper  bore. 

He  laid  on  his  head  a  hand  like  lead, 

As  heavy,  pale,  and  cold — 
"  Vengeance  be  thine,  thou  guest  of  mine, 

If  thy  heart  be  firm  and  bold. 
"  But  if  faint  thy  heart,  and  caitiff  fear 

Thy  recreant  sinews  know, 
The  mountain  erne  thy  heart  shall  tear, 

Thy  nerves  the  hooded  crow." 

The  wanderer  raised  him  undismay'd  : 

"  My  soul,  by  dangers  steel 'd. 
Is  stubborn  as  my  border  blade, 

Which  never  knew  to  yield. 

"  And  if  thy  power  can  speed  the  hour 

Of  vengeance  on  my  foes. 
Theirs  be  the  fate,  from  bridge  and  gate, 

To  feed  the  hooded  crows." 

The  Brownie  look'd  him  in  the  face. 

And  his  colour  fled  with  speed — 
"  I  fear  me,"  quoth  he,  "  unuath  it  will  be 

To  match  thy  word  and  deed. 
"  In  ancient  days  when  English  bands 

Sore  ravaged  Scotland  fair. 
The  sword  and  shield  of  Scottish  land 

Was  valiant  Halbert  Kerr. 
"  A  warlock  loved  the  warrior  well, 

Sir  Michael  Scott  by  name. 
And  he  sought  for  his  sake  a  spell  to  make, 

Should  the  Southern  foemen  tame. 
" '  Ix>ok  thou,'  he  said.  •  from  Cessford  head, 

As  the  July  sun  sinks  low, 
And  when  glimmering  white   on   Cheviot's 
height 

Thou  shall  spy  a  wreath  of  snow. 
The  spell  is  complete  which  shall  bring  to  thy 
feet 

The  haughty  Saxon  foe.' 
"  For  many  a  year  wrought  the  wizard  here, 

In  Cheviot's  bosom  low. 
Till  the  spell  was  complete,  and  in  July's  heat 

Appear'd  December's  snow ; 
But  Cessford's  Halbert  never  came 

The  wondrous  cause  to  know. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     525 

"  For  years  before  in  Bowden  aisle 
The  warrior's  bones  had  lain. 

No  sounds  through  all  the  spacious  hall 
The  deadly  still  divide, 

And  after  short  while,  by  female  guile, 

Save  where  echoes  from  the  vaulted  roof 

Sir  Michael  Scott  was  slain. 

To  the  wanderer's  step  replied. 

"  But  me  and  my  brethren  in  this  cell 

At  length  before  his  wondering  eyes, 

His  mighty  charms  retain,  — 
An  i  he  that  can  quell  the  powerful  spell 
Shall  o'er  broad  Scotland  reign." 

On  an  iron  column  borne, 
Of  antique  shape,  and  giant  size, 
Appear'd  a  sword  and  horn. 

He  led  him  through  an  iron  door 
And  up  a  winding  stair. 

'Now    choose    thee    here,"    quoth    his 

And  in  wild  amaze  did  the  wanderer  gaze 
On  the  sight  which  opeu'd  there. 

"Thy  venturous  fortune  try  : 
Thy  woe  and  weal,  thy  hoot  and  bale, 

Through    the    gloomy   night   flash'd   ruddy 

In  yon  brand  and  bugle  lie." 

light.— 

A  thousand  torches  glow  ; 

To  the  fatal  brand  he  mounted  his  hand. 

The  cave  rose  high,  like  the  vaulted  sky, 

But  his  soul  did  quiver  and  quail  ; 

O'er  stalls  in  double  row. 

The  life-blood  did  start  to  his  shuddering 

heart. 

In  every  stall  nf  that  endless  hall, 

And  left  him  wan  and  pale. 

Stood  a  steed  in  barbing  bright; 

At  the  foot  of  each  steed,  all  arm'd  save  the 

The   brand   he   forsook,   and   the   horn  he 

head. 

took 

Lay  stretch'd  a  stalwart  knight. 

To  'say  a  gentle  sound  : 
But  so  wild  a  blast  from  the  bugle  brast 

In  each  mail'd  hand  was  a  naked  brand  ; 

That  the  Cheviot  rock'd  around. 

As  they  lay  on  the  black  bull's  hide, 

Each  visage  stern  did  upwards  turn, 

From  Forth  to  Tees,  from  seas  to  seas, 

With  eyeballs  fix'd  and  wide. 

The  awful  bugle  rung  ; 

On  Carlisle  wall,  and  Berwick  withal, 

A  launcegay  strong,  full  twelve  ells  long, 

To  arms  the  warders  sprung. 

By  every  warrior  hung; 

At  each  pommel  there,  for  battle  yare, 

With  clank  and  clang  the  cavern  rang, 

A  Jedwood  axe  was  slung. 

The  steeds  did  stamp  and  neigh  ; 

And    loud   was   the   yell   as   each   warrior 

The  casque  hung  near  each  cavalier; 

fell 

The  plumes  waved  mournfully 
At  every  tread  which  the  wanderer  made 

Sterte  up  with  hoop  and  cry. 

Through  the  hall  of  gramarye. 

'  Woe,  woe."  they  cried,  "  thou  caitiff  coward  . 

The  ruddy  beam  of  the  torches'  gleam 
That  glared  the  warriors  on. 
Reflected  light  from  armour  bright, 

That  ever  thou  wert  horn  ! 
Why  drew  ye  not  the  knightly  sword 
Before  ye  blew  the  horn  ?" 

In  noontide  splendour  shone. 

The  morning  on  the  mountain  shone, 

And  onward  seen  in  lustre  sheen, 
Still  lengthening  on  the  sight. 
Through  the  boundless  hall  stood  steeds  in 

And  on  the  bloody  ground, 
Hurl'd  from  the  cave  with  shiver'd  bone, 
The  mangled  wretch  was  found. 

stall. 

And  by  each  lay  a  sable  knight. 

And  still  beneath  the  cavern  dread. 
Among  the  glidders  grey, 

Still  as  the  dead  lay  each  horseman  dread, 

A  shapeless  stone  with  lichens  spread 

And  moved  nor  limb  nor  tongue  ; 

Marks  where  the  wa-nderer  lay."' 

Each  steed  stood  stiff  as  an  earthfasi  cliff, 

Nor  hoof  nor  bridle  rung. 

1  "  The  reader  may  be  interested  by  comparing  with  this 

of  this  extraordinary  depot   hung  a  sword   and  a  horn, 

ballad  the  author's  pro-e  version  of  part  of  it*  legend,  as 

which  the  prophet  pointed  out  to  the  horse-dealer  as  con- 

given in  one  of  the  last  works  of  his  pen.     He  says,  in  the 

taining  the  means  of  dissolving  the  spell.     The  man  In 

Letters  on  Demonolocy  and  Witchcraft,  1530  :  —  "  Thoma- 

'     from  time  to  time,  to  he  levying  force,  to  take  the  field  in 

^^^Ivrt^si^^^^nisS 

appointed  the  remarkable  hillock  upon  Eildon  hills,  called 

louder  even   than  the  tumnlt  .round,  pronounced  "the* 

the  Lucken-hare,  as  the  place  where,  at  twelve  o'clock  at 

tomer  to  view  his  residence.    The  trader  in  hones  followed 

his  guide  in  the  deepest  astonishment  through  several  long 

A  whirlwind  expelled  the  horse-dealer  from  the  cavern,  the 

feet.     *  All  these  men,'  mid  the  wizard  in  a  whisper,  •  wil 

it  is  belter  to  be  armed  against  danger  before  biddiuj  it 

awaken  at  the  battle  of  SheriSmuir.'     At  the  extremity 

defiance. 

526 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


(3.) 


1799. 


Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below, 
And  pensive  mark  the  lingering  snow 

in  all  his  scaurs  abide, 
And  slow  dissolving  from  the  hill 
In  many  a  sightless, soundless  rill. 

Feed  sparkling  Bowmont's  tide. 
Fair  shines  the  stream  by  hank  and  lea, 
As  wimp]  ing  to  the  eastern  sea 

She  seeks  Till's  sullen  bed. 
Indenting  deep  the  fatal  plain, 
Where  Scotland's  nohlest,  brave  in  vain, 

Around  their  monarch  bled. 
And  westward  hills  on  hills  you  see, 
Even  as  old  Ocean's  mightiest  sea 

Heaves  high  her  waves  of  foam, 
Dark  and  snow-ridged  from  Cutsfeld's  wold 
To  the  proud  foot  of  Cheviot  roll'd, 

Earth's  mountain  billows  come. 


(4.) 


Setter's  88feTrtrfns. 


1802. 


In  "The  Reiver's  Wedding,"  the  Poet  had 
evidently  designed  to  blend  together  two  tra- 
ditional stories  concerning  his  own  fore- 
fathers, the  Scots  of  Harden,  which  are 
detailed  in  the  first  chapters  of  his  Life.  The 
biographer  adds: — "1  know  not  for  what 
reason,  Lochwood.  the  ancient  fortress  of  the 
Johns! ones  in  Annandale,  has  been  substituted 
for  the  real  locality  of  his  ancestor's  drum- 
head Wedding  Contract."—  Lite,  vol.  ii.,  p.  94. 
0  will  ye  hear  a  mirthful  bourd  ? 

Or  will  ye  hear  of  courtesie  ? 
Or  will  hear  how  a  gallant  lord 

Was  wedded  to  a  gay  ladye  ? 
"  Ca'  out  the  hye,"  quo'  the  village  herd, 

As  he  stood  on  the  knowe, 
"Ca"  this  ane's  nine  and  that  ane's  ten, 

And  bauld  Lord  William's  cow.'1— 
"  Ah  !  by  my  sooth,"  qiioth  William  then, 

"  And  stands  it  that  way  now. 
When  knave  and  churl  have  nine  and  ten, 

That  the  Lord  has  but  his  cow  ? 
"  I   swear  by   the  light  of  the  Michaelmas 
moon. 

And  the  might  of  Mary  high, 
And  by  the  edge  of  my  braidsword  brown, 

They  shall  soon  say  Harden's  kye." 
He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

With  names  carved  o'er  and  o'er — 
Full  many  a  chief  of  meickle  pride 

That  Iwrder  bugle  bore  —  • 


rle  blew  a  note  bailh  sliarp  and  hie, 
Till  rock  and  water  rang  around— 

Three-score  of  moss-troopers  and  three 
Have  mounted  at  that  bugle  sound. 

The  Michaelmas  moon  hail  enter'd  then, 

And  ere  she  wan  the  full, 
Ve  might  see  by  her  light  in  Harden  glen 

A  bow  o'  kye  and  a  basseu'd  hull. 

And  loud  and  loud  in  Harden  tower 
The  quaish  gaed  round  wi'  meikle  glee  ; 

For  the  English  beef  was  brought  in  bower, 
And  the  English  ale  flow'd  merrilie. 

And  mony  a  guest  from  Teviolside 

And  Yarrow's  Braes  was  there  ; 
Was  never  a  lord  in  Scotland  wide 

That  made  more  dainty  fare. 

They  ate,  they  laugh'd,  they  sang  and  quatf'd, 

Till  nought  on  board  was  seen. 
When  knight  and  squire  were  boune  to  dine, 

But  a  spur  of  silver  sheen. 
Lord    William    has    ta'en    his    berry    brown 
steed — 

A  sore  shent  man  was  he ; 
"  Wait  ye,  my  guests,  a  little  speed — 

Weel  feasted  ye  shall  be." 

He  rode  him  down  by  Falsehope  burn, 

His  cousin  dear  to  see, 
With  him  to  take  a  riding  turn — 

Wat-draw-the-sword  was  he. 

And  when  he  came  to  Falsehope  glen, 

Beneath  the  trysting-tree. 
On  the  smooth  green  was  carved  plain, 

•'To  Lochwood  bound  are  we."a 
"O  if  they  be  gane  to  dark  Lochwood 

To  drive  the  Warden's  gear. 
Betwixt  our  names.  I  ween,  there's  feud; 

I'll  go  and  have  my  share  : 

"  For  little  reck  I  for  Johnstone's  feud, 

The  Warden  though  he  he." 
So  Lord  William  is  away  to  dark  Dochwood, 

With  riders  barely  three. 

The  Warden's  daughters  in  Lochwood  sate. 

Were  all  both  fair  and  gay, 
All  save  the  Lady  Margaret, 

And  she  was  wan  and  wae. 

The  sister.  Jean,  had  a  full  fair  skin, 

And  Grace  was  bauld  and  braw; 
But  the  leal-fast  heart  her  breast  within 

It  weel  was  worth  them  a'. 
Her  father 's  pranked  her  sisters  twa 

With  meikle  joy  and  pride  ; 
But  Margaret  maun  seek  Uundrennan's  wa' — 

She  ne'er  can  be  a  bride. 

On  spear  and  casque  by  gallants  gent 

Her  sisters'  scarfs  were  borne, 
But  never  at  tilt  or  tournament 

Were  Margaret's  colours  worn. 

Her  sisters  rode  to  Thirlstane  bower, 

But  she  was  left  at  hame 
To  wander  round  the  gloomy  tower, 

And  sigh  young  Harden's  name. 


ent.  which  tradition   av,.r 
>s  rut  in  The  turf,  and  the 


have  bern  the 
The  namr  of 
igrment  of  the 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       527 


"  Of  all  the  knights,  the  knight  most  fair, 

From  Yarrow  to  the  Tyue," 
Soft  sinh'd  the  maid,  "is  Harden's  heir, 

But  ne'er  can  he  be  mine ; 
"  Of  all  the  maids,  the  foulest  maid 

From  Teviot  to  the  Dee, 
Ah  !"  sighing  sad,  that  lady  said, 

"Can  ne'er  young  Harden's  be." — 
She  looked  up  the  briery  glen, 

And  up  the  mossy  brae. 
And  she  saw  a  >core  of  her  father's  men 

Vclad  in  the  Jolmstotie  grey. 
0  fast  and  fast  they  downwards  sped 

The  moss  and  briers  among, 
And  in  the  midst  the  troopers  led 

A  shackled  knight  along. 


W$t  ISarto's  Encantatfon. 

WRITTEN  UNDER    THE    THREAT   OF   INVASION 
IN   THE  AUTUMN   OF   1804. 

The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear. 
It  is  all  of  black  pine  and  the  dark  oak- 
tree; 
And  the  rnidnisht  wind,  to  the  mountain  deer, 

Is  whistling  the  forest  lullaby  : 
The  moon  looks  through  the  drifting  storm, 
But  the  troubled  lake  reflects  not  her  form, 
For  the  waves  roll  whitening  to  the  land, 
And  dash  against  the  shelvy  strand. 
There  is  a  voice  among  the  trees. 

That  mingles  with  the  groaning  oak — 
That  mingles  with  the  stormy  breeze, 
And   the   lake-waves  dashing    against  the 

rock  ;— 

There  is  a  voice  within  the  wood. 
The  voice  of  the  bard  in  fitful  mood ; 
His  song  was  louder  than  the  blast, 
As  the  bard  of  Glenmore  through  the  forest 

past. 

"  Wake  ye  from  your  sleep  of  death. 

Minstrels  and  bards  of  other  d.iys ! 

For  the  midnight  wind  is  on  the  heath, 

And  the  midnight  meteors  dimly  blaze  : 
The  Spectre  wilh  his  Bloody  Hand,' 
Is  wandering  through  the  wild  woodland  ; 
The  owl  and  the  raven  are  mute  for  dread, 
And  the  time  is  meet  to  awake  the  dead  ! 
"  Souls  of  the  mighty,  wake  and  say, 
To   what    high  strain  your  harps  were 

strung, 
When  Lochlin  plough'd  her  billowy  way, 

And  on  your  shores  her  Norsemen  flung  7 
Her  Norsemen  traiu'd  to  spoil  and  blood, 
Skill'd  to  prepare  the  Raven's  food. 
All,  by  your  harpings,  doom'd  to  die 
On  bloody  Largs  and  Loncarty.* 
"  Mute  are  ye  all  ?  No  murmurs  strange 

Upon  the  midnight  breeze  sail  by  ; 
Nor   through    the    pines,    with    whistling 

change. 

Mimic  the  harp's  wild  harmony ! 
Mute  are  ye  now  ? — Ye  ne'er  were  mute, 
When  Murder  with  his  bloody  foot, 
And  Kapine  with  his  iron  hand. 
Were  hovering  near  yon  mountain  strand. 


lied  by  a  ipirit  called        2  Where  the  No 
blomly  drtou. 
9  The  Oaltacui 


"0  yet  awake  the  strain  to  tell, 

By  every  deed  in  song  enroll'd. 
For  every  chief  who  fought  or  fell. 

For  Albion's  weal  in  battle  bold  : — 
From  Coilgach.3  first  who  roll'd  his  car 
Through  the  deep  ranks  of  Roman  war, 
To  him,  of  veteran  memory  dear, 
Who  victor  died  on  Aboukir. 

"By  all  their  swords,  by  all  their  scars, 

By  all  their  names,  a  mighty  spell ! 
By  all  their  wounds,  by  all  their  wars, 

Arise,  the  mighty  strain  to  tell! 
For  fiercer  than  fierce  Hengist's  strain, 
More  impious  than  the  heathen  Dane, 
More  grasping  than  all-grasping  Rome, 
Gaul's  ravening  legions  hither  come!" 
The  wind  is  hush'd,  and  still  the  lake — 

Strange  murmurs  fill  my  tinkling  ears, 
Bristles  my  hair,  my  sinews  quake, 

At  the  dread  voice  of  other  years — 
"  When  targets  clash'd,  and  bugles  rung, 
And    blades   round   warriors'   heads  wer 

flung, 

The  foremost  of  the  band  were  we, 
And  hymu'd  the  joys  of  Liberty!" 


1805. 

In  the  spring  of  1805,  a  young  gentleman 
of  talents,  and  of  a  most,  amiable  disposition, 
perished  by  losing  his  way  on  ihe  mountain 
Hellvellyn  His  remains  were  not  discovered 
till  three  months  afterwards,  when  they  were 
found  guarded  by  a  faithful  terrier-bitch,  his 
constant  attendant  during  frequent  solitary 
rambles  through  the  wilds  of  Cumberland 
and  Westmoreland. 


1  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hell- 
vellyn, 

Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleam'd 
misty  and  wide  : 

All  was  still,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was 

yelling. 

And  starling  around  me    the   echoes   re- 
plied. 

On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Red-tarn 
was  bending, 

And    Catohedicam    its    left    verge    was   de- 
fending. 

One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was 

ascending. 

When   i  mark'd   the  sad  spot   where   the 
wanderer  had  died. 

Dark  green   was  the  spot  'mid  the  brown 

mountain-heather, 
Where  the  Pilgrim  of  Nature  lay  stretcu'd 

in  decay, 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandon'd  to 

weather. 

Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenant- 
less  clay. 


l  iuvaiterof  St-oUaud  I 


528 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  ex- 
tended, 

For,  faithful  in  death,  his   mute   favourite 
attended, 

The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  de- 
fended. 

And   chased   the    hill-fox   and  the  raven 
away. 

How  Ion?  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence 

was  slumber  ? 
When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how 

oft  didst  thou  start? 
How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst 

thou  number. 
Ere  he  faded  before  thee,  the  friend  of  thy 

heart  ? 
And,  oh,  was  it  meet,  that  —  no  requeim  read 

o'er  him — 
No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore 

him, 
And   thou,  little   guardian,    alone   stretch'd 

before  him, — 
Unhonour'd  the  Pilgrim  from  life  should 

depart  ? 
When  a  Prince  to  the  fate  of  the  Peasant  has 

yielded. 

The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim- 
lighted  hall ; 
With    scutcheons    of    silver    the    coffin    is 

shielded. 

And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall : 
Through  the  courts,  at  deep   midnight,  the 

torches  are  eleamiug; 
lu  the  proudly-arch'd  chapel  the  banners  are 

beaming. 
Far  adowu  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is 

stream  in?. 

Lamenting  a  Chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 
But  meeter  for  thee.  gentle  lover  of  nature, 
To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  moun- 
tain lamb. 
When,  wilder'd,  he  drops  from  some  cliff 

huge  in  stature. 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his 

dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert 

lake  lying. 

Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  grey  plover  flying. 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy 

dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 


JTfje 


1806. 


Air  —  Daffydz  Gangieen. 
The  Welsh  tradition  bears,  that  a  Bard,  on 
his  death-bed,  demanded  his  harp,  and  played 
the  air  to  which  these  verses  are  adapted  ; 
requesting  that  it  might  be  performed  at  his 
funeral 


No   more   by   sweet  Teivi    Cadwallou   shall 

rave. 
And  mix  his  wild  notes  with  the  wild  dashing 

wave. 

II. 

In  spring  and  in  autumn  thy  glories  of  shade 
Unhonour'd  shall   flourish,  unhouour'd  shall 

fade ; 
For  soon  shall  be  lifeless  the  eye  and  the 

tongue, 
That  view'd  them  with  rapture,  with  rapture 

that  sung. 

m. 

Thy  sons,  Dinas  Emlinn,  may  march  in  their 

pride, 
And  chase  the  proud  Saxon  from  Prestatyn's 

side  ; 
But  where  is  the  harp  shall  give  life  to  their 

name  ? 
And  where  is  the  bard  shall  give  heroes  their 

fame? 

IV. 

And  oh,  Dinas  Emlinn  !  thy  daughters  so  fair. 
Who  heave  the  white  bosom,  and  wave  the 

dark  hair: 
What  tuneful  enthusiast  shall  worship  their 

eye. 
When  half  of  their  charms  with  Cadwallon 

shall  die  ? 


Then  adieu,  silver  Teivi !  I  quit  thy  loved 

scene, 
To  join  the  dim  choir  of  (he  bards  who  have 

been; 
With  Lewarch,  and  Meilor,  and  Merlin  the 

Old. 
And  sage  Taliessin,  high  harping  to  hold. 

VI. 
And  adieu,  Dinas  Emlinn!  still  green  be  thy 

shades, 
Unconquer'd  thy  warriors,  and  matchless  thy 

maids ! 
And  tlmu,  whose  faint  warblings  my  weakness 

can  tell, 
Farewell,  my  loved  Harp!  my  last  treasure, 

farewell ! 


!XTorman 


i. 

Dinas  Emlinn,  lament;  for  the   moment  is 

nigh. 
When   iiiute  in  the  woodlands  thine  echoes 

shall  die : 


1S06. 

Air — The  War-Sony  of  the  Men  of  Glamorgan. 

The  Welsh,  inhabiting  a  mountainous  coun- 
try, and  possessing  only  an  inferior  breed  of 
horses,  were  usually  unable  to  encounter  the 
shock  of  the  Anglo-Norman  cavalry.  Occa- 
sionally, however,  they  were  successful  in 
repelling  the  invaders;  and  the  following 
verses  are  supposed  to  celebrate  a  defeat  of 
Clare,  Earl  of  Strignil  and  Pembroke,  and  of 
Neville.  Baron  of  Chepstow,  Lords-Marchers 
of  Monmouthshire,  liynmy  is  a  stream  which 
divides  the  counties  of  Moumouth  and  Gla- 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     629 


rrv>rgan  :  Caerphili,  the  scene  of  the  supposed 
battle,  is  a  vale  upon  Us  banks,  dignified  by 
the  ruins  of  a  very  ancient  castle. 


I. 

Red  glows  the  forge  in  Strignil's  bounds, 
And  hammers  dm.  and  anvil  sounds, 
Ami  armourers,  with  iron  toil. 
Barb  many  a  steed  for  battle's  hroil. 
Foul  fall  the  hand  which  bends  the  steel 
Around  the  courser's  thundering  heel, 
That  e'er  shall  dint  a  sable  wound 
On  fair  Glamorgan's  velvet  ground ! 

II. 

From  Chepstow's  towers,  ere  dawn  of  morn, 
Was  heard  afar  ihe  bugle-horn  ; 
Anil  forth,  in  banded  pomp  and  pride, 
St.uut  Clare  and  tiery  Neville  ride. 
They    swore,    their    banners    broad    should 

gleam, 

In  crimson  lieht.  on  Rymny's  stream ; 
They  yow'd,  Caerphili's  sod  should  feel 
The  Norman  charger  s  spurning  heel. 

III. 

And  sooth  they  swore — she  sun  arose, 
And  Rymny's  wave  with  crimson  slows; 
For  Clare's  red  banner,  floating  wide, 
Holl'd  down  the  stream  to  Severn's  tide  ! 
And  sooth  they  vow'd— the  trampled  green 
Shuw'd  where  hot  Neville's  charge  had  been : 
In  every  sable  hoof-tramp  stuod 
A  Norman  horseman's  curdling  blood  ! 

IV. 

Old  Chepstow's  brides  may  curse  the  toil. 
That  arm'd  stout  Clare  for  Cambrian  broil; 
Their  orphans  loug  the  art  may  rue. 
For  Neville's  war-horse  forged  the  shoe. 
No  more  the  stamp  of  armed  steed 
Shall  dint  Glamorgan's  velvet  mead; 
Nor  trace  he  there,  in  early  spring, 
Save  of  the  Fairies'  emerald  ring. 


Breathless  she  gazed  on  the  woodlands   so 

dreary ; 

Slowly  approaching  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's  ebbing    tide    mark'd    his    footsteps   so 

weary, 
Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  his  mien. 

•'0  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are 

flying ! 
0  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is 

low' 
Deadly  cold  on  yon  heath  thy  brave  Henry  is 

lying, 
And  fast  through  the  woodland  approaches 

the  foe." 

Scarce  could  he  falter  the  tidings  of  sorrow. 
And  scarce  could  she  hear  them  benumb'd 

with  despair : 
And  when  the  sun  sank  on  the  sweet  lake  of 

Toro, 
For  ever  he  set  to  the  Brave  and  the  Fair. 


of  JEoro. 


1806. 

0,  low  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 
And  weak  were  the   whispers  that  waved 

the  dark  wood, 

All  as  a  fair  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow, 
Sorely  sigh'd  to  the  breezes,  and  wept  to  the 

flood. 
"O  saints,  from  the  mansions  of  bliss  lowly 

bending; 
Sweet  Virgin!  who  nearest  the  suppliant's 

cry, 

Now  grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 
My  Henry  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die  !" 

All  distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the 

battle, 
With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes 

they  fail. 
Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  Ihe  conflict's 

dread  rattle, 

And  the  chase's  wild  clamour,  came  loading 
the  gale. 

45  = 


Calmer. 


1806. 


0  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show. 
Keen  blows  the  northern  wind  ! 

The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow, 
A  nd  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

"  No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate, 
From  chasing  the  King's  deer, 

Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state 
Might  claim  compassion  here. 

"  A  weary  Palmer,  worn  and  weak, 

1  wander  for  my  sin  ; 

0  open,  for  Our  Lady's  sake ! 
A  pilgrim's  blessing  win ! 

•'  I'll  give  you  pardons  from  the  Pope, 

And  reliques  from  o'er  the  sea; 
Or  if  for  these  you  will  not  ope, 

Yet  open  for  charity. 
"The  hare  is  crouching  in  her  form, 

The  hart  beside  the  hind  ; 
An  aged  man.  amid  the  storm, 

No  shelter  can  I  find. 

"  You  hear  the  Ettnck's  sullen  roar, 

Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he. 
And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er, 

Unless  you  pity  me. 

"The  iron  gate  is  bolted  hard, 

At  which  I  knock  in  vain ; 
The  owner's  heart  is  closer  harr'd, 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 
"  Farewell,  farewell !  and  Mary  grant. 

When  old  and  frail  you  be. 
You  never  may  the  shelter  want, 

That's  now  denied  to  me." 
The  Ranger  on  his  couch  lay  warm, 

And  heard  him  plead  in  vain; 
But  oft  amid  December's  storm, 

H«'il  hear  that  voice  again : 
For  lo,  when  through  the  vapours-dank, 

Morn  shone  on  Ettrick  fair, 
A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank, 

The  Palmer  welter'd  there. 


530 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


of  XcfDpatt). 


1806. 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Tweeddale,  that, 
when  Neidpath  castle,  near  Peebles,  was  in- 
habited by  the  Earls  of  March,  n  mutual  pas- 
sion subsisted  between  a  daughter  of  that 
noble  family,  and  a  son  of  the  Laird  of  Tusliie- 
law,  in  Ettrick  forest.  As  the  alliance  was 
thought  unsuitable  by  her  parents,  the  young 
man  went  abroad.  During  his  absence,  the 
lady  fell  into  a  consumption;  and  at  length,  as 
the  only  means  of  saving  her  life,  her  lather 
consented  that  her  lover  should  be  recalled. 
On  the  day  when  he  was  expected  to  pass 
through  Peebles,  on  the  road  to  Tushielaw, 
the  young  lady,  though  much  exhausted, 
caused  herself  to  be  carried  to  the  balcony  of 
a  house  in  Peebles,  belonging  to  the  family, 
that  she  might  see  him  as  he  rode  past.  Her 
anxiety  and  eagerness  gave  such  force  to  her 
organs,  that  she  is  said  to  have  distinguished 
his  horse's  footsteps  at  an  incredible  distance. 
But  Tnshielaw,  unprepared  for  the  change  in 
her  appearance,  and  not  expecting  to  see  her 
in  that  place,  rode  on  without  recognizing 
her,  or  even  slackening  his  pace.  The  lady 
was  unable  to  support  the  shock  ;  and,  after  a 
short  struggle,  died  in  the  arms  of  her  at- 
tendants. There  is  an  incident  similar  to  this 
traditional  tale  in  Count  Hamilton's  "Fleur 
d'Kpine."' 


0  Invers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity. 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower, 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning. 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower, 

To  watch  her  love's  returning. 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright, 

Her  form  decay'd  by  pining. 
Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night, 

You  saw  the  taper  shining; 
By  fits,  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  were  flying; 
By  fits,  so  ashy  pale  she  grew. 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear, 

Seeni'd  in  her  frame  residing; 
Before  the  watch-doe  prick'd  his  ear, 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding ; 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  ken'd, 

She  Knew,  and  waved  to  greet  him ; 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend. 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came — he  pass'd — an  heedless  gaze 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing ; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

Lost  in  liis  courser's  prancing — 
The  castle  arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken. 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan, 

Which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 


1806. 

AH  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you  left 

me, 
And  climb'd  the  tall  vessel  to  sail  yon  wide 

sea  ; 

O  weary  betide  it !  1  wander'd  beside  it. 
And  bann'd  it  for  parting  my  Willie  and  me. 

Far  o'er  the  wave  hast  thon  follow  d  thy  for- 
tune. 
Oft  fought  the  squadrons  of  France  and  of 

Spain  ; 

Ae  kiss  of  welcome's  worth  twenty  at  parting. 
Now  I  hae  gotten  my  Willie  again. 

When  the  sky  it  was  mirk,  and  the  winds  they 

were  wailing, 

I  sat  on  the  beach  wi"  the  tear  in  my  ee. 
And  thought  o'  the  bark  where  my  Willie  was 

sailing. 
And  wish'd  that  the  tempest  could  a'  blaw  on 

me. 

Now  that  thy  gallant  ship  rides  at  her  moor- 
ing. 

Now  that  my  wanderer's  in  safety  at  hame. 
Music  to  me  were  the  wildest  winds'  roaring. 
That  e'er  o'er  Inch-Keith  drove  the  dark 
ocean  faem. 

When  the  lights  they  did  blaze,  and  the  guns 

they  did  rattle. 
And  blithe  was  each  heart  for  the  great 

victory. 

In  secret  I  wept  for  the  dangers  of  battle. 
And  thy  glory  itself  was  scarce  comfort  to 
me. 

But   now  shalt   thou    tell,  while  T  eagerly 

listen, 
Of  each  bold  adventure,  and  every  brave 

scar; 
And  trust  me,  I'll  smile,  though  my  een  they 

may  glisten ; 

For  sweet  after  danger's  the  tale  of  the 
war, 

And  oh,  how  we  doubt  when  there's  distance 

'tween  lovers. 
When  there's  naething  to  speak  to  the  heart 

thro'  the  ee : 
How  often  the  kindest  and  warmest  prove 

rovers. 
And  the  love  of  the  faithfullest  ebbs  like 

the  sea. 
Till,  at  times — could  I  help  it  ?— I  pined  and  I 

pnnder'd. 
If  love  could  change  notes  like  the  bird  on 

the  tree — 

Now  I'll  ne'er  ask  if  thine  eyes  may  hae  wan- 
der'd. 
Enough,  thy  leal  heart  has  been  constant  to 

me. 
Welcome,  from  sweeping  o'er  sea  and  through 

channel, 

Hardships  and  danger  despising  for  fame, 
Furnishing  story  for  glory's  bright  anna), 
Welcome,   my   wanderer,   to   Jeume    and 
hame ! 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES.     531 


Enough,  now  thy  story  in  annals  of  glory 
Has  bumbled  the  pride  of  France,  Holland, 

and  >|iain ; 
No  more  shall  thou  grieve  me,  no  more  shall 

thou  leave  me, 
J  never  will  part  with  my  Willie  again. 


to  3LortJ 


1806. 

Air — Carrick/ergus. 

"The  impeachment  of  Lord  Melville  was 
among  the  first  measures  of  the  new  (Whig) 
Government;  and  personal  affeciion  and  gra- 
tiiuile  graced  as  well  as  heightened  the  zeal 
with  which  Scott  watched  the  issue  of  this,  in 
his  eyes,  vindictive  proceeding;  hut,  though 
the  ex-minister's  ultimate  acquittal  was.  as  to 
all  the  charges  involving  his  personal  honour, 
complete,  it  must  now  he  allowed  that  the  in- 
vestigation brought  out  many  circumstances 
hy  no  means  creditable  to  his  discretion:  and 
the  rejoicings  of  his  friends  ought  not,  there- 
fore, to  have  been  scornfully  jubilant.  Such 
they  were,  however  —  at  least  in  Edinburgh; 
and  Scott  took  his  share  in  them  by  inditing  a 
song,  which  was  sung  by  James  Ballantyne, 
and  received  with  clamorous  applauses,  at  a 
public  dinner  given  in  honour  of  the  event,  on 
the  27th  of  June,  1806."— Life,  vol.  ii ,  p.  322. 

Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  the  table, 
Five  hundred  good  fellows  well  met  in  a 

hall. 
Come  listen,  brave  boys,  and  I'll  sing  as  I'm 

able 

How  innocence  triumph'd  and  pride  got  a 
fall. 

But  push  round  the  claret- 
Come,  stewards,  don't  spare  it — 
With  rapture  you'll  drink  to  the  toast  that  I 
give; 

Here,  boys, 
Off  with  it  memly— 
Melville  for  ever,  and  long  may  he  live  ! 

What  were  the  Whigs  doing,  when  boldly 

pursuing, 
Pitt   bamsh'd   Rebellion,   gave  Treason   a 

s'ring; 
Why,  they  swore  on  their  honour,  for  Arthur 

O'Connor, 

And  fought  hard  for  Despard  against  country 
and  king 

Well,  then,  we  knew,  boys, 
Pitt  and  Melville  were  true  boys, 
And  the  tempest  was  raised  by  the  friends  of 
Keform. 
A  h  !  woe ! 

Weep  to  his  memory ; 
Low  lies  the  pilot  that  weather'd  the  storm ! 

And  pray,  don't  you  mind  when  the  Blues  first 

were  raising, 
And  we  scarcely  could  think  the  house  safe 

o'er  our  heads  ? 
When  villains  and  coxcombs,  French  politics 

praising. 

Drove  peace  from  our  tables  and  sleep  from 
our  beds? 


Our  hearts  they  grew  bolder 
When,  musket  on  shoulder, 

Stepp'd  forth  our  old  Statesmen  example  to 
give. 

Copie,  boys,  never  fear, 
Drink  the  Blue  grenadier — 

Here's  to  old  Harry,  and  long  may  he  live! 

They  would  turn  us  adrift,  though  rely,  sir, 

upon  it— 

Our  own  faithful  chronicles  warrant  us  that 
The  free  mountaineer  and  his  bonny  blue 

bonnet 

Have  oft  gone  as  far  as  the  regular's  hat. 
We  laugh  at  their  taunting, 
For  all  we  are  wanting 
Is  licence  our  life  for  our  country  to  give. 
Off  with  it  merrily. 
Horse,  foot,  and  artillery. 
Each  loyal  Volunteer,  long  may  he  live! 

Tis  not  us  alone,  boys— the  Army  and  Navy 
Have  each  got  a   slap  'mid   their  politic 

pranks; 
Cornwallis  cashier'd,  that  watch'd  winters  to 

save  ye. 

And  the  f'ape  call'd  a  bauble,  unworthy  of 
thanks. 

But  vain  is  their  taunt, 
No  snldier  shall  want 

The  thanks  that  his  country  to  valour  can 
give: 

Come,  boys. 
Drink  it  off  merrily,— 

Sir  David  and  Popham,  and  long  may  they 
live! 

And  then  onr  revenue — Lord  knows  how  they 

view'd  it. 
While  each  petty  statesman  talk'd  lofty  and 

big; 
But  the  beer-tax  was  weak,  as  if  Whitbread 

had  brew'd  it. 

And  the  pig-iron  duty  a  shame  to  a  pig. 
In  vain  is  their  vaunting. 
Too  surely  there's  wanting 
What  judgment,  experience,  and  steadiness 
give: 

Come,  boy*. 
Drink  about  merrily, — 
Health  to  sage  Melville,  and  long  may  he  live  ! 

Our  King,  too  — our  Princess  — I  dare  not  say 

more,  sir,— 
May  Providence  watch  them  with  mercy  and 

might! 
While  there's  one  Scottish  hand  that  can  wag 

a  claymore,  sir. 

They  shall  ne'er  want  a  friend  to  stand  up 
for  their  right. 

Be  daniu'd  he  that  dare  not, — 
For  my  part,  I'll  spare  not 
To  beauty  afflicted  a  tribute  to  give : 
Fill  it  up  steadily, 
Drink  it  off  readily— 
Here's  to  the  Princess,  and  l«ng  may  she  live  ! 

And  since  we  must  not  set  Auld   Reekie  in 

glory, 

And  make  her  brown  visage  as  light  as  her 
heart ;  1 


1  The  Magistrate!  of  Edinburgh  bad  rejected  an  applica- 
tion for  illumination  of  the  town,  on  the  arrival  of  the 
newi  of  Lord  MelTille*>  acquittal. 


532 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Till  each  man  illumine  his  own  upper  story. 
.Nor  law-book  nor  lawyer  shall  force  us  to 
part. 

In  Grenville  and  Spencer, 
And  some  few  good  men.  sir. 
High  talents  we  honour,  slight  difference  for- 
give; 

But  the  Brewer  we'll  hoax, 
Tailyho  to  the  Fox, 

Aud  drink  Melville  for  ever,  as  Ion?  as  we 
live  !"— 


2$untfns  Sons. 


1808. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day. 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here. 

With  hawk,  and  horse,  and  hunting-spear  1 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 

Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they. 

M  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  grey, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming. 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming: 

And  foresters  have  busy  been. 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green  ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
To  the  green-wood  h:iste  away ; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies. 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size: 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made. 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  fray'd; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay ! 

Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee, 

Kun  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 

Time,  stern  huntsman '  who  can  baulk, 

Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk ; 

Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day. 

Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay. 


Cfce  Besolbe. 

IN  IMITATION   OP   AN   OLD  ENGLISH   POEM. 


1808. 

My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 

Though  bootless  he  the  iheme; 
[  lured,  and  was  beloved  again, 

Vet  all  was  but  a  dream  : 
For.  as  her  love  was  quickly  got, 

-So  it  was  quickly  gone ; 
No  more  I'li  bask  in  dame  so  hot, 

But  coldly  dwell  alone. 

Not  maiil  more  bright  than  maid  was  e'er 

My  fancy  shall  beguile. 
By  flattering  word,  or  feisned  tear, 

By  gesture,  look,  or  smile : 


No  more  I'll  call  the  shaft  fair  shot. 

Till  it  has  fairly  flown, 
Nor  scorch  me  at  a  flame  so  hot ; — 

I'll  rather  freeze  alone. 

Each  ambush'd  Cupid  I'll  defy, 

In  cheek,  or  chin,  or  brow, 
And  deem  the  glance  of  woman's  eye 

As  weak  as  woman's  vow : 
I'll  lightly  hold  the  lady's  heart, 

That  is  but  lightly  woo ; 
I'll  steel  my  breast  to  beauty's  art, 

And  learn  to  live  alone. 

The  flaunting  torch  soon  blazes  out, 

The  diamond's  ray  abides ; 
The  flame  it»  glory  hurls  about, 

The  gem  its  lustre  hides : 
Such  gem  I  fondly  deem'd  was  mine, 

And  glow'd  a  diamond  stone. 
But,  since  each  eye  may  see  it  shine, 

I'll  darkling  dwell  alone. 

No  waking  dream  shall  tinge  my  thought 

With  dyes  so  bright  and  vain, 
No  silken  net,  so  slightly  wrought, 

Shalt  tansle  me  again  : 
No  more  I'll  pay  so  dear  for  wit, 

I'll  live  upon  mine  own, 
Nor  slmll  wild  passion  trouble  it,— 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone. 

And  thus  I'll  hush  my  heart  to  rest,— 

"Thy  loving  labour's  lost; 
Thou  shall  no  more  be  wildly  blest, 

To  be  so  svrangely  crost ; 
The  widow'd  turtles  maleless  die. 

The  phoenix  is  but  one  ; 
They  seek  no  loves— no  more  will  I — 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone." 


Epttapfi, 


DESIGNED  FOR  A  MONUMENT 
IN  UTCHFIELD   CATHEDRAL,   AT  THE   BURIAL- 
PLACE  OF  THE  FAMILY  OF  MISS  SEWARD. 

Amid  these  aisles,  where  once  his  precepts 

show'd 
The  Heavenward  pathway  which  in  life  he 

trod. 

This  simple  tablet  marks  a  Father's  bier. 
And  those  he  loved  in  life,  in  teath  are  near; 
For  him,  for  them,  a  Daughter  :nde  it  rise, 
Memorial  of  domestic  charities. 
Still  wouldst  thou  know  why  o'er  the  marble 

spread, 

In  female  grace  the  willow  droops  her  head ; 
Why  on  her  branches,  silent  and  unstrung. 
The  minstrel  harp  is  emblematic  hung; 
What  poet's  voice  is  smolher'd  here  in  dust 

Till  waked  to  join  the  chcms  of  the  just, 

I/) !  one  brief  line  an  answer  sud  supplies, 
Honour'd.  beloved,  and  mouru'd,  here  Seward 

lies. 
Her  worth,  her  warmth  of  heart,  let  friendship 

say, — 
Go  seek  her  genius  in  her  living  lay. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       533 


TO  MISS  BAILUE'S  PLAT  OF  THE  FAMILT 

LEGEND.1 


'Tis  sweet  to  hear  expiring;  Summer's  sigh. 
Through  forests  tinged  with  russet,  wail  and 

die; 

Tis  sweet  and  sad  the  latest  notes  to  hear 
Of  distant  music,  dying  on  the  ear; 
But  far  more  sadly  sweet,  on  foreign  strand, 
We  list  the  legends  of  our  native  land, 
l.ink'd  as  they  come  with  every  tender  tie, 
Memorials  dear  of  youth  and  infancy. 

Chief,  thy  wild  tales,  romantic  Caledon, 
Wake  keen  remembrance  in  each  hardy  son. 
Whether  on  India's  burning  coasts  he  toil. 
Or  till  Acadia'sH  winter-fetter'd  soil. 
He  hears  with  throbbing  heart  and  moisten'd 

eyes. 

And,  as  he  hears,  what  dear  illusions  rise! 
It  opens  on  his  soul  his  native  dell. 
The   woods    wild   waving,   and    the  water's 

swell; 
Tradition's  theme,  the  tower  that  threats  the 

plain. 

The  mossy  cairn  that  hide*  the  hero  slain; 
The  cot,  beneath  whose  simple  porch  were 

told. 

By  grey-hair'd  patriarch,  the  tales  of  old, 
The  infant  group,  that  hush'd  their  sports  the 

while, 

And  the  dear  maid  who  listenM  with  a  smile 
'Hie  wanderer,  while   the  vision   warms   his 

brain, 
Is  denizen  of  Scotland  once  again. 

Are  such  keen  feelings  to  the  crowd  con- 
fined, 

And  sleep  they  in  the  Poet's  gifted  mindt 
Oh  no!    For  She,  within  whose  mighty  page 
Each  tyrant  Passion  shows  his  woe  and  rage. 
Has  felt  the  wizard  influence  they  inspire. 
And  to  your  own  traditions  tuned  her  lyre. 
Yourselves  shall  judge  —  whoe'er  has  raised 

the  sail 
By  Mull's  dark  coast,  has  heard  this  evening's 

tale. 

The  plaided  boatman,  resting  on  his  oar, 
Points  to  the  fatal  rock  amid 'the  roar 
Of  whitening   waves,  and   tells  whate'er  to- 
night 

Our  humble  stage  shall  offer  to  your  sight ; 
Proudly  preferr'd  tliat  first  our  efforts  give 
Scenes  glowing  from  her  pen  to  breathe  and 

live; 

More  proudly  yet,  should  Caledon  approve 
The  filial  token  of  a  Daughter's  love. 


1  Miss  Baillie'a  Family  Ltgmd  was  produced  with  con- 
siderable MUCC4-SH  on  the  Edinburgh  stage  in  the  winter  or 
1609  10.    This  prolotue  was  *poken  ou  that  occasion  by 
the  Author's  friend,  Mr.  Daniel  Terry. 

2  Acadia,  or  Nova  8,  otia. 


WRITTEN  IN  IMITATION  OP  CRABBE,  AND 
PUBLISHED  IN  TOE  EDINBURGH  ANNUAL 
REGISTER  OF  1809. 

Welcome,  grave  Stranger,  to  our  green   re- 
treats, 
Where    health  with    exercise    and    freedom 

meets ! 
Thrice    welcome,    Sage,   whose   philosophic 

plan 

By  nature's  limits  metes  the  rights  of  man; 
Generous  as  he,  who  now  for  freedom  bawls. 
Now  gives  full  value  for  true  Indian  shawls  : 
O'er  courts,  o'er  customhouse,  his  shoe  who 

flings. 

Now  bilks  excisemen,  and  now  bullies  kings. 
Like  his,  I  ween,  thy  comprehensive  mind 
Holds  laws  as  mouse-traps  baited  for   man- 
kind : 

Thine  eye,  applausive,  each  sly  vermin  sees. 
That  baulks  the  snare,  yet  battens  on  the 

cheese ; 
Thine  ear  has  heard,  with  scorn  instead  of 

awe, 

Our  buckskinn'd  justices  expound  the  law, 
Wire-draw   the   acts  that  fix   for  wires  the 

pain. 

And  for  the  netted  partridge  noose  the  swain; 
And  thy  vindictive  arm  would  fain  have  broke 
The  last  light  fetter  of  the  feudal  yoke, 
To  give  the  denizens  of  wood  and  wild, 
Nature's   free   race,  to  each    her   free-boru 

child. 
Hence    hast   thou    mark'd,  with   grief,   fair 

London's  race, 
Mock'd   with  the   boon  of  one   poor  Easter 

chase. 

And  long'd  to  send  them  forth  as  free  as  when 
Pour'd  o'er  Ghantilly  the  Parisian  train. 
When  musket,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  combined. 
And  scarce  the  field-pieces  were  left  behind  ! 
A  squadron's  charge  each  leveret's  heart  dis- 

may'd. 

On  every  covey  fired  a  bold  brigade ; 
La  Douce  Humanite  approved  the  sport. 
For  great  the   alarm  indeed,  yet  small  the 

hurt; 

Shouts  patriotic  solemnized  the  day. 
And  Seine  re-echoed,  Vive  la  Liberle  ! 
But  mail  Citoyen.  meek  Monsieur  again. 
With    some    few   added    links    resumes    his 

chain. 
Then,  since  such  scenes  to  France  no  more 

are  known. 

Come,  view  with  me  a  hero  of  thine  own  ! 
One,  whose  free  actions  vindicate  the  cause 
Of  silvan  liberty  o'er  feudal  laws. 

Seek   we  yon   glades,  where  the  proud   oak 

o'ertops 

Wide-waving  seas  of  h'rch  and  hazel  copse, 
Leaving  between  deserted  isles  of  land, 
Where"  stunted  heath  is  patch'd  with,  ruddy 

sand ; 

And  lonely  on  the  waste  the  yew  is  seen, 
Or  straggling  hollies  spread  a  brighter  green. 
Here,   little    worn,    and    winding   dark    and 

steep, 
Our  scarce  mark'd  path  descends  yon  dingle 

deep: 


634 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Follow— hut  heedful,  cautious  of  a  trip,— 
In  earthly  mire  philosophy  may  slip. 
Step  slow  and  wary  o'er  that  swampy  stream, 
Till,  guided    by    the    charcoal's   smothering 

steam, 

We  reach  the  frail  yet  barricaded  door 
Of  hovel  form'd  for  poorest  of  the  poor; 
No   hearth   the   fire,   no    vent    the    smoke 

receives. 
The    walls   are   wattles,  and   the   covering 

leaves ; 

For,  if  such  hot,  our  forest  statutes  say. 
Rise  in  the  progress  of  one  night  and  day, 
(Though   placed  where  still  the  Conqueror's 

bests  o'erawe. 

And  his  son's  stirrup  shines  the  badge  of  law,) 
The  builder  claims  the  unenviable  boon. 
To  tenant  dwelling,  framed  as  slisht  and  soon 
As   wigwam   wild,  that    shrouds   the   native 

fro  re 
On  the  bleak  coast  of  frost-barr'd  Labrador.1 

Approach,  and  through  the  unlatticed  window 

peep- 
Nay,  shrink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep; 
Sunk  'mid  yon  sordid  blankets,  till  the  sun 
Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are 

done. 
Loaded  and  primed,  and  prompt  for  desperate 

hand. 

Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand  ; 
While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 
The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade; 
For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape. 
The  crow,  the  saw,  the   bludgeon,  and   the 

crape. 

His  pilfer'd  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards. 
And  the  filch 'd  lead  the'  church's  roof  affords — 
(Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret. 
That  while   his  sermon's  dry  his  walls  are 

wet.) 
The  fish-spear  barb'd,  the  sweeping  net  are 

there. 
Doe-hides,  and  pheasant  plumes,  and  skins  of 

hare, 

Cordage  for  toils,  and  wiring  for  the  snare. 
Barter'd  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  won, 
Yon  cask  holds  moonlight,11  run  when  moon 

was  none  ; 
And  late-snatch'd  spoils  lie  stow'd  in  hutch 

apart. 
To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  cart. 

Look  on  his  pallet  foul,  and  mark  his  rest : 
What    scenes    perturb'd    are    acting    ill    his 

breast ! 

His  sable  brow  is  wet  and  wrung  with  pain, 
And  his  dilated  nostril  toils  in  vain  ; 
For  short  and  scant  the  breath  each  effort 

draws. 

And  'twill  each  effort  Nature  claims  a  pause. 
Beyond  the  loose  and  sable  sackcloth. 

'  stretch 'd. 
His  sinewy  throat  seems  by  convulsion 

twiich/d. 

While  the  tongue  falters,  as  to  utterance  loth. 
Sounds  of  dire   import  — watchword,  threat, 

and  oath. 

1  Such  ii  the  law  in  the  New  Forest,  Hampshire,  lending  ' 
(Trail?  10  increase  the  Tariom  Klllemeuli  of  Ibirtes, 
•  muggier*,  and  deer->tea]rrs,  who  infert  It.  In  the  forest 
courts  the  presiding  judge  wear*  as  a  badge  of  office  an  i 


Though,  stupifieJ    by  toil,  and   drugg'd  with 

gin. 

The  body  sleep,  the  restless  guest  within 
Now   plies  ou  wood   and  wold    his   lawless 

trade. 
Now  in  the  fangs  of  justice  wakes  dismay'd.— 

"  Was  that  wild  start  of  terror  and  despair. 
Those  bursting   eyeballs,  and  that  wilder'd 

air. 

Signs  of  compunction  for  a  murder'd  hare  ? 
Do  the  locks  bristle  and  the  eyebrows  arch, 
For  grouse  or  partridge  massacred   in 
March?"  — 

No.scoffer.no!  Attend, and  mark  with  awe. 
There  is  no  wicket  in  the  gate  of  law ! 
He.  that  would  e'er  so  lightly  set  ajar 
That  awful  portal,  must  undo  each  bar : 
Tempting  occasion,  habit,  passion,  pride. 
Will  jinn  to  storm  the  breach,  and  force  the 
barrier  wide. 

That  ruffian,  whom   true  men  avoid  and 

dread. 
Whom  bruisers,  poachers,  smugglers,  call 

Black  Ned. 
Was  Kdward  Mansell  once; — the  lightest 

heart. 

That  ever  play'd  on  holiday  his  part ! 
The  leader  he  in  every  Christmas  game. 
The  harvest-feast  grew  blither  when  be  came. 
And    liveliest   on   the  chords  the   bow  did 

glance, 
When  Edward   named  the  tune  and  led  the 

dance. 
Kind  was  his  heart,  his  passions  quick  and 

strong. 

Hearty  his  laugh,  and  jovial  was  his  song  ; 
And  if  he  loved  a  gun.  his  father  swoie, 
"  Twas  but  a  trick  of  youth  would  soon  be 

o'er. 
Himself  had  done  the  same  some  thirty  years 

before." 

But  he  whose  humours  spurn  law's  awful 

yoke. 
Must  herd  with  those  by  whom  law's  bonds 

are  broke. 

The  common  dread  of  justice  soon  allies 
The  clown,  who  rubs  the  warren,  or  excise. 
With  sterner  felons  train'd  to  act  more  dread. 
Even  with  the  wretch  by  whom  his  fellow 

bled. 

Then,  as  in  plagues  the  foul  contagion  pass. 
Leavening  and  festering  the  corrupted  mass,— 
Guilt  leagues  with  guilt,  while  mutual  motives 

draw, 

Their  hope  impunity,  their  fear  the  law; 
Their  foes,  their  friends,  their  rendezvous  the 

same. 

Till  the  revenue  banlk'd,  or  pilfer'd  gnme. 
Flesh  the  young  culprit,  and  example  leads 
To  darker  villany,  and  direr  deeds. 

Wild  howl'd  the  wind  the    forest   glades 

along. 

And  oft  the  owl  renew'd  her  dismal  song: 
Around  the  spot  where  erst  he  felt  the  wound. 
Red   William's  spectre   walk'd   his  midnight 

round 

antique  stirrup,  said  to  have 
See    Mr.  W. Ilium    Row's  I 


LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     535 

When  o'er  the  swamp  he  cast  his  blighting 

With  his  flying  guns  this  gallant  gay. 

look. 

Anil  boasted  corps  d'armfie  — 

From  the  green  marshes  of  the  stagnant 

O  he  fear'd  not  our  dragoons,  wiih  their  long 

brook 

swords,  boldly  riding, 

The  bittern's  sullen  shout  the  sedges  shook'! 

Whack,  fal  de  ral,  ic. 

The   waning  moon,  with    storm-presaging 
gleam. 

To  Campo  Mayor  come,  he  had  quietly  sat 

Now   gave   and   now  withheld   her  doubtful 

beam  : 

down, 
Just  a  fricasse  to  pick   while   his  soldiers 

The  old  Oak  stoop'd  his  arms,  then  flung  them 
high, 

sack  'd  the  town, 
When,  'twas  peste  !  morbleu  !  mon  Gen- 

Bellowing and  groaning  to  the  troubled  sky  — 
Twas  then,  that,  couch'd  amid   the   brush- 
wood sere. 

eral. 
Hear  the  English  bugle-call! 
And  behold  the  light  dragoons,  with  their  long 

In  Malwood-walk  young  Mansell  watch  'd  the 
dt:er  : 

swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ra!,  &c. 

The  fatiest  buck  received  his  deadly  shot  — 
Tiie  watchful  keeper  heard,  and  sought  the 

Right  about  went  horse  and  foot,  artillery  and 
all, 

spot. 
Stout    were   their  hearts,  and  stubborn  was 

And,  as  the  devil  leaves  a  house,  they  tumbled 
through  the  wall  :  2 

their  strife, 
O'erpower'd   at  length   the  Outlaw  drew  his 

They  took  no  time  to  seek  the  door, 
But,  best  foot  set  before  — 

knife. 
Next  morn  a  corpse  was  found  upon  the  fell  — 
The  rest  his  waking  agony  may  tell  ! 

0  they  ran  from  our  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 



Those  valiant  men  of  France  they  had  scarcely 

fled  a  mile, 

c» 

When  on  their  flank  there  sous'd  at  once  the 

t=*~  onrj» 

British  rank  and  file  ; 

Oh.  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air, 
That  your  spring-time  of  pleasure  is  ftWn, 
Nor  bid  me  to  maids  that  are  younger  repair, 

For  l-ong,  De  Grey,  and  Otway,  then 
Ne'er  minded  one  to  ten, 
But  came  on  like  light  dragoons,  with  their 

For  those  raptures  that  still  are  thine  own. 

long  swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  ic. 

Though  April  his  temples  may  wreathe  with 
the  vine. 

Three  hundred  British  lads  they  made  three 

Its  tendrils  in  infancy  curl'd. 

thousand  reel, 

'Tis   the   ardour  of  August  matures  us  the 

Their  hearts  were  made  of  English  oak,  their 

swords  of  Sheffield  steel, 

Whose  life-blood  enlivens  the  world. 

Their  horses  were  in  Yorkshire  bred, 

And  Beresford  them  led; 

Though  thy  form,  that  was  fashion  'd  as  light 

So  huzza  for  brave  dragoons,  with  their  long 

as  a  fay's. 

swords,  boldly  riding, 

Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round. 

Whack,  fal  de  ral,  ic. 

And  thy  glance,  that  was  bright  as  a  falcon's 
at  gaze. 

Then  here's  a  health  to  Wellington,  to 

Looks  soberly  now  on  the  ground,  — 

Beresford.  to  Long, 
And  a  single  word  of  Bonaparte  before  I  close 

Enough,  after  absence  to  meet  me  again, 

mv  song  : 

Thy  steps  still  with  ecstasy  move  ; 
Enough,  that  those  dear  sober  glances  retain 

The  eagles  that  to  fight  he  brings 
Should  serve  his  men  with  wings, 

For  me  the  kind  language  of  love. 

When  they  meet  the  bold  dragoons,  with  their 

long  swords,  boldly  riding, 



Whack,  fal  de  ral,  <tc. 

EDe  ttol*  BCafloon;' 

©n  tjje  i&dssacte  of  (Slettcoe. 

OR, 

TIIE  PLAIN  OF  BADAJOS. 

1814. 

1812. 

'•In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1692.  an  action 

of  unexampled  harharitv  disgraced  the  govern- 

ment of  King  William  III.  in  Scotland.    In  the 

'Twas  a  Marechal  of   France,  and  he  fain 

August  preceding,  a  proclamation   had    been 

would  honour  gain. 

issued,  offering  an  indemnity  to  such   insur- 

And  he   long'd   to  take  a  passing  glance  at 

gents  as  should  take  the  oaths  to  the  King  and 

Portugal  frcim  Spain; 

Queen,  on  or  before  the  last  day  of  Decem- 

JIM,  (April,  1M3,)  for  a  Yeomanry  Cavalry  dinner. 

pullcd  down  a  part  of  the  rampart,  and  marched  oat  over 

the  ,laci«. 

536 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


her :  and  the  chiefs  of  such  tribes  as  had  been 
in  arms  fur  James,  soon  after  took  advantage 
of  the  proclamation.  Bnt  Macdonald  of  Glen- 
coe  was  prevented  by  accident,  rather  than 
by  design,  from  tendering  his  submission  with- 
in the  limited  time.  In  the  end  of  December 
he  went  to  Colonel  Hill,  who  commanded  the 
garrison  in  Fort- William,  to  take  the  oalh  of 
allegiance  to  the  government;  and  the  latter 
having  furnished  him  with  a  letter  to  Sir  Colin 
Campbell,  sheriff  of  the  r.cumty  of  Argyll, 
directed  him  to  repair  immediately  to  Inveiarv. 
to  make  his  submission  in  a  legal  manner 
before  that  magistrate.  But  the  way  to  Inve- 
rary  lay  through  almost  impassable  mountains, 
the  season  was  extremely  rigorous,  and  the 
whole  country  was  covered  with  a  deep  snow. 
So  eager,  however,  was  Macdonald  to  take 
the  oaths  before  the  limited  time  should  ex- 
pire, that,  though  the  road  lay  within  half  a 
mile  of  his  own  house,  he  stopped  not  to  visit 
his  family,  and.  after  various  obstructions. 
arrived  at  Inverary.  The  time  had  elapsed. 
and  the  sheriff  hesitated  to  receive  his  sub- 
mission ;  hut  Macdonald  prevailed  by  his  im- 
port unites,  and  even  tears,  in  inducing  that 
functionary  to  administer  to  him  the  oath  of 
allegiance,  and  to  certify  the  cause  of  his 
delay.  At  this  time  Sir  John  Dalrymple, 
afterwards  Earl  of  Stair,  being  in  attendance 
upon  William  as  Secretary  of  State  for  Slot- 
land,  took  advantage  of  Macdonald's  neglect- 
ing to  take  the  oath  within  the  time  proscribed, 
and  procured  from  the  king  a  warrant  of 
military  execution  against  that  chief  and  his 
whole  clan.  This  was  done  at  the  instigation 
of  the  Earl  of  Breadalbane.  whose  lands  the 
Glencoe  men  had  plundered,  and  whose 
treachery  to  government  in  negotiating  with 
the  Highland  clans,  Macdonald  himself  had 
exposed.  The  King  was  accordingly  persuaded 
that  Glencoe  was  the  main  obstacle  to  the 
pacification  of  the  Highlands :  and  the  fact  of 
the  unfortunate  chiefs  submission  having  been 
concealed,  the  sanguinary  orders  for  proceed- 
ing to  military  execution  against  his  clan  were 
in  consequence  obtained.  The  warrant  w;is 
both  signed  and  countersigned  by  the  King's 
own  hand,  and  the  Secretary  urged  the  officers 
who  commanded  in  the  Highlands  to  execute 
their  orders  with  the  utmost  rieour.  Camp- 
bell of  Glenlyon,  a  captain  in  Arsyle's  regi- 
ment, and  two  subalternR,  were  ordered  to 
repair  to  Glencoe  on  the  first  of  February  with 
a  hundred  and  twenty  men.  Campbell,  being 
uncle  to  young  Macdonald's  wife,  was  received 
hy  the  father  with  all  manner  of  friendship 
and  hospitality.  The  men  were  lodged  at  free 
quarters  in  the  houses  of  his  tenants,  and 
received  the  kindest  entertainment.  Till  the 
13th  of  the  month  the  troops  lived  in  the  ut- 
most harmony  and  familiarity  with  the  people ; 
and  on  the  very  night  of  the  massacre  the 
officers  passed  the  evening  at  cards  in  Mac- 
donald's house.  In  the  night,  Lieutenant 
Lindsay,  with  a  party  of  soldiers,  called  in  a 
friendly  manner  at  his  door,  and  was  instantly 
admitted.  Macdonald,  while  in  the  act  of 
rising  to  receive  his  guest,  was  shot  dead 
through  the  back  with  two  bullets.  His  wife 
had  already  dressed ;  but  she  was  stripped 
naked  by  the  soldiers,  who  tore  the  rings  off 
her  fingers  with  their  teeth.  The  slaughter 
now  became  general,  and  neither  age  nor 


infirmity  was  spnred.  Some  women,  in  defend- 
ing their  children,  were  killed:  boys  implor- 
ing mercy,  were  shot  dead  by  officers  on  whose 
knees  they  hung  In  one  place  nine  persons, 
as  they  sat  enjoying  themselves  at  table,  were 
butchered  by  the  soldiers.  In  Inverriggon, 
Campbell's  own  quarters,  nir.e  men  were  first 
bound  by  the  soldiers,  and  then  shot  at  inter- 
vals, one  by  one.  Nearly  forty  persons  were 
massacred  by  the  troops ;  arid  several  who 
fled  to  the  mountains  perished  by  famine  and 
'he  inclemency  of  the  season.  Those  who 
escaped  owed  their  lives  to  a  tempestuous 
night,  i  ieutenant-Colonel  Hamilton,  who  had 
received  the  charge  of  the  execution  from 
Dalrvmple,  was  on  his  march  with  four 
hundred  men,  to  guard  all  the  passes  from  the 
valley  of  Glencoe;  but  he  was  obliged  to  stop 
hy  the  severity  of  the  weather,  which  proved 
the  safety  of  the  unfortunate  clan.  Next  day 
he  entered  the  valley,  laid  the  houses  in  ashes, 
and  carried  away  the  catile  and  spoil,  which 
were  divided  among  the  officers  nnd  soldier?." 
— Article  "  Britain ;"  Encyc.  Britannica  —  ^eie 
Edition. 

"  O  tell  me.  Harper,  wherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  woe, 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

Where  none  may  list  their  melody? 
Say.  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun  deer  glancing  by, 
Or  to  the  eagle,  that  from  high 

Screams  chorus  to  thy  minstrelsy  1" — 

"  No.  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest. — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain-crest, 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  erne  her  nest, 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
But  thase  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay, 
Not  wild-wood  deep,  nor  mountain  grey. 
Not  this  deep  dell,  that  shrauds  from  day. 

Could  screen  from  treach'rous  cruelty. 

"Their  flag  was  furl'd.  and  mute  their  drum, 
The  very  household  dogs  were  dumb, 
Unwont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 

In  guise  of  hospitality. 
His  blithest  notes  the  piper  plied. 
Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 
The  dame  her  distaff  flung  aside. 

To  tend  her  kindly  housewifery. 

"  The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal, 
At  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel. 
And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 

Meed  for  his  hospitality  ! 
The  friendly  hearth  which  warm'd  that  hand, 
At  midnight  arm'd  it  with  the  brand. 
That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 

"Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain, 

Nor  infancy's  unpitied  plain. 

More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

Respite  from  ruthless  butchery  ! 
The  winter  wind  that  whistled  shrill. 
The  snows  that  night  that  cloaked  the  hill, 
Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 

Far  more  than  Southern  clemency. 

"  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone. 
Few  are  its  strings,  and  faint  their  tone, 
They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 
Their  grey-hair'd  master's  misery. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     537 


Were  each  grey  hair  H  minslrel  string, 
Each  chord  should  imprecations  fling, 
Till  si iirtleil  Scotland  loud  should  nil?, 
'  Revenge  for  blood  and  treachery  !' " 


JFor  a'  tijat  an'  a'  tijat.1 

NEW    SONG    TO    AN    OLD    TUNE. 


1814. 

Though  right  be  aft  put  down  by  strength, 

As  mouy  a  day  we  saw  that. 
The  true  and  leilfu'  cause  at  length 

fehall  bear  the  grie  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that  an'  a'  that. 

Guns,  guillotines,  and  a'  that, 
The  Fleur-de-lis,  that  lost  her  right, 

Is  queen  again  for  a'  that ! 
We'll  twine  her  in  a  friendly  knot 

With  England's  Rose,  and  a'  that; 
The    hamrock  shall  not  be  forgot, 

For  Wellington  made  braw  that. 
The  Thistle,  though  her  leaf  he  rude, 

Yet  faith  we'll  no  misca'  that, 
She  shelter'd  in  her  solitude 

The  Fleur-d«-lis,  for  a'  that. 
The  Austrian  Vine,  the  Prussian  Pine, 

(For  Blunder's  sake,  hurra  that,) 
The  Spanish  Olive,  too,  shall  join. 

And  bloom  in  peace  for  a'  that. 
Stout  Russia's  Hemp,  so  surely  twined 

Around  our  wreath  we'll  draw  that, 
And  he  that  would  the  cord  unbind, 

Shall  have  it  for  his  gra-vat ! 
Or.  if  to  choke  sae  puir  a  sot. 

Your  pity  scorn  to  threw  that, 
The  Devil's  elbow  be  his  lot. 

Where  he  may  sit  anJ  claw  that. 
In  spite  of  slight,  in  sp-le  of  might, 

In  spite  of  brags,  an'  a'  that. 
The  lads  that  battled  for  the  right, 

Have  won  the  day,  an'  a'  that ! 
There's  ae  hit  spot  I  had  forgot, 

America  they  ca'  that ! 
A  coward  plot  her  rats  had  got 

Their  father's  flag  to  gnaw  that: 
Now  see  it  fly  top-gallant  high, 

Atlantic  winds  shall  blaw  that, 
And  Yankee  loon,  beware  your  croun. 

There's  kames  in  hand  to  claw  that ! 
For  on  the  land,  or  on  the  sea, 

Where'er  the  breezes  blaw  that. 
The  British  Flag  shall  bear  the  grie, 

And  win  the  day  for  a'  that  1 


1814. 
0,  dread  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the 

When  the  brave  on  Marengo  lay  slaughtered 
in  vain, 


And  beholding  broad  Europe  bow'd  down  by 

her  foemen, 
Pitt  closed  in  his  anguish  the  map  of  her 

reign ! 
Xot  the  fate  of  broad  Europe  could  bend  his 

brave  spirit 

To  take  for  his  country  the  safety  of  shame  ; 
O,  then  in  her  triumph  remember  his  merit. 
And  hallow   the  goblet  that   flows  to  his 
name. 

Round  the  husbandman's  head,  while  he  traces 

the  furrow, 
The  mists  of  the  winter  may  mingle  with 

rain. 
He  may  plough  it  with  labour,  and  sow  it  in 

sorrow, 
And  sigh  while  he  fears  he  has  sow'd  it  in 

vain; 
He  may  die  ere  his  children  shall  reap  in  their 

gladness, 
But  the  blithe  harvest-home  shall  remember 

his  claim ; 
And  their  jubilee-shout  shall  be  soften'd  with 

sadness, 

While  they  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to 
his  name. 

Though  anxious  and  timeless  his  life  was  ex- 
pended. 
In  toils  for  our  country  preserved  by  his 

care, 
Though  he  died  ere  one  ray  o'er  the  nations 

ascendtd. 

To  light  the  long  darkness  of  doubt  and  de- 
spair; 

The  storms  he  endured  in  our  Britain's  De- 
cember, 
The  perils  his  wisdom  foresaw  and  o'er- 

came, 

In  her  glory's  rich  harvest  shall  Britain  re- 
member, 

And   hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 

Nor  forget  His  grey  head,  who,  all  dark  in 

affliction. 

Is  deaf  to  the  tale  of  our  victories  won, 
And  to  sounds  the  most  dear  to  paternal  aaec- 

tion, 

The  shout  of  his  people  applauding  his  Son ; 
By  his  firmness  unmoved  in  success  and  dis- 
aster, 
By  his  long  reign  of  virtue,  remember  his 

claim! 
With  our  tribute  to  Pitt  join  the  praise  of  his 

Master, 

Though  a  tear  stain  the  goblet  that  flows  to 
his  name. 

Yet  again  fill  the  wine-cup,  and  change  the 

sad  measure, 

The  rites  of  our  grief  and  our  gratitude  paid, 
To  our  Prince,  to  our  Heroes,  devote  the  bright 

treasure, 
The  wisdom  that  plann'd,  and  the  zeal  that 

obey'd ; 
Fill  Wellington's  cup  till  it  beam  like  his 

glory, 
Forget  hot  our  own  brave  Dalhousie  and 

Grasme; 
A  thousand  years  hence  hearts  shall  bound  at 

their  story. 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  their 
fame. 


"21" 


538                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 

iiHjaros  3Loquftut.» 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 
O'er  these  wild  shelves  my  watch  I  keep  ; 
A  ruddy  gem  ot  changeful  light. 
Bound  on  the  dusky  brow  of  night. 
The  seaman  bids  my  lustre  hail, 
And  scorns  to  strike  his  timorous  sail. 

Health  from  the  isles,  where  dewy  Morning 
weaves 
Her   chaplet  with   the   tints   that  Twilight 
leaves  ; 
Where  late  the  sun  scarce  vanish'd  from  the 
sight. 
And  his  bright  pathway  graced  the  short-  lived 
night. 
Though   darker   now   as   autumn's    shades 
extend, 
The    north    winds    whistle    and    the    mists 
ascend  ! 
Health  from  the  land  where  eddying  whirl- 
winds toss 
The  storm-rock  'd  cradle  of  the  Cape  of  Moss  ! 
On  outstretch'd  cords  the  giddy  engine  slides. 
His    own    strong  arm   the   bold   adventurer 
guides. 
And  he  that,  lists  such  desperate  feat  to  trv, 
May.  like  the  sea-mew,  skim  'twixt  earth  and 
sky, 
And  feel  the  mid-air  gales  around  him  blow, 
And  see  the   billows  rage  live  hundred   feet 
below. 
Here,  hy   each  stormy    peak    and   desert 
shore, 
The  hardy  islesman  tugs  the  daring  oar. 
Practised  alike  his  venturous  course  to  keep, 
Through  the  white  breakers  or  the  pathless 
deep, 
By  ceaseless  peril  and  by  toil  to  gain 
A  wretched  pittance  from  the  niggard  main. 
And  when  the  worn-out  drudge   old  ocean 
leaves. 
What  comfort  greets  him,  and  what  hut  re- 
ceives ? 
Lady  !    the   worst   your   presence   ere    has 
cheer'd 
(When    want    and    sorrow  fled    as  you  ap- 
pear'd) 
Were  to  a  Zetlander  as  the  high  dome 
Of  proud  Drumlanrig  to  my  humble  home. 
Here  rise   no  groves,  and   here   no  gardens 
blow, 
Here  even  the  hardy  heath  scares  dares  to 
grow; 
But   rocks   on    rocks,  in    mist    and    storm 
array'd, 
Stretch  far  to  sea  their  giant  colonnade. 
With    many    a   cavern    seam'd,    the    dreary 
haunt 
Of  the  dun  seal  and  swarthy  cormorant. 
Wild  round  their  rifted  brows,  with  frequent 
cry 
As  of  lament,  the  gulls  and  gannets  fly, 
And  from  their  sable  base,  with  sullen  sound. 
In   sheets    of    whitening    foam    the    waves 
rebound. 

Yet  even  these  coasts  a  touch  of  envy  gain 
From  those  whose  land   has  known  oppres- 
sion's chain  ; 
For  here  the  industrious  Dutchman  comes 
once  more 
To  moor  his  fishing  craft  hy  Bressey's  shore  ; 

Htncs.a 

ADDRESSED  TO  RANALD  MACDONALD,  ESQ.  OF 

STAFF  A.  3 

1814. 

Staffa.  sprung  from  high  Macdonald, 
Woithy  branch  of  old  Clan  Ranald  ! 
S-aifa  !  king  of  all  kind  fellows  ! 
Well  befall  thy  hills  anil  valleys. 
1  akes  and  inlets,  deeps  and  shallows  — 
Cliffs  of  darkness,  caves  of  wonder. 
Echoing  the  Atlantic  thunder; 
Mountains  which  the  grey  mist  covers. 
Where  the  Chieftain  spirit  hovers, 
Pausing  while  his  pinions  quiver, 
Stretch'd  to  quit  our  land  for  ever! 
Each  kind  influence  reign  above  rhee  ! 
V\  armer  heart,  'twixt  this  and  Stalfa 
Beats  not,  than  in  heart  of  Staflfa  ! 

Hetter  m  Verse 

OH  THE  VOYAGE  WITH  THE  COMMISSIONERS 
OF  NORTHERN  LIGHTS. 

"Of  the   letters  which   Scott  wrote  to  his 
friends  during  those  happy  six  weeks,  1  have 
recovered  only  one,  and  it  is,  thanks  to  the 
leisure   of  the  yacht,  in   verse.    The  strong 
and  easy  heroics  of  the  first  section  prove,  I 
think,  that  Mr.  Canning  did  not  err  when  he 
told  him  that  if  he  chose  he  might  emulate 
even  Dryden's  command  of  that  noble  measure  ; 
and   the   dancing    anapaests    of   the    second, 
show  that  he  could  with  equal  facility  have 
rivalled  the  gay  graces  of  Cotton,  Anstey,  or 
Moore."—  Lockhart,  Life,  vol.  iv.,  p.  372. 

TO  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCCLEBCH, 
ice.  ic.  &c. 

Lighthouse  Yacht  in  the  Sound  of  Lerwick, 
Zetland,  6th  August,  1614. 

Health  to  the  chieftain  from  his  clansman 
true! 
From  her  true  minstrel,  health  to  fair  Buc- 
cleuch  ! 

1  ••  On  the  30th  of  July,  1814,  Mr.  Hamilton.  Mr.  Erakine, 

Walter  Srott,  and  the  writer,  visited  the  Lighthouse;  the 
Commtiwioneni  twine  then  on  one  of  their  voyages  of  ID- 

2  These  lines  were  written    in  the  Album,  kept  at  the 
Sound  of  Ulva  Inn,  in  the  month  of  August,  1614. 

3  Afterwards  Sir  Reginald  Macdonald  Stewart  Seton,  of 

the    Library,  when    Sir  Waller,   at   the  entreaty  of  the 

183*.  in  hi«  6I»t  year.    The  reader  will  find  a  warm  tribute 

published  in  the  4th  volume  of  his  Life. 

LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       539 


Greets  every  fi>nner  mate  and  brother  tar, 
Marvels  how  Lerwick  'scaped  the  rage  of  war, 
Teils  many  a  tale  of  Gallic  outrage  done, 
And  ends  hy  blessing  GIH)  and  Wellington. 
Here  KK>  the  Greenland  tar,  a  fiercer  guest, 
Clai.i.s  a  bnef  hour  of  not,  not  of  rest; 
Pioves  e;ich  wild  frolic  that  in  wine  has  birth, 
And  wakes  the  land  with  brawls  and  boisterous 

mirth. 

A  sadder  sight  on  yon  poor  vessel's  prow 
The  captive  Norseman  sits  in  silent  woe, 
And  eyes  the  flags  of  Britain  as  they  flow. 
Hard   fale   of   war,  which   bade   her  terrors 

sway 
His  destined  course,  and  seize  so  mean  a 

prey : 
A  bark  with  planks  so  warp'd  and  seams  so 

riven. 
She  scarce   might   face  the  gentlest  airs  of 

heaven : 

Pensive  he  si's,  and  questions  oft  if  none 
Can  list  Ins  speech,  and  understand  his  moan ; 
In  vain — no  Islesnmn  now  can  use  the  tongue 
Of  the  bold  Norse,  from  whom  their  lineage 

spriiua. 

Not  thus  of  old  the  Norsemen  hither  came, 
Won  by  the  love  of  danger  or  of  fame  ; 
On  every  storm -beat  cape  a  shapeless  tower 
Tells  oi  their  wars,  their  conquests,  and  their 

powar; 

For  ne'er  for  Grecia's  vales,  nor  Latam  land. 
Was  fiercer  strife  lhan  for  this  barren  strand  ; 
A  race  severe — the  isle  and  ocean  loids 
Loved  for  its  own  delight  the  strife  of  swords; 
With  scornful  laugh  the  mortal  pans  defied, 
And  blest  their  gods  that  they  in  battle  died. 

Such  were  the  sires  of  Zetland's  simple 

rare. 

And  still  the  eye  may  faint  resemblance  trace 
In  the  hlu«  eye,  tall  form,  proportion  fair, 
The  limbs  aihletic.  and  the  long  light  hair — 
(   ucii  was  the  mien,  as  Scald  and   Minstrel 

sings. 
Of    fair-hair'd    Harold,    first    of    Norway's 

Kings;) 
But  their  high  deeds   to  scale  these  crags 

confined. 
Their  only  warfare  is  with  waves  and  wind. 

Why    should    I    talk    of   Mousa's   castled 

coast  ? 

Why  of  the  horrors  of  the  Sumhurgh  Rost  ? 
May  not  these  bald  disjointed  lines  suffice, 
Penn'd  while  my  comrades  whirl  the  rattling 

dice- 
While   down   the   cabin   skylight   lessening 

shine 
The  rays,  and  eve  is  chased  with  mirth  and 

wine  ? 

Imagined,  while  down  Mousa's  desert  hay 
Our  well-trimm'd  vessel   urged  her  nimble 

way, 
W  Inle  to  the  freshening  breeze  she  lean'd  her 

side, 
And  bade  her  bowsprit  kiss  the  foamy  tide  7 

Surh  are  the  lays  that  Zetland  isles  supply ; 
Drencn'd  with  the  drizzly  spray  and  dropping 
sky. 

Weary  and  wet,  a  sea-sick  minstrel  I. 

W  Scolt. 


1  The  Scottt  of  Sroti 


?t,  and  other  families  of  the 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Kinwall,  Orkney,  Aug   13,  1814. 

In  respect  that  your  Grace  has  coinmissiou'd 

a  Kraken, 
You  will  please  be  infonn'd  that  they  seldom 

are  taken ; 
It   is  January  two  years,  the   Zetland  folks 

say. 
Since  they  saw  the  last  Kraken  in  Scalloway 

bay; 

He  lay  in  the  offing  a  fortnight  or  more, 
But  the  devil  a  Zellander  put  from  the  shore. 
Though   bold  in   the   seas  of   the   North   to 

assail 
The   morse   and   the  sea-horse,  the  grampus 

and  whale. 
If  your  Grace  thinks  I'm  writing   the   thing 

that  is  not, 
You  may  ask  at  a  namesake  of  ours,  Mr. 

Scott — 
(He's  nut   from   our  clan,  though   his  merits 

deserve  it. 
But  springs.  I'm  inform'd,  from  the  Scotts  of 

Scotstarvet:U 
He  question'd  the  folks  -vho  beheld  it  with 

eyes. 

Bat  they  differ'd  confoundedly  as  to  its  size. 
For  nife.ance,  the  modest  and  diffident  swore 
That  it  seem'd  like  the  keel  of  a  ship,  and  no 

more — 
Those  of  eyesight  more  clear,  or  of  fancy  more 

high. 
Said  it  rose  like  an  island  'twixt  ocean  and 

sky — 

But  all  of  the  hulk  had  a  steady  opinion 
That  'twas  sure  a  live  subject  of  Neptune's 

dominion — 
And  I  think,  my  Lord  Duke,  your  Grace  hardly 

would  wish. 

To  cumber  your  house,  such  a  kettle  of  fish. 
Had  your  order  related  to  night-caps  or  hose, 
Or  mittens  of  worsted,  there's  plenty  of  those. 
Or  would  you  be  pleased  but  to  fancy  a 

whale? 

And  direct  me  to  send  it— by  sea  or  by  mail  1 
The  season,  I'm  told,  is  nish  over,  but  still 
I   could    get    you    one    fit    for  the    lake    at 

Bowhill 
Indeed,  as  to  whales,  there's  no  need  to  be 

thrifty, 
Since  one  day  last  fortnight  two  hundred  and 

fifty. 
Pursued  hy  seven  Orkneymen's  boats  and  no 

more, 
Betwixt  Truffhess  and  Luffness  were  drawn 

on  the  shore ! 

You'll  ask  if  1  saw  this  same  wonderful  sight ; 
I  own  that  I  did  not,  but  easily  might — 
For  tins  mighty  shoal  of  leviathans  lay 
On  our  lee-beam  a  mile,  in  the  loop  of  the 

bay, 
And  the  islesmen  of  Sanda  were  all  at  the 

spoil. 

And  flinching,  (so  term  it)  the  blubber  to  boil ; 
(Ye  spirits  of  lavender,  drown  the  reflection 
That  awakes  at  the  thought  of  this  odorous 

dissection.) 

To  see  this  huge  marvel  full  fain  would  we  go. 
But  Wilson,  the  wind, and  the  current, said  no. 


t  clan  of  the  Border— ajid  their  am 


I  bearings  are 


540 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


We  have   now  got  to  Kirkwall.  and  needs  I 

must  stare 
When  I  think  that  in  verse  I  have  once  call'd 

it  fair  ; 
Tis  a  base  little  borough,  both   dirty  and 

mean — 
There's  nothing  to  hear,  and  there's  nought  to 

be  seen, 
Save  a  church,  where,  of  old  times,  a  prelate 

harangued. 
And  a  palace  that's  built  by  an  earl  that  was 

bftnVd. 
But.  farewell  to   Kirkwall  —  aboard  we  are 

going. 
The  anchor's  a-peak,  and  the  breezes  are 

blowing; 
Our  commodore  calls  all  his  band  to  their 

places. 
And  'tis  time  to  release  you  —  good  night  to 

your  Graces ! 


"  The  following  song,  which  has  neen  since 
borrowed  by  the  worshipful  author  of  the 
famous  'History  of  Fryar  Bacon,'  has  been 
with  difficulty  deciphered.  It  seems  to  have 
been  sung  on  occasion  of  carrying  home  the 
bride ." 

(1.)— BRIDAL  SOXG. 
To  the  tune  of  "  /  have  betn  a  Fiddler"  jc. 

And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell 
The  morrow  after  a  wedding  day. 

And  carrying  a  bride  at  home  to  dwell  ? 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away. 

The  quintain  was  set,  and  the  garlands  were 
made. 

Tis  pity  old  customs  should  ever  decay  ; 
And  woe  be  to  him  that  was  horsed  on  a  jade, 

For  he  carried  no  credit  away,  away. 

We  met  a  concert  of  fiddle-de-dees ; 

We  set  them  a-cockhorse,  and  made  them 

play 
The  winning  of  Bullen,  and  Upsey-frees, 

And  away  o>  Tewin,  away,  away  ! 

There  was  ne'er  a  lad  in  all  the  parish 
That  would  go  to  the  plough  that  day; 

But  on  his  fore-horse  his  wench  lie  carries, 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away  ! 

The  butler  was  quick,  and  the  ale  he  did  tap. 
The  maidens  did  make  the   chamber   full 
gay; 

The  servants  did  eive  me  a  fuddling  cup. 
And  1  did  carry 't  away,  away. 

The  smith  of  the  town  his  liquor  so  took, 
That   he  was   persuaded   that  the  ground 
look'd  bine; 

And  I  dare  boldly  be  sworn  on  a  book. 
Such  smiths  us  he  there's  but  a  few. 


A  posset  was  made,  arid  the  women  did  sip, 
And  simpering  said,  thev  could  eat  no  more ; 

Full  many  a  maiden  was  laid  on  the  lip. — 
I'll  say  no  more,  but  give  o'er,  (give  o'er.) 

Appendix  to  the  General  Preface. 


(2.)— WAVERLEY. 

"On  receiving  intelligence  of  his  commis- 
sion as  captain  of  a  troop  of  horse  in  Colonel 
Gardiner's  regiment,  his  tutor,  Mr.  Pembroke, 
picked  up  about  Edward's  room  some  frag- 
ments of  irregular  verse,  which  he  appeared 
to  have  composed  under  the  influence  of  the 
agitating  feelings  occasioned  by  this  sudden 
page  being  turned  up  to  him  in  the  book  of 
life." 

Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell 
On  Mirkwood-Mere's  romantic  dell. 
The  lake  retuni'd.  in  chasten'd  gleam, 
The  purple  cloud,  the  golden  beam  : 
Reflected  in  tiie  crystal  pool, 
Headland  and  hank  lay  fair  and  cool ; 
The  weather-tinted  rock  and  tower. 
Each  drooping  tree,  each  fairy  flower, 
.So  true,  so  soft,  the  mirror  gave, 
As  if  there  lay  beneath  the  wave. 
Secure  from  trouble,  toil,  and  care. 
A  world  than  earthly  world  more  fair. 

But  distant  winds  began  to  wake. 
And  roused  the  Genius  of  the  Lake  ! 
He  heard  the  groaning  of  the  oak, 
j  And  donn'd  at  once  his  sable  cloak. 
As  warrior,  at  the  battle  cry. 
Invests  him  with  his  panoply  : 
Then,  as  the  whirlwind  nearer  press'd, 
He  'gan  to  shake  his  foamy  crest 
O'er  fnrrow'd  hrow  and  hlacken'd  cheek. 
And  bade  his  surge  in  thunder  speak. 
In  wild  and  broken  eddies  whirl'd, 
Flitted  that  fond  ideal  world ; 
And,  to  the  shore  in  tumult  tost, 
The  realms  in  fairy  bliss  were  lost. 

Yet,  with  a  stern  delight  and  strange, 
I  saw  the  spirit-stirring  change 
As  warr'd  the  wind  with  wave  and  wood, 
Upon  the  ruin'd  tower  I  stood. 
And  felt  my  heart  more  strongly  bound. 
Responsive  to  the  lofty  sound, 
While,  joving  in  the  mighty  roar, 
I  mourn'd  that  tranquil  scene  no  more. 

So,  on  the  idle  dreams  of  vouth 
Breaks  the  loud  trumpet-call  of  truth. 
Bids  each  fair  vision  pass  away, 
Like  landscape  on  the  lake  that  lay, 
As  fair,  as  flitting,  and  as  frail. 
As  that  which  fled  the  autumn  gale— 
For  ever  dead  to  fancy's  eye 
Be  each  gay  form  that  glided  by. 
While  dreams  of  love  and  lady's  charms 
Give  place  to  honour  and  to  arms ! 

Chap.  v. 


(3.)— DAYIE  GELLATLEY'S  SOXG. 

"  He  (Daft  Davie  Gellatley)  sung  with  great 
earnestness,  and  not  without  some  taste,  a 
fragment  of  an  old  Scotch  ditty  :" 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     541 


False  love,  ami  hast  thou  nlay'd  me  this 

In  summer  among  the  flowers  1 
I  will  repay  tliee  hack  again 

In  winter  among  the  showers. 
Unless  imam,  again,  my  love, 

Unless  you  turn  again  ; 
As  you  with  oilier  maidens  rove, 

I'll  smile  on  other  men. 

"This  is  a  genuine  ancient  fragment,  with 
some  alteration  in  the  last  two  lines." 

" The  question'd  party  replied.  —  and, 

like  the  witch  of  Thalaba,  'still  his  speech 
was  song  '" 

The  Knight's  to  the  mountain 

His  liugle  to  wind  : 
The  lady's  to  greenwood 

Her  garland  to  bind. 
The  hower  of  Burd  Ellen 

Has  moss  on  the  floor. 
That  the  step  of  Lord  William 

Be  silent  and  sure. 


(4.)  — SCENE 

IN  LUCKIE  MACLEARY-S  TAVERN. 

"  In  the  middle  of  this  din.  the  Baron  re- 
peatedly implored  silence  ;  and  when  at  length 
the  instinct  of  polite  discipline  so  far  prevailed, 
that  for  a  moment  he  obtained  it,  he  hastened 
to  beseech  their  attention  '  unto  a  military 
ariette,  which  was  a  particular  favourite  of 
the  Marec.hal  Due  de  Berwick  ;'  then,  imitat- 
ing, as  well  as  he  could,  the  manner  and  tone 
of  a  French  musquetaire,  he  immediately  com- 
menced," 

Mon  coeur  volage,  dit-elle, 

N'est  pas  pour  vous.  garcon, 
Est  pour  11  n  horn  me  de  guerre, 
Qui  a  barbe  au  mentou. 

Lon,  I  .on,  Laridon. 
Qui  porte  chapeau  a  plume, 

Soiilier  a  rouge  talon, 
Quijoue  de  la  flute, 
Aussi  de  violon. 

Lon,  Lon,  Laridon. 

"  Balmawhapple  could  hold  no  longer,  but 
broke  in  with  what  he  called  a  d— d  good 
song,  composed  by  Gihby  Gaethrowit,  the 
Piper  of  Cupar;  and,  without  wasting  more 
time,  struck  up—" 

It's  up  Glembarchan's  braes  1  gaed, 
And  o'er  the  bent  of  Killiebraid, 
And  mony  a  weary  cast  I  made, 
To  cuittle  the  moor-fowl's  tail. 

If  up  a  bonny  black-cock  should  spring1. 
To  whistle  him  down  wi'  a  slug  in  his  wing. 
And  strap  him  on  to  my  lunzie  string, 
" ouldlfail. 


Kight  seldom  wou 


Chap,  xi. 


(5.)— "HIE  AWAY,  HIE  AWAY." 

"The  stamping  of  horses  was  now  heard  in 
the  court,  and  Davie  Ge  Hat  ley's  voice  singing 
to  the  two  large  deer  greyhounds," 


Hie  away,  hie  away, 
Over  hank  and  over  brae, 
Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest. 
Where  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest, 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 
Where  the  hlack-cock  sweetest  sips  it, 
Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it: 
Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen. 
Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green, 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Hie  away,  hie  away. 

Chap.  xii. 


(6.)— ST.  SWITHIN'S  CHAIR. 

"The  view  of  the  old  tower,  or  fortalice, 
introduced  some  family  anecdotes  and  tales 
of  Scottish  chivalry,  which  the  Baron  told 
with  great  enthusiasm.  The  projecting  peak 
of  an  impending  crag,  which  rose  near  it,  had 
acquired  the  name  of  St.  Swithin's  Chair.  It 
was  the  scene  of  a  peculiar  superstition,  of 
which  Mr.  Kubrick  mentioned  some  curious 
particulars,  which  reminded  Waverley  of  a 
rnyme  quoted  by  Edgar  in  King  Lear;  and 
Rose  was  called  upon  to  sing  a  litile  legend. 
in  which  they  had  been  interwoven  by  some 
village  poet, 

Who,  noteless  as  the  race  from  which  he 
sprung. 

Saved  others'  names,  but  left  his  own  un- 
sung. 

"  The  sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  sim- 
ple beauty  of  her  music,  gave  all  the  advan- 
tage which  the  minstrel  could  have  desired, 
and  which  his  poetry  so  much  wanted." 

On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune  ye  to 

rest. 

Ever  beware  that  your  couch  be  bless'd  ; 
Sign  it  with  cross,  and  sain  it  with  bead. 
Sing  the  Ave,  and  say  the  Creed. 

For  on  Hallow-Mass  Eve  the  Night-Hag  will 

ride. 

And  all  her  nine-fold  sweeping  on  by  her  side, 
Whether  the  wind  sing  lowly  or  loud. 
Sailing  through  moonshine  or  swath'd  in  the 

cloud. 

The  Lady  she  sate  in  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
The  dew  of  the  night  has  damp'd  her  hair ; 
Her  cheek  was  pale— but  resolved  and  high 
Was  the  word  of  her  lip  and  the  glance  of  her 
eye. 

She  mutter'd  the  spell  of  Swithin  bold. 
When  his  naked  foot   traced   the  midnight 

wold, 
When  he  stopp'd  the  Hag  as  she  rode  the 

night. 
And  bade  her  descend,  and  her  promise  plight. 

He  that  dare  sit  on  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
When  the  Night-Hag  wings  the  troubled  air, 
Questions  three  when  fie  speaks  the  spell, 
He  may  ask,  and  she  must  tell. 

The  Baron  has  been  with  King  Robert  his 

liege. 
These  three  long  years  in  battle  and  siege : 


542 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


News  are  there  none  of  his  weal  or  his  woe, 
Ami  fuiu  the  Lady  his  late  would  know. 

She  shudders  and   stops  as  the  charm  she 

speaks ; — 

Is  it  the  moody  owl  that  shrieks? 
Or    is    that   sound,    betwixt    laughter    and 

scream. 
The   voice  of  the  Demou  who  haunts  the 

stream  ? 

The  moan  of  the  wind  sunk  silenr  and  low. 
And  the  roaring  torrent  had  ceased  to  flow  : 
The  calm  was  more  dreadful  than  raging 

storm. 
When  the  cold  grey  mist  brought  the  ghastly 

form! 
«  «  *  *  * 

Chap,  ziii. 


(7.)— DA  VIE  GELLATLEY'S  SONG. 

"The  next  day  Edward  arose  betimes,  and 
in  a  morning  walk  around  the  house  and  its 
vicinity,  came  suddenly  upon  a  small  court  in 
front  of  the  dog-kennel,  where  his  friend 
Davie  was  employed  about  his  fnur-footed 
charse  One  quick  glance  of  his  eye  recog- 
nized Waverley.  when,  instantly  turning  his 
back,  as  if  he  had  not  observed  him,  he  began 
to  sing  part  of  an  old  ballad." 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more 

fast ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  situ/ 1 
Old  men's  lore  the  longest  will  last, 
And   the  throstle-cock's   head   is   under  his 
using. 

The  young  man's  wrath  is  like  light  straw  on 

fire; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  ting  1 
But  like  red-hot  steel  is  the  old  man's  ire, 
Anil    the  throstle-cock's    head   is   under   his 
wing. 

The  young  man  will  brawl  at  the  evening 

board  ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  1 
But  the  old  man  will  draw  at  the  dawning  the 

sword, 

And    the    throstle-cock's    head   is  under  his 
winy. 

[The  song  has  allusion  to  the  Baron  of 
Braidwardme's  personal  encounter  wji ti  Bal- 
mawhapple  early  next  morning,  after  the 
evening  quarrel  betwixt  the  latter  and  Wa- 
verley.] 

Chap.  xiv. 


(8.)— JANET  GELLATLEY'S  ALLEGED 

WITCHCRAFT. 
"This  anecdote  led  into  a  long  discussion  of," 

All  those  idle  thoughts  and  phantasies, 
Devices,  dreams,  opinions  unsound. 

Shows,  visions,  soothsays,  and  prophecies. 
And  all  that  feigned  is,  as  leasings,  tales,  and 
lies. 


(9.)— FLORA  MACIVOR'S  SONG. 

Flora  had  exchanged  the  measured  and 
monotonous  recitative  of  the  bard  for  a  lofty 
and  uncommon  Highland  air,  which  had  been 
a  battle-song  in  former  ages.  A  few  irregular 
strains  introduced  a  prelude  of  a  wild  and 
peculiar  tone,  which  harmonized  well  with 
the  distant  water-fall,  and  the  soft  siirh  of  the  |j 
evening  breeze  in  the  rustling  leaves  of  an 
aspen  which  overhung  the  seat  of  the  fair 
harpress.  The  following  verses  convey  but 
little  idea  of  the  feelings  with  which,  so  sung 
and  accompanied,  they  were  heard  by  Waver- 
ley :" 

There  is  mist  on  the  mountain,  and  night  on 

the  vale. 
But  more  dark  is  the  sleep  of  the  sons  of  the 

Gael. 

A  stranger  commanded— it  sunk  on  the  land. 
It  has  frozen  each  heart,  and  benumh'd  every 

hand! 

The  dirk  and  the  target  lie  sordid  with  dust. 
The  bloodless  claymore  is  but  redden'd  with 

rust : 

On  the  hill  or  the  glen  if  a  gun  should  appear. 
It  is  only  to  war  with  the  heath-cock  or  deer. 

The  deeds  of  our  sires  if  our  bards  should 

rehearse, 
Let  a  blush  or  a  blow  be  the  meed  of  their 

verse! 
Be  mute  every  string,  and   be  hush'd  every 

tone. 
That  shall  bid  us  remember  the  fame  that  is 

flown. 

But  the  dark  hours  of  night  and  of  slumber 

are  past. 
The  morn  on  our  mountains  is  dawning  at 

last; 

Glenaladale's  peaks  are  illumed  with  the  rays. 
And  the  streams  of  Glenfinnan  leap  bright  in 

the  blaze. 

0   high-minded   Moray!  — the   exiled — the 

dear ! — 
In   the   blush   of  the  dawning  the  Standard 

uprt-ar! 

Wide,  wide  to  the  winds  of  the  north  let  it  fly. 
Like  the  sun's  latest  flash  when  the  tempest  is 

nigh! 

Ye  sons  of  the  strong,  when  that  dawning 

shall  break, 
Need  the  harp  of  the  aged  remind  you  to 

wake? 
That  dawn  never  beam'd  on  your  forefathers' 

eye. 
But  it  roused  each  high  chieftain  to  vanquish 

or  die. 

0  sprung  from  the  Kings  who  in  Islay  kept 
state. 

Proud  chiefs  of  Clan-Ranald,  Glengary,  and 
Sleat! 

Combine  like  three  streams  from  one  moun- 
tain of  snnw, 

And  resistless  in  union  rush  down  on  the  foe  ! 

True  son  of  Sir  Evan,  undaunted  Lochiel, 
Place  thy  targe  on  thy  shoulder  and  burnish 
thy  steel ! 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.      543 


Rough  Keppoch,  give  breath   to  thy  bugle's 

hold  swell. 
Till  far  Coryarrick  resound  to  the  knell ! 

Stem  son  of  Lord  Kenneth,  high  chief  of 

Kmtail, 
Let  the  stag  in  thy  standard  bound  wild  in  the 

gale ! 
May  the  race  of  Clan-Gillian,  the  fearless  and 

free, 
Remember  Glenlivet,  Harlaw,  and  Dundee  ! 

Let  the  clan  of  grey  Fingon,  whose  offspring 

has  given 
Such  heroes  to  earth,  and  such   martyrs  to 

heaven. 

Unite  with  the  race  of  renown'd  Rorri  More, 
To  launch  the  long  galley,  aud  stretch  to  the 

oar! 

How  Mac-Shimei  will  joy  when  their  chief 

shall  display 

The  yew-crested  bonnet  o'er  tresses  of  grey  ! 
How  the  race  of  wrong'd  Alpine  and  murder'd 

Glencoe 
Shall  shout  for  revenge  when  they  pour  on 

the  foe! 

Ye  sons  of  brown  Dermid,  who  slew  the  wild 

boar. 
Resume  the  pure  faith  of  the  great  Callum- 

Jlore ! 
Mac-Niel  of  the   Islands,  and    Moy  of  the 

Lake, 
For   honour,    for   freedom,   for   vengeance 

awake! 

Awake  on  your  hills,  on  your  islands  awake, 
Brave  sons  of  the  mountain,  the  frith,  and  the 

lake! 
Tis  the  bugle— but  not  for  the  chase  is  the 

call ; 
'Tis  the  pibroch's  shrill  summons  —  but  not  to 

the  hall. 

Tis  the  summons  of  heroes  for  conquest  or 

death. 
When  the  banners  are  blazing  on  mountain 

and  heath ; 
They  call  to  the  dirk,  the  claymore,  and  the 

targe. 
To  the  inarch  and  the  muster,  the  line  and 

the  charge. 

Be  the  brand  of  each  chieftain  like  Fin's  in 

his  ire ! 
May  the  blood  through  his  veins  flow  like 

currents  of  fire  ! 
Burst  the  base  foreign  yoke  as  your  sires  did 

of  yore ! 
Or  die.  like  your  sires,  aud   endure   it  DO 

more ! 

"  As  Flora  concluded  her  song,  Fergus  stood 
before  I  hem,  and  immediately  commenced 
with  a  theatrical  air," 

O  Lady  of  the  Desert,  hail ! 
1'hat  Invest  the  harping  of  the  Gael, 
Through  fair  and  fertile  regions  borne, 
Where  never  yet  grew  grass  or  corn. 

"But  English  poetry  will  never  succeed 
under  the  influence  of  a  Highland  Helicon  — 
Aliens,  courage" — 


O  vous.  qui  buvez  a  tasse  pleine, 

A  ceite  heureuse  fontaine, 
Ou  on  ne  volt  sur  ie  rivage 

Qne  quelques  vilains  troupeaux, 
Suivis  de  nymphes  de  village. 

Qui  les  escortent  sans  sabots 

Chap.  xxii. 


(10.)— LINES  ON  CAPTAIN  WOGAN. 

"  The  letter  from  the  Chief  contained  Flora's 
lines  on  the  fate  of  Captain  Wogan,  whose 
enterprising  character  is  so  well  drawn  by 
Clarendon  He  had  originally  engaged  in  the 
service  of  the  Parliament,  but  had  abjured 
that  party  upon  the  execution  of  Charles  I  ; 
and  upon  hearing  that  the  royal  standard  was 
set  np  by  the  Earl  of  Glencairn  and  General 
Middleton  in  the  Highlands-  of  Scotland,  took 
leave  of  Charles  II..  who  was  then  at  Paris, 
passed  into  England.  assembled  a  body  of 
cavaliers  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London, 
and  traversed  the  kingdom,  which  hud  been 
so  long  under  domination  of  the  usurper,  by 
marches  conducted  with  such  skill,  dexterity, 
and  spirit,  that  he  safely  united  his  handful 
of  horsemen  with  the  body  of  Highlanders 
then  in  arms.  After  several  months  of  desul- 
tory warfare,  in  which  Wogan's  skill  and 
courage  gained  him  the  highest  reputation,  he 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  wounded  in  a 
dangerous  manner,  and  no  surgical  assistance 
being  within  reach,  he  terminated  his  short 
but  glorious  career." 

The  Verses  were  inscribed, 

TO  AN  OAK  TREE, 

IN  THE  CHURCHYARD  OF ,  IN  THE  HIGH- 

LANDS   OF    SCOTLAND,    SAID    TO    MARK    THE 
GRAVE  OF  CAPTAIN  WOOAN,  KILLED  IN  1649. 

Emblem  of  England's  ancient  faith. 
Full  proudly  may  thy  branches  wave, 

Where  loyalty  lies  low  in  death, 
And  valour  fills  a  timeless  grave. 

And  thou,  brave  tenant  of  the  tomb! 

Repine  not  if  our  clime  deny. 
Above  thine  honour'd  sod  to  bloom, 

The  flowrets  of  a  milder  sky. 

These  owe  their  birth  to  genial  May ; 

Beneath  a  fiercer  sun  they  pine, 
Before  the  winter  storm  decay — 

And  can  their  worth  be  type  of  thine  ? 

No !  for,  'mid  storms  of  Fate  opposing, 
Still  higher  swell'd  thy  dauntless  heart, 

And.  while  Despair  the  scene  was  closing, 
Commenced  thy  brief  but  brilliant  part. 

Twas  then  thou  sought'st  on  Albyn's  hill. 

(When  England's  sons  the  strife  resigu'd,) 
A  rugged  race  resisting  still. 

And  unsubdued  though  unrefined. 

Thy  death's  hour  heard  no  kindred  wail, 

No  holy  knell  thy  requiem  rung; 
Thy  mourners  were  the  pi  aided  Gael, 

Thy  dirge  the  clamorous  pibroch  sung. 


544 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Yet  who.  in  Fortune's  siiminer-sliine 
To  waste  life's  longest  term  away. 

Would  change  that  glorious  dawn  of  thine, 
Though  darken'd  ere  its  noontide  day  ? 

Be  thine  the  Tree  whose  dauntless  boughs 
Brave    summer's    drought    and    winter's 

gloom  ! 

Rome  hound  with  oak  her  patriot's  brows, 
As  Aibyn  shadows  Woman's  tomh. 

Chap.  nil. 


(11.)— "FOLLOW  ME,  FOLLOW  ME." 

"'Who  are  dead  ?'  said  Waverley,  forgetting 
the  incapacity  of  Davie  to  hold  any  connected 
discourse. 

"  Baron — and  Baillie — and  Sanders  Sander- 
son— and  l-ady  Rose,  that  sang  sae  sweet — A' 
dead  and  gane — dead  and  gaue,  (said  Davie) — 

But.  follow,  follow  me. 

While  glow-worms  light  the  lea, 

I'll  show  ye  where  the  dead  should  be — 

Each  in  his  shroud. 

While  winds  pipe  load, 

And  the  red  moon  peeps  dim  through,  the 
cloud. 

Follow,  follow  me ; 
Brave  should  he  be 

That  treads  by  the  night  the  dead  man's 
lea." 

Chop,  liiii. 


5T|)e  Stuttior  of  SJEfabcrlej. 

["lam  not.  able  to  give  the  exact  dateofthe 
following   reply  to  one  of  John  Ballantyne's 
expostulations  on  the  subject  of  the  secret." — 
Life.  vol.  iv.,  p.  179.] 
"No,  John.  I  will  not  own  the  book  — 

I  won't,  you  Piccaroon. 
When  next  I  try  St.  Grubhy's  brook. 
The  A.  of  Wa—  shall  bait  the  hook  — 

And  flat-fish  bite  as  soon. 
As  if  before  them  they  had  got        , 
The  worn-out  wriggler 

WALTER  SCOTT." 


jfaretoell  to 


HIGH  CHIEF   OP   KISTAIL. 
FROM  THE  GAELIC. 


1815.—  JET.  44. 


The  original  verses  are  arranged  to  a  beauti- 
ful Gaelic  air,  of  which  the  chorus  is  adapted 
to  the  double  pull  upon  the  oars  of  a  galley, 
and  which  is  therefore  distinct  from  the  ordi- 
nary jorrams,  or  boat-songs.  They  were  com- 
posed by  the  Family  Bard  upon  the  departure 
of  the  Earl  of  Seaforlh,  who  was  obliged  to 
take  refuge  m  ^pain,  after  an  unsuccessful 
effort  of  insurrection  in  favour  of  the  Stuart 
family,  in  the  year  1718. 


Farewell   to  Mackenneth,  great  Earl   of  the 

North, 
The  Lord  of  Lochcarron,  Glenshiel,  an    Sea- 

forth ; 
To  the  Chieftain  this  morning  his  course  who 

began. 
Launching  forth  on  the  billows  his  bark  like  a 

swan. 

For  a  far  foreign  land  he  has  hoisted  his  sail. 
Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kmlail ! 

O  swift  be  the  galley,  and  hardy  her  crew. 
May  her  captain  be  skilful,  her  mariners  true. 
In  danger  undaunted,  utiweary  by  toil,        . 
Though   the  whirlwind   should  rise,  and  the 

ocean  should  boil : 
On  the   brave   vessel's   gunnel  I  drank   her 

bonail.i 
And   farewell  to   Mackenzie,  High   Chief  of 

Kintail! 

Awake  in  thy  chamber,  thou  sweet  southland 

gale! 
Like  the  sighs  of  his  people,  breathe  soft  on 

his  sail ; 
Be  prolong'd  as  regret,  that  his  vassals  must 

know. 

Be  fair  as  their  faith,  and  sincere  as  their  woe  : 
Be  so  soft,  and  so  fair,  and  so  faithful,  sweet 

gale. 
Wafting  onward   Mackenzie,  High    Chief  of 

Kintail ! 

Be  his  pilot  experienced,  and  trusty,  and  wise, 
To  measure  the  seas  and  to  study  the  skies  : 
May  he  hoist  all  his  canvass  from  streamer  to 

deck. 
But  0!  crowd  it  higher  when  wafting  him 

back  — 
Till  the  clifB  of  Skooroora,  and  Conan's  glad 

vale. 
Shall  welcome   Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of 

Kiutail ! 


IMITATION  OF  THE  PRECEDING 
SONG* 

So  sung  the  old  Bard,  in  the  grief  of  his  heart. 
When  he  saw  his  loved  Lord  from  his  people 

depart. 
Now  mute  on  thy  mountains,  O  Albyn,  are 

heard 
Nor  the  voice  of  the  song,  nor  the  harp  of  the 

bard: 
Or  its  strings  are  but  waked  by  the  stern 

winter  gale. 
As  they  mourn  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of 

Kintail. 

From  the  far  Southland  Border  a  Minstrel 

came  forth. 
And  he  waited  the  hour  that  some  Bard  of  the 

north 
His  hand  on  the  harp  of  the  ancient  should 

cast, 
And  bid  its  wild  numbers  mix  high  with  the 

blast ; 


1  Bnnail,  or  Bonallez,  the  old  Scottish  phrase  for  a  feast 
at  par':i.L-  with  a  frrend. 

S  These  Terses  were  written  shortly  after  the  death  of 
Lord  Seaforth.  the  last  male  representative  of  his  illustri- 
ous house.  He  was  a  nobleman  of  extraordinary  talents, 
who  must  have  made  for  himself  a  lasting  reputation,  had 
not  hi«  political  exertions  been  checked  by  the  painful 
natural  infirmities  alluded  to  in  the  fourth  stanza.— See 
Hfe  of  Scott,  TOl.  T.,  pp.  18,  IS. 


LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     545 

But  no  bard  was  there  left  in  the  land  of  the 
Gael. 
To  lament  for  .Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kin- 

tuii. 

And  shalt  thon  then  sleep,  did  the  Minstrel 
exclaim. 
L'ke  the  son  of  the  lowly,  unnoticed  by  fame  ? 
No,  son  of  Fitzgerald  :  in  accents  of  woe. 
The  song  thou  hast  loved  o'er  thy  coffin  shall 
flow. 
And  (each  thy  wild  mountains  to  join  in  the 
wail, 
That   laments  for   Mackenzie,  last  chief  of 
Kintail. 

In  vain,  the  bright  course  of  thy  talents  to 
wrong. 
Fate  deaden'd   thine  ear  and  imprison'd  thy 
tongue  ; 
For  bristlier  o'er  all  her  obstructions  arose 
Tne  glow  nf  the  genius  they  could  nut  oppose  : 
An<l  who  in  the  land  of  the  -axon  or  Gael, 
Might  match  with  Mackenzie  High  Chief  of 
Kintail. 

Thy  sons  rose  around  thee  in  light  and  in 
love. 
All  a  father  could  hope,  all  a  friend  could 
approve  ; 
What  'vails  it  the  tale  of  thy  sorrows  to  tell,  — 
In   the  spring-time  of  youth  and  of  promise 
thev  fell! 
Of  the  line  of  Fitzgerald  remains  not  a  male. 
To  bear  the  proud  name  of  the  Chief  of  Kin- 
tail. 

And  thou,  gentle  Dame,  who  must  bear,  to  thy 
grief. 
For  thy  clan  and  thy  country  the  cares  of  a 
Chief, 
Whom  brief  rolling  moons  in  six  changes  have 
left, 
Of  thy  husband,  and  father,  and   brethren 
bereft. 
To  thine  ear  of  aflection,  how  sad  is  the  hail. 
Thai  salutes  thee  the  heir  of  the  line  of  Kiu- 
taiU 

A  weary  month  has  wander'd  o'er 
Since  las:  we  parted  on  the  shore  : 
Heaven  !  that  I  saw  thee.  Love,  once  more, 
Safe  on  the  shore  agnin  !  — 
Twas  valiant  1  achlan  gave  the  word  : 
Lachlan.  of  many  a  galley  lord  : 
He  call'd  his  kindred  bands  on  board, 
And  lauuch'd  them  on  the  main. 

Clan-Gillian2  is  to  ocean  gone, 
Clan-Giliian.  fierce  in  foray  known  ; 
Rejoicing  in  the  glory  won 
In  many  a  bloody  broil  : 
For  wide  is  heard  the  thundering  fray, 
The  rout,  the  ruin,  the  dismay. 
When  from  the  twilight  glens  away, 
Clan-Gillian  drives  the  spoil. 

Woe  to  the  hills  that  shall  rebound 
Our  banner'd  bng-pipes'  maddening  sound  ; 
Clan-Gillian's  on*et  echoing  round, 
Shall  shake  their  inmost  cell. 
Woe  to  the  hark  whose  crew  shall  gaze, 
Where  1  ar.hlan's  silken  stre  imer  plays  ! 
The  fools  might  face  the  lightning's  blaze 
As  wisely  aud  as  well  ! 

Safnt  Cloutr. 

[Paris.  5th  Septembfr,  1815.] 

Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night 
Her  veil  of  darksome  blue; 
Ten  thousand  stars  combined  to  light, 
The  terrace  of  Saint  Cloud. 

The  evening  breezes  gently  sigh'd, 
Like  breath  of  lover  true. 
Bewailing  the  deserted  pride 
And  wreck  of  sweet  Saint  Cloud. 

The  drum's  deep  roll  was  heard  afar, 
The  bugle  wildly  blew 
Good-night  to  Hulan  and  Hassar, 
That  garrison  Saint  Cloud. 

The  startled  Naiads  from  the  shade 
With  broken  urns  withdrew, 
And  silenced  was  that  proud  cascade, 
The  glory  of  Saint  Cloud. 

W>  sate  upon  its  s'epx  of  stone, 
Nor  could  its  silence  rue, 
When  waked,  to  music  of  our  own, 
The  echoes  of  Saint  Cloud. 

Slow  Seine  might  hear  each  lovely  note 
Fall  light  as  summer  dew. 
While  through  the  moonless  air  they  float, 
Proloug'd  from  fair  Saint  Cloud. 

And  sure  a  melody  more  sweet 
His  waters  never  knew, 
Though  music's  self  was  wont  to  meet 
With  Princes  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Nor  then,  with  more  delighted  ear, 
The  circle  round  her  drew. 
Than  ours,  when  gather'd  round  to  hear 
Our  songstress  1  at  Saint  Cloud. 

E8?ar*Sons  of  2Laci)lan, 

HIGH   CHIEF   OF   MACLEAN. 
FROM  THE  GAELIC. 

1815. 

This  song  appears  to  be  imperfect,  or,  at 
least,  like   many  of  the  early  Gaelic  poems, 
makes  a  rapid  transition  from  one  subject  to 
another;   from  the  situation,  namely,  of  one 
of  the  daughters  of  the  clan,  who  opens  the 
song  by  lamenting  the  absence  of  her  lover, 
to  an   eulngium  over  the  military  glories  of 
the   Chiefiam.      The    translator    tins   endea- 
voured   to  imitate   the   abrupt  style  of  the 
original. 

1  Tlie  Honourable  Lady  Hood,  daughter  of  ihe  Lift  Lord 

Stewart  Macknulie-  oYs.  -afortli  an,l  UlaMertoii,'—  1633. 
»  i.  e.  The  <  Ilii  of  Maclean,  literally  the  race  or  Oillian. 

1  These  lint's  were  written    after    an  evening  spent   at 
Saint  Cloud  with  the  late  Lady  Alvauley  and  her  daugh- 
ters, one  of  whom  wa»  the  songstrett   alluded  to  in  the 

546                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Few  happy  hours  poor  mortals  pass,  — 

When  down  the  destined  plain. 

Then  give  those  hours  their  due. 

Twin  Britain  and  the  bands  of  France, 

And  rank  among  the  foremost  class 

Wild  as  marsh-borne  meteor's  glance, 

Oar  evenings  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Strange  phantoms  wheel'd  a  revel  dance, 

And  (lixun'd  tlie  future  slam  — 

Such  forms  were  snen.such  sounds  were  heard. 
When  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepared 

STtie  Bance  of  BeatJ). 

For  Flodden's  fatal  plain  :  » 

Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword, 

As  Choosers  of  the  Slain,  adored 

1815. 

The  yet  unchristen'd  Dane. 

An  indistinct  and  phantom  band. 
They  wheel'd  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand,    i 

. 

With  gestures  wild  and  dread  ; 

Night  and  morning  were  at  meeting 

The  Seer,  who  watch'd  them  ride  the  storm, 

Over  Waterloo  ; 
Cocks  had  song  their  earliest  greeting; 

Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 
The  lightning's  flash  niore  red  ; 

Faint  and  low  they  crew, 

And  still  their  ghastly  roundelay 

For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 
On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John; 

Was  of  the  coining  battle-fray 
And  of  the  destined  dead. 

Tempest-clouds  prolong'd  the  sway 

Of  timeless  darkness  over  day: 

IV. 

Whirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower, 

Mark'd  it  a  predestined  hour. 

SONG. 

Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 
Flash  'd  the  sheets  of  levin-light  ; 

fc  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

Muskets,  glancing  lightnings  back, 

And  thunders  rattle  load, 

Show'd  the  dreary  bivouac 

And  Cull  the  brave 

Where  the  soldier  lav. 

To  bloody  grave. 

Chill  and  stiff,  and  drench  'd  with  rain. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Wishing  dawn  of  mom  again, 
Though  death  should  come  with  day. 

Our  airy  feet. 
So  light  and  fleet, 

II. 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye 

Tis  at  snch  a  tide  and  hour. 
Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 
And  ghastly  forms  through  mist  and  shower 

That  sinks  its  head  when  whirlwinds  rave. 
And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave, 
As  each  wild  gust  blows  by  ; 
But  still  the  corn. 

Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken  ; 

And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 
Drinks  whispers  strange  of  late  and  fear 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore, 

Presaging  death  and  ruin  near 
Among  the  sons  of  men  ;  — 
Apart  from  Albyn's  war-array, 
'1  was  then  grey  Allan  sleepless  lay  ; 

A  trampled  paste 
Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

V. 

Grey  Allan,  who.  for  many  a  day. 
Had  follow  'd  stout  and  stern, 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance. 

Where,  through  battle's  rout  and  reel, 
Storm  of  shot  and  hedge  of  steel, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 

Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 
Valiant  Fassiefern. 
Through  steel  and  shot  he  leads  no  more, 

To  bloody  grave, 
To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Low  laid  'mid  friends'  and  foemen's  gore  — 

Wheel  the  wild  dance  ! 

But  long  his  nutive  lake's  wild  shore, 

Brave  sons  of  France, 

And  Suhart  rough,  and  high  Ardgower, 

For  you  our  ring  makes  room  ; 

And  M.irvcn  long  shall  tell. 

Make  space  full  wide 

And  proud  Bennevis  hear  with  awe, 

For  martial  pride. 

How,  upon  blondy  Quatre-Bras, 

For  banner,  spear,  and  plume. 

Brave  Cameron  heard  the  wild  hurra 

Approach,  draw  near, 

Of  conquest  as  he  fell.' 

Proud  cuirassier  ! 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel  ! 

III. 

Through  crest  and  plate 

'Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host, 
The  weary  sentinel  held  post. 

The  broadsword's  weight 
Both  head  and  heart  shall  feel. 

And  heard,  through  darkness  far  aloof. 

The  frequent  clang  of  courser's  hoof. 

VI. 

Where  held  the  cloak'd  patrol  their  course. 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 

And  spurr'd  'gainst  storm  the  swerving  horse  ; 
But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear, 

While  lightnings  glance. 
And  thunders  rattle  loud, 

Patrol  nor  sentinel  may  hear. 

And  call  the  brave 

And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 

To  bloody  grave, 

Invisible  to  them  have  pnss'd, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

2  See  mite,  Marmlon,  canto  T.,  >uniu  24,  25,  2>i,  and 

1  See  note,  mute,  p.  424. 

Appendix,  Note  4  A.,  p.  14». 

LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       547 


Sons  of  the  spear ! 
You  feel  us  near 

In  many  a  ghastly  dream ; 
With  fancy's  eye 
Our  forms  you  spy. 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 
With  clearer  siahr. 
Ere  tails  the  night, 

Just  wheu  to  weal  or  woe 
Your  disembodied  souls  take  flight 
On  trembling  wins;— each  siartled  sprite 

Our  choir  of    eath  shall  know. 

VII. 

"Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Burst,  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  showers, 
Redder  rain  shall  soon  lie  ours — 

See  the  east  grows  wan — 
Yield  we  place  to  sterner  game. 
Ere  deadlier  holts  and  direr  flatne 
Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame. 
Elemental  rage  is  lame 

To  the  wrath  of  man." 

VIII. 

At  morn,  grey  Allan's  mates  with  awe 
Heard  of  the  vision'd  sights  he  saw, 

The  legend  heard  him  say: 
But  the  >eer's  gifted  eye  was  dim, 
Deafen'd  his  ear.  and  stark  his  limb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day- 
He  sleeps  far  from  his  Highland  heath, — 
But  often  uf  the  Dance  of  Death 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale, 
On  picquet-post.  when  ehlis  the  night, 
And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright, 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 


Romance  of  Bunots. 


FROM  THE  FREMCH. 


1816. 

The  original  of  this  little  Romance  makes 
part  of  a  manuscript  collection  of  French 
Songs,  probably  compiled  by  some  young  offi- 
cer. "wh«;h  was  found  on  the  field  of"  Waterloo, 
no  much  stained  with  clay  and  with  blood,  as 
sufficiently  to  indicate  the  fate  of  its  late 
owner  The  song  is  popular  in  France,  and 
is  rather  a  good  specimen  of  the  style  of  com- 
position to  which  it  belongs.  The  translation 
is  strictly  literal. 

It  was  Dunois.  the  young  and  brave,  was  bound 

for  Palestine,  ' 
But  first  he  made  his  orisons  before  St.  Mary's 

shrine: 
"  And  gran',  immortal  Queen  of  Heaveu,"  was 

still  the  Soldier's  prayer, 
"That  I  may  prove  the  bravest   knight,  and 

love  the  fairest  fair." 


His  oath  of  honour  on  the  shrine  he  graved  it 

with  his  sword. 
And  follow'd  to  the  Holy  Land  the  banner  of 

his  Lord  ; 
Where,  faithful  to  his  noble  vow,  his  war-cry 

tili'd  the  air, 
"Be  lumour'd  aye  the  bravest  knight,  beloved 

the  fairest  fair." 

They  owed  the  conquest  to  his  arm,  and  then 

his  Liege-Lord  .said. 
"  The  heart  that  has  for  honour  beat  by  bliss 

must  he  :epaid. — 
My    daughter  Isabel    and    tliou    shall    be  a 

wedded  pair. 
For  thou  art  bravest  of  the  brave,  she  fairest 

of  the  fair." 

And   then   they  bound  the  holy  knot  before 

Saint  Mary's  shrine, 
That  makes  a  paradise  on  earth,  if  hearts  and 

hands  combine : 
And  every  lord  and  lady  bright,  that  were  in 

chapel  tht-re, 
Cried,    "  Honour'd    be    the    bravest    knight, 

beloved  the  fairest  fair !" 


2Tf)e  STroubatrour. 


FROM  THE  SAME  COLLECTION. 


1815. 


Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

A  Troubadour  that  hated  sorrow, 
Beneath  his  Lady's  window  came. 

And  thus  he  sung  hi.--  lasl  good-morrow: 
•'  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  true-love's  bower ; 
Gaily  for  love  and  fame  to  fight 

Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour." 

And  while  he  march'd  with  helm  on  head 

And  harp  in  hand,  the  descant  rung, 
As.  faithful  to  his  favourite  maid, 

The  minstrel-burden  still  he  sung: 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower  ; 
Resolved  fur  love  and  fame  to  fight, 

I  come,  a  gallant  Troubadour." 

Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep, 

With  dauntless  heart  he  hewed  his  way, 
'Mid  splintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 

And  .still  was  heard  his  warrior-lay: 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right. 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight. 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour.'' 

Alas !  upon  the  bloody  field 

He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive, 
But  still  reclining  on  his  shield. 

Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave  :— 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right. 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  nnd  fame  to  fall  in  fight 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 


548                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                           '\ 

JFtom  tlje  jFrenci). 

We  forset  each  contention  of  civil  dissension, 
And  hail,  like  our  brethren,  Home,  Douglas, 
and  Car  : 
And    Elliot    and    Pringle    in    pastime    shall 
mingle. 
As  welcome  in  peace  as  their  fathers  in  ! 
war. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

Then  strip,  lads,  and   to  it,  though  sharp  be 
the  weather. 
And  if,  by  mischance,  you  should  happen 
to  fall, 
There  are  worse  things  in  life  than  a  tumble 
on  heather. 
And  life  is  itself  but  a  game  at  foot-  ball. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  <fcc. 

And  when  it  is  over,  we'll  drink  a  blithe 
measure 
To  each  l.aird  and  each  Ladv  that  witness'd 
our  fun. 
And  to  every  blithe  heart  that  took  part  in  our 
pleasure. 
To  the  lads  that  have  lost  and  the  lads  that 
have  won. 
'1  hen  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

May  the  Forest  still  flourish,  both  Borough 
and  l.aud-wurd. 
From   the   hall   of  the  Peer  to  the   herd's 
ingle-nook  ; 
And  huzza  !  my  brave  hearts,  for  Buccleuch 
and  his  standard. 
For  the  King  and  the  Country,  the  Clan, 
and  the  Duke  ! 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan 
her, 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and 
more; 
In  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her. 
With  heart  and  with  hand,  hke  our  fathers 
before. 

1815. 

It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season. 
By  Fancy  urged,  resolved  to  wed, 
But  could  not  settle  whether  Reason 
Or  Folly  should  partake  his  bed. 

What  does  he  then?—  Upon  my  life, 
''('was  had  example  for  a  deity- 
He  Hikes  me  Reason  fur  a  wife. 
And  Folly  for  his  hours  of  gaiety. 

Though  thus  he  dealt  in  petty  treason, 
He  loved  them  both  in  equal  measure; 
Fidelity  was  horn  of  Reason, 
And  'Folly  brought  to  bed  of  Pleasure. 

Sons, 

ON  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  BANNER  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  BUCCLEDCH,  AT  A  GREAT  FOOT-BALL 
MATCH  ON  CARTKKHAUGH.  1 

1815. 

From  the  brown  crest  of  Newark  its  sum- 
mons extending. 
Our   signal   is  waving   in   smoke   and   in 
flame  : 
And  each  forester  blithe,  from  his  mountain 
descending:. 
Bounds  light  o'er  the  heather  to  join  in  the 
game. 

CHOBUS. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan 
her. 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and 
more  ; 
In  iport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her. 
With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers 
before. 

When  the  Southern  invader  spread  waste  and 
disorder. 
At  the  glance  of  her  crescents  he  paused 
and  withdrew, 
For  around  them  were  marshall'd  the  pride 
of  the  Border. 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest,  the  Bands  of 
Bucclench. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

A  Stripling's  weak  hand-  to  our  revel  has 
borne  her, 
No  mail-glove  has  grasp'd  her,  no  spearmen 
surround  ; 
But  ere  ahold  foeman  should  scathe  or  should 
scorn  her, 
A  thousand  true  hearts  would  be  cold  on  the 
ground. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  <fcc. 

iLullabw  of  an  Enfant  Cjjfef. 

Air  —  "  Cadtd  gu  la."  3 
1815. 

I. 

O,  hush    thee,  my   bahie,  thy   sire    was   a  ! 
knight, 
Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovely  and  bright; 
The  woods  and   the  glens,  from  the  towers 
which  we  see. 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  hahie,  to  thee. 
O  ho  ro.  i  ri  n,  radul  gu  lo, 
O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  <tc. 

II. 
O,  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows. 
It  calls  but  the  warders  thai  guard  thy  repwe  ; 

1  The  foot-hull  ro.teh  011  which  thin  .0113  wa«  written 
took  place  on  December  6,  1S13,  and  WM  al«o  rrlrbraled  by 
the   E'lrjck  Shrpberd.     See   Lij't  cf  SaM,  vgl.  T.  HI,  111, 

3  The  bearer  of   the  •lajidani  was  the  Author'*  eldest 
3  "Sleep  on  till  day."    These  word*,  adapted  tc  a  melody 
Mr.  Terry'«  Jrama  of  ••  Guy  M/uuer'ing*"  ""* 

LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     549 


Their  bows  would   be   beaded,  their  blades 

would  be  red. 
Ere  the  step  of  a  foeinan  draws  near  to  thy 

bed. 

0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &.C. 

in. 

O.  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  soon  will 

come, 
When  tliy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet 

and  drum; 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while 

you  may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,  and  waking 

with  day. 

0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &o. 


from 


(1.)  SONGS  OF  MEG  MERRILIES. 


NATIVITY  OF  HARRY  BERTRAM. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit; 

Is  I  lie  lady  lighter  yet  1 

Be  it  tod,  or  he  it  lass. 

Sign  wi'  cross,  and  sain  wi'  mass. 

Trefoil,  vervain,  John's-wort.  dill, 
Hinders  witches  of  their  will; 
Weel  is  them,  that  wei-I  may 
Fast  upon  St.  Andrew's  day. 

Saint  Bride  and  her  brat. 
Saint  C'olnie  and  her  cat, 
Saint  Michael  aud  his  spear. 
Keep  the  house  frae  reif  and  wear. 

Chap  iii. 


"TWIST  YE,  TWINE  YE." 

Twist  ye.  twine  ye !  even  so. 
Mingle  shades  of  joy  and  woe, 
Hope,  and  fear,  and  peace,  and  strife. 
In  the  thread  of  human  life. 

While  the  mystic  twist  is  spinning, 
And  the  infant's  life  beginning. 
Dimly  seen  through  twilight  bending, 
Lo,  what  varied  shapes  attending! 

Passions  wild,  and  follies  v:iin, 
Pleasures  soon  exchanged  for  pain  ; 
Doubt,  and  jealousy,  and  fear. 
In  the  magic  dance  appear. 

Now  they  wax.  and  now  they  dwindle, 
Whirling  with  the  whirling  spindle. 
Twist  ye.  twine  ye!  even  so, 
Mingle  human  bliss  and  woe. 

Ibid. 


THE  DYING  GIPSY  SMUGGLER. 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay, 
Wrestling  thus  with  earth  and  clay? 
From  the  body  pass  away  ; — 

Hark  !  the  mass  is  singing. 
From  thee  doff  thy  mortal  weed, 
Mary  Mother  he  thy  speed, 
Saints  to  help  thee  at  thy  need ; — 

Hark !  the  knell  is  ringing. 
Fear  not  snow-drift  driving  fast, 
Sleet,  or  hail,  or  levin  blast ; 
Soon  the  shroud  shall  laii  thee  fast, 
And  the  sleep  be  on  thee  cast 

That  shall  ne'er  know  waking. 
Haste  thee.  haste  thee,  to  he  gone. 
Earth  flits  fast,  and  time  draws  on, — 
Gasp  thy  gasp,  and  groan  thy  groan, 

Day  is  near  the  breaking. 

"  The  songstress  paused,  and  was  answered 
by  one  or  two  deep  and  hollow  groans,  that 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  very  agony  of  the 
mortal  strife.     'It  will  not  be,' she  muttered 
to  herself.     •  He  cannot  pass  away  with  that 
on  his  mind ;  it  tethers  him  here. 
Heaven  cannot  abide  it; 
Kanh  refuses  to  hide  it. 
I  must  open  the  door.' 

" She  lifted  the  latch,  saying, 

'  Open  locks,  end  strife. 
Come  death,  and  pass  life.'" 

Chap,  xxvii. 


THE  PROPHECY. 

The  dark  shall  be  light. 

And  the  wrong  made  right, 

When  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 

Shall  meet  on  Kllangowan's  height. 

Chap.  xli. 


(2.)  SONGS  OF  DIRK  HATTERAICK 
AND  GLOSSIN. 

"'And  now  I  have  brought  you  some  break- 
fast.' said  Glossin,  producing  some  cold  meat 
and  a  flask  of  spirits.  The  latter  Hat  teraick 
eagerly  seized  upon,  and  applied  to  his  mouth  : 
and,  after  a  hearty  draught,  he  exclaimed  with 
great  rapture. '  Das  schmeckt ! — That  is  good 
— that  warms  the  liver !' — Then  broke  into  the 
fragment  of  a  High-Dutch  song:" — 

Sanfen  bier,  und  brante-wein. 

Sehmeissen  alle  die  fenstern  ein; 

Ich  ben  liederhch, 

Dn  hist  liederlinh, 

Sind  wir  uicht  liederhch  leute  a. 

" '  Well  said,  my  hearty  Captain  !*  cried 
Glossin,  endeavouring  to  catch  the  toue  of 
revelry," — 

Gin  by  pailfuls,  wine  in  rivers. 

Dash  the  window-glass  to  shivers ! 

For  three  wild  lads  were  we,  brave  boys. 

And  three  wild  lads  were  we  ; 

Thou  on  the  land,  and  I  on  the  sand. 

And  Jack  on  the  gallows-tree  ! 

Chap,  xxxiv. 


550                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Oh  !  would  it  had  been  so,—  not  then  this  poor 

heart 

£jjc  Return  to  ©Isrtcr. 

Had  learn'd  the  sad  lesson,  to  love  and   i) 
part; 

To  bear,  unassisted,  its  burthen  of  care. 

While  I  toil'd  for  the  wealth  I  had  no  one  to 

1816. 

share. 

Not  then  had  I  said,  when  life's  summer  was 

done. 

Once  again.  —  but  how  changed  since  my  wan- 

And  the  hours  of  her  autumn  were  fast  speed- 

d'nngs  began  — 
I  have  heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  Lagan  and 

"Take  the  fame  and  the  riches  ye  brought  in 
your  train. 

Batm. 
And  the  pines  of  Clanbrassil  resound  to  the 
roar 

And  restore  me  the  dream  of  my  spring-tide 
again." 

That  wearies  the  echoes  of  fair  Tnllamore. 

Alas!  mv  poor  bosom,  and  why  shouldst  thou 

bum? 

With  the  scenes  of  my  youth  can  its  raptures 

'JInrfe  of  IBatclliEan 

return? 

J/UltV     Ul     /Z~  u  >i  I  U  I  (    .1* 

Can  1  live  the  dear  life  of  delusion  again. 
That  flow'd  when  these  echoes  first  inu'd  with 

Air—  A  Border  Melody. 

my  strain? 
It  was  then  that  around  me,  though  poor  and 

1816. 

unknown. 

High  spells  of  mysterious  enchantment  were 

The  first  stanza  of  this  Ballad  is  ancient. 

thrown; 
The  streams  were  of  silver,  of  diamond  the 
dew. 

The  others  were  written  for  Mr.  Campbell's 
Albyn's  Anthology. 

The  land  was  an  Eden,  for  fancy  was  new. 



I  had  heard  of  our  bards,  and  my  soul  was  on 

I. 

fire 

At  the  rush  of  their  verse,  and  the  sweep  of 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ? 

their  Ivre  : 
To  me  'twas  not  legend,  nor  tale  to  the  ear. 
But  a  vision  of  noontide,  distinguished  and 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride  : 

clear. 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

j»ae  comely  to  be  seen"  — 

Oltonia's  old  heroes  awoke  at  the  call. 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

And  renew'd  the  wild  pomp  of  the  chase  and 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

the  ball  ; 
And  the  standard  of  Fion  flash'd  fierce  from 

II. 

on  high. 
Like  a  burst  of  the  sun  when  the  tempest  is 
nigh.* 

"Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done, 
And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale  : 

It  seem'd  that  the  harp  of  green  Erin  once 
more 

Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 
And  lord  of  Langley-dale  ; 

Could  renew  all  the  glories  she  boasted  of 

His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

__e  

His  sword  in  battle  keen"  — 

Yet  why  at  remembrance,  fond  heart,  shouldst 
thou  burn? 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 
For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

They  were  days  of  delusion,  and  cannot  re- 
turn. 

111. 

But  was  she,  too,  a  phantom,  the  Maid  who 

"  A  chain  of  gold  ve  sail  not  lack, 
Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair; 

stood  by. 
And  listed  my  lay,  while  she  turn'd  from  mine 

Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk. 
Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair  ; 

eye  ? 
Was  she.  too.  a  vision,  jusr  glancing  to  view. 
Then  dispersed  in  the  sunbeam,  or  melted  to 
dew  ? 

And  you.  the  foremost  o'  them  a', 
Shall  ride  our  forest  queen"  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

Oh!  would  it  had  been  so,  —  Oh!  would  that 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

her  eye 
Had  been  hot  a  star-glance  that  shot  through 

IV. 

the  skv. 
And  her  voice  that  was  moulded  to  melody's 

The  kirk  was  deck'd  at  moming-tide, 
The  tapers  glimmer'd  fair; 

thrill, 
Had  lieen  but  a  zephyr,  that  sigh'd  and  was 

The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 
And  ilaine  and  knisiit  are  there. 

still  ! 

They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha'  ; 

1  In  ancient  Irish  poetry,  the  standard  of  Fion,  or  Fmgal, 
is  called  the  Sim-btirit,  an  epithet  feebly  rendered  by  the 
Sim-taw  of  Marphersoc. 

The  ladie  was  not  seen  ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa1 
Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.      551 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come  ; 

See  how  they  gather  ! 

13it>roc1)  of  SonnlTJ  IDlnt. 

Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume, 
Blended  with  heather. 

Air  —  "  Probair  of  Donald  Dhu"  1 

Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 
Forward  each  man  set  ! 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 

1816. 

Knell  for  the  onset  ! 

This  is  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belonging  to 
Clan-MucDonald.  and  supposed  to  refer  to  the 

iota's  Voto. 

expedition  of  Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  1431, 

launched  from  the  Isles  with  a  considerable 

Air—"  CAa  teid  mis  a  chaoidh."  ' 

force,  invaded    Lochabar.  and   at   Inverlochy 
1  defeated  and  put  to   flight  the  Earls  of  Mar 

WRITTEN  FOR  ALBYN'S  ANTHOLOOlf. 

and  Caithness,  though  at  the  head  of  an  army 



I  superior  to  his  own.    The  words  of  the  set. 

1816. 

theme,  or  melody,  to  which  the  pipe  variations 

are  applied,  run  thus  in  Gaelic  :  — 

In  the  original  Gaelic,  the  Lady  makes  pro- 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil   Dhuidh,  piobaireachd 

testations  that  she  will  not  go  with  the  Red 
Earl's  son,  until  the  swan  should  build  in  the 

Dhitnuil  ; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd 

cliff,  and   the  eagle   in  the  lake  —  until   one 
mountain  should  change  places  with  another. 

Dhonuil  ; 
Piobaireachd    Dhonuil   Dhuidh,  piobaireachd 

Dhonuil  • 

and  so  forth.     It  is  but  fair  to  add,  that  there 
is  no  authority  for  supposing  that  she  altered 

Piob  agus  biatach  air  faiche  Inverlochi. 

her   mind  —  except   the  vehemence   of  her 

The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 

protestation. 

The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 

The   war-pipe   and  the   pennon   are   on   the 

I. 

gatheriug-piace  at  Inverloehy." 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said,  — 

"  The  Earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed. 

Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

And  none  be  left  hut  he  and  I. 
For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear. 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 

And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near. 

Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

That  ever  valour  lost  or  won, 

Summon  Clan-Conuil. 

I  would  nut  wed  the  Earlie's  son."  — 

Come  away,  come  away, 

Hark  to  the  summons! 

II. 

Come  in  your  war  array. 
Gentles  and  commons. 

"  A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Call  urn  spoke, 
"  Are  lightly  made  and  lightly  broke  ; 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

The  heather  on  the  mounlain's  height 
Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light; 

From  mountain  so  rocky, 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 
Are  at  Inverlochy. 

The  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 
That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae; 
Vet  Nora,  ere  its  bloom  be  gone, 

Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 
True  heart,  that  wears  one, 

May  blithely  wed  the  Earlie's  son."  — 

Come  every  steel-blade,  and 

III. 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

"The   swan,"   she   said,   "the   lake's   clear 

breast 

Leave  untended  the  herd. 
The  flock  without  shelter; 

May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest  ; 
The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turu, 

Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

Beu-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilchurn; 

The  bride  at  the  altar; 

Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high, 

Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly  ; 

I^ave  nets  and  barges  : 

But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done. 

Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Would  never  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

IV. 

Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Forests  are  rended  ; 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild-swan  made  ; 

Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Ben-Crnaiclian  stands  as  fast  as  ever. 

Navies  are  stranded  : 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  rivrr; 

Faster  come,  faster  cume, 

To  sunn  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel, 

Faster  and  faster, 

No  Highland  brogue  h;is  turn'd  the  heel  ; 

Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom, 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won, 

Tenant  and  muster. 

—She's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son  ! 

>  "The  pibroch   ,<  Donald  the  Black."    Thin  mug  wu 

3  Compare  thin  with  the  gatheriag-toiig  iu  the  third  canto 

written  for  Campbell'*  Alliyu's  Anthology,  1616. 

or  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  ante. 

3  "  1  win  never  go  with  him." 

652                    SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

^Hncgregor's  (Gatjjrrfng. 

Air  —  "  Thain'  a  Grigalach."  1 

WRITTEN  FOB  ALBYN'3  ANTHOLOGY. 

And  the  rocks  of  Craig-Royston  3  like  icicles 
melt. 
Ere  our  wrongs  be  forgot,  or  our  vengeance 
unfelt  ! 
Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach  ! 
Gather,  gather,  gainer,  <tc. 

Verses, 

COMPOSED   FOR    THE    OCCASION,    ADAPTED    TO 
HAYDN'S  AIR, 

"  God  save  the  Emperor  Francis," 
AND    SUNG    BY    A    SELECT    BAND    AFTER    THE 
DINNER    GIVEN    BY    THE    LORD   PROVOST   OF 
EDINBURGH  TO  THE 
GRAND-DUKE  NICHOLAS  OF  RUSSIA, 
AND  HIS  SCITE.  19TH  DECEMBER,  1816. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander. 
Heaven  defend  the  noble  Czar, 
Mighty  Rn.-sm's  high  Commander, 
Firs?  in  Europe's  handed  war; 
Fur  the  realms  he  did  deliver 
From  the  tyrant  overthrown, 
Thou,  of  everv  good  the  Giver, 
Grant  him  long  to  bless  his  own  ! 
Bless  him.  'mid  his  Hind's  disaster, 
For  her  rights  who  battled  brave. 
Of  the  land  of  foemen  muster, 
Bless  him  who  their  wrongs  forgave. 

O'er  his  just  resentment  victor, 
Victor  over  Europe's  foes. 
Late  and  lung  supreme  director, 
Grant  in  pence  his  reian  may  close. 
Hail!  then,  hail  !  illustrious  stranger! 
Welcome  to  our  mountain  strnnd  : 
Mutual  interests,  hopes,  and  danger, 
Link  us  with  thy  nanve  land. 
Freemen's  force,  or  false  beguiling, 
Shall  that  union  ne'er  divide. 
Hand  in  hand  while  peace  is  smiling, 
And  in  battle  side  by  side.4 

jFrom  the  ^ntfquarg.  | 

1816. 

These  verses  are  adapted  to  a  very  wild,  yet 
lively  gathering-time,  used  hy  the  MacGregors. 
The  severe  treatment  (if  this  Clan,  their  out- 
lawry, and  the  proscription  of  their  very  name, 
are  alluded  to  in  the  Ballad.2 

The  moon  's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist  's  on  the 
brae. 
And  the  Clan  has  a  name  that  is  nameless  by 
day; 
Then  rather,  gather,  gather  Grigalach  ! 
Gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 

Our  signal  for  fight,  that  from  monarchs  we 
drew. 
Must  1*  heard  but  by  night  in  our  vengeful 
lialoo  ! 
Then   haloo,  Grigalach!   haloo,  Griga- 
lach! 
Haloo,  haloo,  haloo,  Grigalach,  &c. 

Glen  Orchy's  proud  mountains,  Coalchuirn  and 
her  towers. 
Glenstrae  and  Glenlyon  no  longer  are  ours: 
We're  landless,  landless,  landless,  Grig- 
slach! 
Landless,  landless,  landless,  &c. 
But  doom'd  and  devoted  hy  vassal  and  lord, 
MacGregor  has  still  both   his  heart  and  his 
sword  ! 
Then  courage,  courage,  courage,  Griga- 
lach ! 
Courage,  courage,  courage,  &c. 

If  they  rob  us  of  name,  and  pursue  ns  with 
beagles. 
Give  their  roofs  to  the  flame,  and  their  flesh  to 
the  eagles  ! 
Then  venseance,  vengeance,  vengeance, 
Grigalach  ! 
Vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  <fec. 

While  there's  leaves  in  the  forest,  and  foam 
on  the  river, 
MacGregor,  despite  them,  shall  flourish  for 
ever! 
Come  then,  Grigalach,  come  then,  Grig- 
alach, 
Came  then,  come  then,  come  then,  &c. 

Thrnnsh  the  depths  of  Loch  Katrine  the  steed 
shall  career. 
O'er  the  peak  of  Ben-Lomond  the  galley  shall 
steer. 

1816. 

(1.)  —  TIME 

"  The  window  of  a  turret,  which  projected 
at  an  angle  with  the  wall,  and  thus  came  to 
be   very   near   Lovel's   apartment,   was   half 
open,  and  from  that  quarter  hp  heard  ag;iin 
the  same  music  which  had  prohahlv  broken 
short  his  dream     vvit.li  its  visionary  character 
it  had  lost  much  of  its  charms  —  it  was  now 
nothing  more  than  an  air  on  the  harpsichord, 
tolerably  well  performed  —  such  is  the  caprice 

1  "  The  MarGregor  ia  come  " 
9  For  Ibe  biwory  of  the  clan,  «ee  Introduction  to  Rut 
Rai,  Wnirlf,  Ka,el,. 
3  "  Rob  Roy  Mnc-Gregor's  own  d*«ignation  wan  of  Inner- 
•nail  :  bnt  be  appears  to  hare  acquired  a  right  of  tome  kind 
or  otker  to  tfte  property  or  potieaio*  of  Craig-Roj'aton,  a 
domain  of  rock  and  foreat,  lying  on  the  east  ude  of  Loch 
j   Lomond,  where  that  beautiful  lake  atretchea  into  the  dnsky 

mountain,  of   Glenfalloch."  —  iMrodnaion  to    Koo    Bet, 
Waterier  Xoteb. 

4  Mr  ,  afterward*  Sir  William  Arbnthnot,  the  Lord  Pro- 
vost of  Edinburgh,  who  had  tbe  honour  to  entertain  the 
Grand-Duke,   i.'-w   Emperor  of   Russia,   waa  a   permnal 
friend  of  Sir  Waller  Scott's  ;  and  thrae  Vertei,  with  their 
heading-,  are  now  given  from  the  newspaper:*  of  Iflfl. 

LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     553 


of  imagination  as  affecting  the  fine  arts.  A 
female  voice  suns,  with  some  taste  and  great 
simplicity,  something  between  a  son?  and  a 
hymn,  in  words  to  the  following  effect :" — 

"  Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hall, 
Thou  aged  carle  so  stern  and  grey  ? 

DOS'  thou  its  former  pride  recal. 
Or  ponder  how  it  pass'd  away?" — 

"Know'st  thou  not  me?"  the  Deep  Voice 
cried  ; 

"  So  long  enjoy'd,  so  oft  misused— 
Alternate,  in  thy  fickle  pride. 

Desired,  neglected,  and  accused! 

"  Before  my  breath,  like  blazing  flax, 
Man  and  his  marvels  pass  away ! 

And  changing  empires  wane  and  wax, 
Are  founded,  flourish,  and  decay. 

"  Redeem  mine  hours — the  space  is  brief- 
While  in  my  glass  the  sand-grains  shiver, 

And  measureless  thy  joy  or  grief. 
When  Time  and  thou  shall  part  for  ever!" 
Chap  I. 


(2.)  — EPITAPH  ON  JON  0'  YE  GIR- 
NELL. 

"  Beneath  an  old  oak-tree,  upon  a  hillock, 
lay  a  moss-grown  stone,  and,  in  memory  of 
the  dfparted  worthy,  it  bore  an  inscription,  of 
which,  as  Mr.  Oldbuck  affirmed, (though  many 
doubted.)  the  departed  characters  could  be 
distinctly  traced  to  the  following  effect:" — 

Heir  lyeth  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell, 
Krtii  has  ye  nit  and  heiien  ye  kirnell. 
In  hys  tyme  ilk  wyfe's  hennis  clokit. 
Ilka  end  manms  berth  wi'  bairms  was  stokit, 
He  deled  a  boll  o'  bear  in  firlottis  fyve, 
Four  for  ye  halie  kirke  and  ane  for  pure 
mennis  wyvis. 

Chap.  xi. 


(3.)  — ELSPETH'S  BALLAD. 

"  As  the  Antiquary  lifted  the  latch  of  the 
hut.  he  was  surprised  to  hear  the  shrill  tre- 
mulous voice  of Elspeth  chanting  forth  an  old 
ballad  in  a  wild  and  doleful  recitative  :" — 

The  herring  loves  the  merry  moon-light, 

The  mackerel  loves  the  wind. 
But  the  oyster  loves  the  dredging  sang, 

For  they  come  of  a  gentle  kind. 

Now  hand  your  tongue,  baith  wife  and  carle, 

And  listen  great  and  snm'. 
And  I  will  sing  of  Glenallan's  Earl 

That  fought  on  the  red  Harlaw. 

The  cronach's  cried  on  Bennachie, 

And  doun  the  Don  and  a'. 
And  hieland  and  lawland  may  mournfu'  be 

For  the  sair  field  of  Harlaw. 

Thev  saddled  a  hundred  milk-white  steeds, 
They  hae  bridled  a  hundred  black, 

With  a  chafron  of  steel  on  each  horse's  head, 
And  a  good  knight  upon  his  back. 


They  hadna  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 

A  mile  but  barely  ten. 
When  Donald  came  brunking  down  the  brae 

Wi'  twenty  thousand  men. 

Their  tartans  they  were  waving  wide, 
Their  glaives  were  glancing  clear. 

The  pibrochs  rung  frae  side  to  side, 
Would  deafen  ye  to  hear. 

The  great  Earl  in  his  stiTups  stood, 

That  Highland  host  to  see  : 
"  Now  here  a  knight  that's  stout  and  good 

May  prove  a  jeopardie  : 

"  What  would'st  thou  do,  my  squire  so  gay, 

That  rides  beside  my  reyne. — 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Karl  the  day, 

And  I  were  Koland  Cheyne? 

"To  turn  the  rein  were  sin  and  shame, 
To  fight  were  wond'rous  peril, — 

What  would  ye  do  now,  Koland  Cheyne, 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl?" — 

"  Were  I  Glenallan's  Earl  this  tide, 

And  ye  were  Koland  Cheyne. 
The  spear  should  be  in  my  horse's  side, 

And  the  bridle  upon  his  mane. 

"If  they  hae  twenty  thousand  blades. 

And  we  twice  ten  times  ten. 
Yet  they  hae  but  their  tartan  plaids, 

And  we  are  mail-clad  men. 

"  My  horse  shall  ride  through  ranks  sae  rude, 
'    As  through  the  moorland  fern, — 
Then  ne'er  let  the  gentle  Norman  blude 
Grow  cauld  for  Highland  kerue." 


He  turn'd  him  right  and  round  again, 

Said,  Scorn  na  at  my  mither; 
Light  loves  I  may  get  mony  a  ane, 

But  minnie  ne'er  anither. 

Chap.  xl. 


MOTTOES  IN  THE  ANTIQUARY. 

"The  scraps  of  poetry  which  have  been  in 
most  rases  tacked  to  the  beginning  of  chapters 
in  these  Novels,  are  sometimes  quoted  either 
from  reading  or  from  memory,  but,  in  the 
general  case,  are  pure  invention.  I  found  it 
too  troublesome  to  turn  to  the  collection  of 
the  British  Poets  to  discover  apposite  mottoes, 
and,  in  the  situation  of  the  theatrical  mecha- 
nist, who,  when  the  white  paper  which  repre- 
sented his  shower  of  snow  was  exhausted, 
continued  the  shower  by  snowing  brown.  I 
drew  on  my  memory  as  long  as  I  could,  and 
when  that  failed,  eked  it  out  with  invention. 
I  believe  that,  in  some  cases,  where  actual 
names  are  affixed  to  the  supposed  quotations, 
it  would  be  to  little  purpose  to  seek  them  in 
the  works  of  the  authors  referred  to.  In  some 
cases.  I  have  been  entertained  when  Or.  Watts 
and  other  Eraver  authors  have  been  ransacked 

I  in  vain  for  stanzas  for  which  the  novelist  alone 
was  responsible." — Introduction  to  Chronicles 

'<  of  the  Canongate. 


554 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1.  (I.)  — CHAP.  XXX. 

I  knew  Anselmo.    He  was  shrewd  and  pru-  who  i«  he  ?  —  One  that  for  the  lack  of  land 

dent,  Shall  fight  upon  the  water— he  hath  challenged 

Wisdom  and  cunning  had  their  shares  of  him  ;  Formerly  the  grand  whale ;  and  by  his  titles 


But  he  was  shrewish  as  a  wayward  child. 


And  phased  again  by  toys 
please; 


childhood 


As — hook  of  fables  graced  with  print  of  wood, 
Or  else  the  jinsling  of  a  rusty  medal. 
Or  the  rare  melody  of  some  old  ditty. 
That  first  was  sung  to  please  King  Pepin's 
cradle. 

(2.)— CHAP.  IX. 

"  Be  nrave,"  she  cried,  "you  yet  may  be  our 

guest. 

Our  haunted  room  was  ever  held  the  best : 
If.  then,  your  valour  can  the  fight  sustain 
Of  rustling  curtains,  and  the  clinking  chain; 
If  your  courageous  tongue   have  powers  to 

"  talk. 
When  round  your  bed  the  horrid  ghost  shall 

walk: 

If  you  dare  ask  it  why  it  leaves  its  tomb, 
I'll  see  your  sheets  well  air'd,  and  show  the 

room."  True  Story. 

(S.)— CHAP.  xi. 
Sometimes  he  thinks  that  Heaven  this  vision 

sent, 

And  onler'd  all  the  pageants  as  they  went; 
Sometimes  that  only  'twas  wild  Fancy's  play, — 
The  loose  and  scat'ter'd  relics  of  the  day. 

(4.)— CHAP.  XII. 

Beggar! — the  only  freemen  of  your  Common- 
wealth ; 

Free  above  Scot-free,  that  observe  no  laws, 

Obey  no  governor,  use  no  religion 

But  what  they  draw  from  their  own  ancient 
customs, 

Or  constitute  themselves,  yet  they  are  no  re- 
bels. Brume. 
(5.)— CHAP.  XIX. 

Here  has  been  such  a  stormy  encounter. 
Betwixt  my  cousin  Captain,  and  this  soldier, 
About  I  know  not  what !— nothing,  indeed ; 
Competitions,  degrees,  and  comparatives 

Of  soldiership ! A  Faire  Quarrel. 

(6.)  — CHAP.  xx. 

If  you  fail  honour  here, 

Never  presume  to  serve  her  any  more ; 

Bid  farewell  to  the  integrity  of' arms. 

And  the  honourable  name  of  soldier 

Fall  from  you.  like  a  shiver'd  wreath  of  laorel 

By  thunder  struck  from  a  desert  lesse  fore- 


head. 


A  Faire  Quarrel. 


(7.)  — CHAP.  XXI. 

The  Lord  Abbot  had  a  soul 

Subtile  and  quick,  and  searching  as  the  fire : 
By  magic  stairs  he  went  as  deep  as  hell, 
And  if  in  devils'  possession  gold  be  kept. 
He  brought  some  sure  from  thence — 'tis  hid  in 
caves. 

Known,  save  to  me,  to  none 

The  Wonder  of  a  Kingdoms. 

(».)—  CHAP,  xxvil. 

>fany  great  ones 

Would  part  with  half  their  states,  to  have  the 

plan 
And  credit  to  beg  in  the  first  style. — 

Beggar's  Bush. 


Of  1  eviathan,  Behemoth,  and  so  forth. 
He  tilted  with  a  sword-fish  —  .Marry,  sir, 
Th'  aquatic  had  the  best  —  the  argument 


Still  galls  our  champion's  breech. 

(10.)  — CHAP.  XXXI. 


Old  Play. 


Tell   me  not  of  it,  friend  —  when  the  young 
weep, 

Their  tears  are  lukewarm  brine; — from  our 
old  eyes 

Sorrow  fails  down   like  hail-drops  of  the 
North. 

Chilling  the  furrows  of  our  wither'd  cheeks. 

Cold  as  our  hopes,  and  hardened  as  our  feel- 
ing— 

Theirs,  as  they  fall,  sink  sightless  —  onrs  re- 
coil. 

Heap  the  fair  plain,  and  blenken  all  before  us. 

Old  Play. 
(11  )  — CHAP.  XXXIII. 

Remorse  —  she  ne'er  forsakes  us !  — 

A  bloodhound  stanch  — she  tracks  our  rapid 

step 

Through  the  wild  labyrinth  of  youthful  frenzy, 
L'nheard,  perchance,  until  old  age  hath  tamed 

us; 
Then  in  our  lair,  when  Time  hath  chill'd  our 

joints. 

And  maim'd  our  hope  of  combat,  or  of  flight. 
We  hear  her  deep-mouth'd  bay,  announcing 

all. 
Of  wrath  and  woe  and  punishment  that  hides 

us.  Old  Play. 

(H.)  —  CHAP.  XXXIV. 

Still   in  his  dead   hand   clench'd  remain  the 

strings 
That  thrill   his  father's  heart  —  e'en  as  the 

limb, 
Lopp'd  off  and  laid  in  grave,  retains,  they  tell 

us. 

Strange  commerce  with  the  mutilated  stump. 
Whose  nerves  are  twinging  still  in  maim'd 

existence.  Old  Play. 

(is.)  — CHAP.  xxxv. 

Life,  with  you. 

Glows  in  the  brain  and  dances  in  the  arteries ; 
Tis  like  the  wine  some  joyous  guest  hath 

qnaffd. 

That  glads  the  heart  and  elevates  the  fancy  :— 
Mine  is  the  poor  residuum  of  the  cup. 
Vapid,  and  dull,  and  tasteless,  only  soiling 
With  its  base  dregs  the  vessel  that  contains  .t. 

Old  Play. 

(M.)— CHAP.  XXXVII. 

Yes !  I  love  Justice  well — as  well  as  you  do — 
But,  since  the  good  dame  's  blind,  she  shall 

excuse  me, 

ff,  time  and  reason  fitting,  I  prove  dumb ;  — 
The  breath  I  utter  now  shall  be  no  means 
To  take  away  from  me  my  breath  in  future. 
Old  Play. 

(15.)— CHAP.  XXXVin. 

Well,  well,  at  worst,  'tis  neither  theft  nor 

coinage. 

Granting  1  knew  all  that  you  charge  me  with. 
What,  tho'  the  tomb  hath  born  a  second  birth, 
And  given  the  wealth  to  one  that  knew  not 

on't 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       556 


Yet  fair  exchange  was  never  robbery. 

Far  less  pure  bounty Old  Play. 

(i«.)  —CHAP.  XL. 
Life   ehbs  from  such  old  age,  unmark'd  am 

silent. 
As  tlie   slow  neap-tide   leaves  yon  strandec 

galley.— 

r.a»e  she  roo.k'd  merrily  at  the  least  impulse 
That  wind  or  wave  could  give  ;  but  now  her 

keel 

Is  settling  on  the  sand,  her  mast  has  ta'en 
An  angle  with  the  sky,  from  which  it  shifts 

not.. 

Each  wave  receding  shakes  her  less  and  less 
Till,  bedded  on  the  strand,  she  shall  remain 
Useless  and  motionless.  Old  flay. 

(17.)— CHAP.  XLI. 

So.  while  the  Goose,  of  whom  the  fable  told. 
Incumbent,  brooded  o'er  her  eses  of  gold. 
With  hand  outstrelch'd  impatient  to  destroy, 
>tole  on  her  secret  nest  the  cruel  Boy. 
Whose  gripe  rapacious  changed  her  splendid 

dream. 
For  wings    vain    fluttering,  and    for    dying 

scream.          The  Loves  of  the  Sea-weeds. 

(18.)  —  CHAP.  XLH. 

Let  those  go  see  who  will  —  I  like  it  not  — 
For.  sav  lie  was  a  slave  to  rank  and  pomp, 
And  all  the  nothings  he  is  now  divorced  from 
By  the  hard  doom  of  stern  necessity ; 
Yet  is  it  sad  to  mark  his  alter'd  brow, 
Where  Vanity  adjusts  her  flimsy  veil 
O'er  the  deep  wrinkles  of  repentant  Anguish 

Old  Ptay. 
(19.)— CHAP.  XLIII. 

Fortune,  you    say,  flies    from   us — She    but 

circles. 
Like    the   fleet    sea-bird   round   the   fowler's 

skiff,— 

Lost  m  the  mist  one  moment,  anil  the  next 
Brushing  the  white  sail  with  her  whiter  wing. 
As  if  to  court  the  aim. —  Experience  watches, 

And  has  her  on  the  weeL Old  Play. 

(».)—  CHAP.  XLIV. 

Nay.  if  she  love  me  not,  I  care  not  for  her : 
Shall  I  look  pale  because  the  maiden  blooms? 
Or  sigh  because    she  smiles — and  smiles  on 

others! 

Nnt  I,  by  Heaven  ! — I  hold  my  peace  too  dear, 
To  let  it,  like  the  plume  upon  her  cap. 
Shake   at  eacli   nod   that   her  caprice    shall 

dictate.  Old  Plat. 

["  It  may  be  worth  noting,  that  it  was  in  cor- 
recting the  proof  sheeis  of  The.  Antiquary  that 
Scott  first  took  to  equipping  his  chapters  with 
mottoes  of  his  own  fabrication.  On  one  occa- 
sion he  happened  to  ask  John  Bullantvne,  who 
was  sitting  bv  him.  to  hunt  for  a  particular 
passage  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  John  did 
as  he  was  bid.  but  did  not  succeed  in  discover- 
ing the  lines  '  Hang  it.  Jnhanine.'  cried  Scott, 
'I  believe  I  can  make  a  motto  sooner  than  yon 
will  find  one.'  He  did  so  accordingly;  and 
from  that  hour,  whenever  memory  failed  to 
suggest  an  appropriate  epigraph,  he  hail  re- 
course to  the  inexhaustible  mines  of  'otil  plai/' 
or  •  old  ball/id.'  to  which  we  owe  some  of  the 
most  exquisite  verses  that  ever  flowed  from  his 
pen." — Life,  vol.  v.,  p.  145. 


jFrom  the  Blacfe  Stoart 


MOTTOES. 

(1  )  —  CHAP.  V. 

The  bleakest  rock  upon  the  loneliest  heath 
Feels,  in  its  barrenness,  some  touch  of  spring ; 
And,  in  the  April  dew,  or  beam  of  May, 
Its  moss  and  lichen  freshen  and  revive ; 
And   thus   the   heart,  most  sear'd  to  human 

pleasure, 

Melts  at  the  tear,  joys  in  the  smile  of  woman. 
Beaumont. 

(2.)  — CHAP.  XVI. 

•Twas  time  and  griefs 


That  framed  him  thus:  Time,  with  his  fairer 

hand. 

Offering  the  fortunes  of  his  firmer  days. 
The  former  man  may  make  him — Bring  us  to 

him. 
And  chance  it  as  it  may.  Old  Play. 


(1.)  — MAJOR  BELLENDEN'S  SONG. 

And  what  though  winter  will  pinch  severe 
Through  locks  of  grey  and  a  cloak  that's 
old. 

Yet  keep  up  thy  heart,  bold  cavalier, 
For  a  cup  of  sack  shall  fence  the  cold. 

For  time  will  rust  the  brightest  blade, 
And  years  will  break  the  strongest  bow; 

Was  never  wight  so  starkly  made, 
But  time  and  years  would  overthrow  ? 

. .  - .  Ckap.  xix. 


(2.)— VERSES  FOUND  IN  BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 

With  these    letters  was  a  lock  of   hair 
wrapped  in  a  copy  of  verses,  written  obviously 
tn    a    feeling   which    atoned,  in   Morton's 
opinion,  for  the   numbness  of  the  poetry,  and 
the  conceits  with  which  it  abounded,  accord- 
ing to  the  taste  of  the  period :" — 
Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright, 
As  in  that  well-reiriemherd  nistit, 
When  first  that  mystic  braid  WHS  wove, 
And  first  my  Agnes  whisper'd  love. 

Since  then  how  often  hast  thon  press'd 
The  torrid  zone  of  this  wild  breast, 
Whose  wrath  and  hate  have  sworn  to  dwell 
With  the  first  sin  that  peopled  hell. 
A  breast  whose  blood  's  a  troubled  ocean, 
Each  throb   the   earthquake's  wild   commo- 
tion !  — 

O.  if  such  clime  thou  canst  endure. 
Yet  keep  thy  hue  uustain'd  and  pure. 


556 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


What  conquest  o'er  each  errine  thought 

Of  that  fierce  realm  had  Agnes  wrought! 

I  had  not  waniier'd  wild  and  wide, 

With  such  an  angel  for  my  guide  ; 

Nor  heaven  nor  earth  could  then  reprove  me 

If  she  had  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Not  then  this  world's  wild  joys  had  been 
To  me  one  savage  hunting  scene, 
My  sole  delight  the  headlong  race, 
Arid  frantic  hurry  of  the  chase ; 
To  start,  pursue,  and  bring  to  bay. 
Rush  in,  drag  down  and  rend  my  prey. 
Then  —  from  the  carcase  turn  away! 
Mine  ireful  mood  had  sweetness  tamed. 
And   soothed   each   wound    which    pride 

inflamed ! 

Yes,  God  and  man  might  now  approve  me, 
If  thou  hadst  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Chap,  xxiii. 


(3.)  — EPITAPH  ON  BALFOUR  OP 
BURLEY. 

"Gentle  reader,  1  did  request  of  mine 
honest  friend,  Peter  Promlfoot.  travelling  mer- 
chant, known  to  many  of  this  land  for  his 
faithful  and  just  dealings,  as  well  in  muslins 
and  cambrics  as  in  small  wares,  to  procure 
me,  on  his  next  peregrinations  to  that  vicinage, 
a  copy  of  the  L'pitapliion  alluded  to.  And, 
according  to  his  report,  which  I  see  no  ground 
to  discredit,  it  runneth  thus  :"— 

Here  lyes  ane  saint  to  prelates  surly, 
Being  John  Baifour,  sometime  of  Burley, 
Who,  stirred  up  to  vengeance  take, 
For  solemn  League  and  Cov'nant's  sake, 
Upon  the  Magus-Moor,  in  Fife, 
Did  tak'  Jarnes  Sharpe  the  apostate's  life; 
By  Dutchman's  hands  was  hacked  and  shot, 
Then  drowned  in  Clyde  near  this  saain  spot. 
Chap.  xliv. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —  CHAP.  V. 

Arouse  thee,  youth  ! — it  is  no  common  call, — 
God's  church'isleaguer'd  — haste  to  man  the 

wall ; 
Haste  where  the  Red-cross  banners  wave  on 

high. 
Signals  of  honour'd  death  or  victory. 

James  Duff. 
(j.)  — CHAP.  XTV. 
My  hounds  may  a'  rin  masterless, 

My  hawks  may  fly  frae  tree  to  tree, 
My  lord  may  grip  my  vassal  lands, 
For  there  again  maun  I  never  be  ! 

Old  Ballad. 

(3)  — CHAP.  XXXIV. 

Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife ! 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim, 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 

Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name. 

Anonymous. 


2Tf)e  Scarct)  after 

OR, 

THE   QUEST   OF   SULTAUN   SOLIMAUN. 


1817, 


I. 

Oh  for  a  glance  of  that  gay  Muse's  eye, 
That  lighten'd  on  Bar.dello's  laughing  tale. 
And  twinkled  with  a  lustre  shrewd  and  sly, 
When  Giam  Battista  b.-ide  her  vision  hail !— t 
Yet  fear  not,  ladies,  the  naive  detail 
Given  by  the  natives  of  that  land  canorous; 
Italian  license  loves  to  leap  the  pale. 
We  Britons  have  the  fear  of  shame  before  us, 
And,  if  not  wise  in  mirth,  at  least  must  be 
decorous. 

II. 
In   the   far   eastern   clime,  no   great  while 

since, 

Lived  Sultaun  Solimaun,  a  mighty  prince, 
Whose  eyes,  as  oft  as  they  perform'd   their 

round, 

Beheld  all  others  fix'd  upon  the  ground  ; 
Whose    ears    received    the    same    unvaried 

phrase, 

"  Sultaun  !  thy  vassal  hears,  and  he  obeys !" 
All  have  their  tasles  — this  may  the' fancy 

strike 
Of  such  grave  folks  as  pomp  and  grandeur 

like; 

For  me,  I  love  the  honest  heart  and  warm 
Of  Monarch  who  can  amble  round  his  farm, 
Or.  when  the  toil  of  state  no  more  annoys, 
In  chimney  corner  seek  domestic  joys — 
1  love  a  prince  will  hid  the  hottlu  pass. 
Exchanging    with    his    subjects    glance    and 

glass ; 

In  fitting  time,  can.  gayest  of  the  gay. 
Keep  up  the  jest,  and  mingle  in  the  lay — 
Such  Mcmarchs  best  our  free-born  humours 

suit, 
But  Despots  must  be  s'ately,  stern,  and  mute. 

IF!. 

This  Solimaun,  Serendih  had  in  sway— 
And  Where's  Serendib,  may  some  critic  say. — 
Good  lack,  mine  honest  friend,  consult  the 

chart. 

Scare  not  my  Pegasus  before  I  start ! 
If  Rennell  has  it  not,  you'll  find,  mayhap. 
The    isle   laid   down   in   Captain    Sinbad's 

map. — 

Famed  mariner!  whose  merciless  narrations 
Drove   every   friend    and    kinsman   out   of 

patience. 
Till,  fain   to  find  a  guest  who  thought  them 

shorter. 

He  deign'd  to  tell  them  over  to  a  porter—2 
The  last  edition  see,  by  Long,  and  Co.. 
Rees,  Hurst,  and  Orine,  our  fathers  in  the 

Row. 

IV. 

Serendib  found,  deem  not  my  tale  a  fiction — 
This    Sultaun,    whether    lacking    contradic- 
tion— 


from   La 


See  the  Arabian  Sights'  Euterla 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.      557 


(A  sort  of  stimulant  which  h:ith  its  uses, 
'l'n  raise  the  spirits  and  reform  the  juices, 
— Sovereign  specific  for  all  sorts  of  cures 
In  my  wile's  practice,  and  perhaps  in  yours.) 
The   Miltiiiia  lacKin;   this  same   wholesome 

bitter. 

Or  cordial  smooth  for  prince's  palate  fitter — 
Or  if  some  Mnilah  had  hag-rid  his  dreams 
With    Degial,    Ginnislau,    and    such    wild 

themes 

Belonging  to  the  Mollah's  subtle  craft. 
1  wot  not— but  the  Siiltaun  never  laugh'd. 
Scarce  ate  or  drank,  and  took  a  melancholy 
That  scorn'd  all  remedy — profane  or  holy; 
In  his  long  list  of  melancholies,  mad, 
Or  mazed,  or  dumb,  hath  Burton  none  so  bad.1 


Physicians  soon  arrived,  sage,  ware,  and  tried, 

As  e'er  scrawl'd  jargon  in  a  darken'd  room  ; 

With   heedful    glance   the   Suit-ami's   tougue 

they  eyed, 
Peep'd  in  his  bath,  and  God  knows  where 

beside, 
And   then   in   solemn  accent  spoke  their 

doom. 

"  His  majesty  is  very  far  from  well  " 
Then  earh  to  work  with  his  specific  fell : 
The  Hakim  Ibrahim  inslanter  brought 
His  unguent  Mahazzim  al  Zerdukkaut, 
Whi.e  Koompot,  a  practitioner  more  wily, 
Relied  on  Ins  Munaskif  al  tiiliiiy.- 
More  and  yet  more  in  deep  array  appear. 
And  smile  the  front  assail,  and  some  the  rear; 
Their  remedies  to  reinforce  and  vary, 
Came  surgeon  eke.  and  eke  apothecary ; 
Till    the    tired    Monarch,  though    of   words 

grown  chary, 
Yet   dropt,    to    recompense    their    fruitless 

labour, 

Some  hint  about  a  bowstring  or  a  sabre. 
There    lack'd,    1   promise   you,   no   longer 

speeches 
To  rid  the  palace  of  those  learned  leeches. 

VI. 

Then  was  the  council  call'd — by  their  advice. 
(They  deein'd  the    matter   ticklish   all,  and 

nice. 
And  sought  to  shift  it  off  from  their  own 

shoulders.) 

Tartars  and  couriers  in  all  speed  were  sent, 
To  call  a  sort  of  Eastern  Parliament 

Of  feudatory  chieftains  and  freeholders — 
Such  have  the  Persians  at  this  very  day. 
My  gallant  Malcolm  calls  them  coiirouttai; — * 
I'm  not  prepared  to  show  in  this  slight  song 
That  to  sereiidih  the  same  forms  belong. — 
E'en  let  the  learu'd  go  search,  and  tell  me  if 

I'm  wrong. 

VII. 

The  Ornrahs,*  each  with  hand  on  scymitar, 
Gave,  like  sempronius,  still  their  voice  for 

war — 

"The  salire  of  the  Sultaun  in  its  sheath 
Too  long  has  slept,  nor  own'd  the  work  of 

ileuth ; 

Let  the  Tambourgi  bid  his  signal  rattle. 
Bang   the  loud  gong,  and  raise  the  shout  of 

battle! 


the  learned 


This  dreary  cloud  that  dims  our  sovereign's 
day. 

Shall  from  his  kindled  bosom  flit  away. 

When   the   bold   Lootie   wheels  his    courser 
round. 

And   the    arm'd   elephant   shall    shake   the 
ground . 

Each  noble  pants  to  own  the  glorious  sum- 
mons— 

And  for  the  charges  —  Lo  !  your  faithful  3om- 
mons!" 

The  Riots  who  attended  in  their  places 
(Seri-mlib  language  calls  a  farmer  Riot) 

Look'd  ruefully  in  one  another's  faces. 
From  this  oration  auguring  much  disquiet, 

Double  assessment,  forage,  and  free  quarters ; 

And  fearing  these  as  Chjiia-men  the  Tartars. 

Or  as  the  winsker'd  vermin  fear  tlie  mousers, 

Each  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers. 

VIII. 

And  next  came  forth  the  reverend  Convoca- 
tion, 
Bald  heads,  white  beards,  and  many  a  turban 

green, 

Imaum  and  Mullah  there  of  every  station, 
Santon,  Fakir,  and  Calendar  were  seen. 
Their  votes  were  various  —  some  advised  a 

Mosque 

With  fitting  revenues  should  be  erected. 
With  seemly  gardens  and  with  gay  Kiosque, 

To  recreate  a  band  of  priests  selected ; 
Others  opined  that  through  the  realms  a  dole 
Be  made  to  holy  men,  whose  prayers  might 

profit 

The  Sultaun's  weal  in  body  and  in  soul. 
But  their  long-headed  chief,  the  Shiek  Ul- 

Sofit. 

More  closely  touch'd  (he  point:  —  "Thy  stu- 
dious mood," 
Quoth  he.  "O  Prince!  hath  thicken'd  all  thy 

blood. 
And    dull'd    thy  brain  with   labour    beyond 

measure ; 

Wherefore  relax  a  space  and  take  thy  plea- 
sure. 

And  toy  with  beauty,  or  tell  o'er  thy  treasure ; 
From  all  the  cares  of  state,  my  Liege,  enlarge 

thee. 
And  leave  the  burden  to  thy  faithful  clergy." 

IX. 

These  counsels  sage  availed  not  a  whit, 

And  so  the  pattern  (as  is  not  uncommon 
Where  grave  physicians   lose  their  time  and 

wil) 

Resolved  to  take  advice  of  an  old  woman  : 
His  mother  she,  a  dame  who  once  was  beau- 
teous, 
And    still    was    called    so    by    each    subject 

duteous. 
Now  whether  Fatima  was  witch  in  earnest, 

Or  only  made  believe,  1  cannot  say — 
But  she  profess'd  to  cure  disease  the  sternest, 

J"    dint  of  magic  amulet  or  lay  ; 
when  all  other  skill  in  vain  was  shown, 
She  deein'd  it  fitting  time  to  use  her  own. 

X. 

"  Si/mjtothia  mamca  hath  wonders  done," 
(Thus  did  old  Fatima  bespeak  her  son.) 

3  Sre  Sir  Jobn  Malcolin'i  admirable  History  of  Persia. 


558                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

"  It  works  upon  the  fibres  and  the  pores. 

If  happiness  you  seek,  to  tell  you  truly. 

And  thus,  insensibly,  our  health  restores. 

V\ethmk  she  dwells  with  one  Giovanni  Bulli  ; 

And  it  must  help  us  here  —Thou  must  endure 

A  tramontane,  a  heretic.  —  the  buck. 

The  ill,  my  son.  or  travel  for  the  cure 

I'offaredio  !  still  has  all  the  luck  ; 

Search  land  and  sea,  and  get,  where'er  you 

By  land  or  ocean  never  strikes  his  flag  — 

can. 

And  then—  a  perfect  walking  money-bag  " 

The  inmost  ves'ure  of  a  happy  man, 

Of  set  our  Prince  to  seek  John  Bull's  abode, 

I  mean  his  shirt,  my  son  ;  which,  taken  warm 

Bat  firat  took  France—  it  lay  upon  the  road. 

And  fresh  from  off  his  back,  shall  chase  your 

harm. 

XITI. 

Bid  every  current  of  your  veins  rejoice, 
And  your  dull  heart  leap  light  as  shepherd- 

Monsieur  Baboon,  after  much  late  commotion, 
Was  agitated  like  a  settling  ocean, 

boy's." 
Such    was   the   counsel   from    his   mother 

Quite  out  of  sorts,  and  could  not  tell  what  I 
a/I'd  him. 

came  ;  — 
I  know  not  if  she  had  some  under-game. 
As  Doctors  have,  who  hid  their  patients  roam 
And  live  abroad,  when  sure  to  die  at  home  ; 
Or  if  she  thought,  that,  somehow  or  another. 

Only  the  glory  of  his  house  had  fail'd  him  ; 
Besides,  some  tumours  on  his  noddle  biding, 
Gave  indication  of  a  recent  hid  ing.  3 
Our  Prince,  though  Sultauns  of  such  things 

Queen-  Regent"  sounded  better  than   Queen- 

are  heedless. 
Thought  it  a  thing  indelicate  and  needless 

Mother; 
But,  says  the  Chronicle  (who  will  go  look  it,) 
That  such  was  her  advice—  the  Sultaun  took  it. 

To  ask.  if  at  that  moment  he  was  happy. 
And  Monsieur,  seeing  that  he  was  cvmme  it 
foul,  a 

XI 

Loud  voice  mustered  up,  for  "  Vive  le  Roi  .'" 

All  are  on  hoard—  the  Sultaun  and  his  train, 

Then  whisper'd,  "  Ave  you   any   news  of 

In  gilded  galley  prompt  to  plough  the  main. 
The  old  Kais  '  was  the  first  who  questioned, 

The  Sultanu  answer'd  him  with  a  cross  ques- 
tion, — 

"Whither?" 
They  paused  —  "  Arabia,"  thought  the  pensive 

"  Prav,  can  you  tell  me  aught  of  one  John 
Bu!4, 

Prince. 

That  dwells  somewhere  beyond  your  her- 

" Was  call'd  The  Happy  many  ages  since— 
For  Mokha,  Kais.'  —And  they  came  safely 

ring-pool  ?" 
The  query  seem'd  of  difficult  digestion. 

thither. 
But  not  in  Arahy,  with  all  her  balm. 

The  parly  shrugg'd,  and  gnnn  d,  und  took  his 
snuff. 

Not  where  Judea  weeps  beneath  her  palm. 

And   found   his  whole  good-breeding  scarce 

Not  in  rich  Egypt,  not  in  Nubian  waste. 

enough. 

Could  there  the  step  of  happiness  he  traced. 

One  Copt  alone  profess'd   to   have  seen  her 

XIV. 

smile, 

Twitching  his  visage  into  as  many  puckers 

When  Bruce  his  goblet  fill'd  at  infant  Nile  : 

As  damsels  wont  to  put  into  their  tuckers. 

She   bless'd    the   dauntless    traveller   as    be 

(Ere  liberal  Fashion  damn'd  both   lace  and 

quatf'd, 

lawn. 

But   vamsh'd    from    him   with    the    ended 

And  bade  the  veil  of  modesty  be  drawn.) 

draught. 

Replied  the  Frenchman,  after  a  brief  pause, 

XJL 

"Jean  Bool!  —  1  vas  not  know  him  —  Yes,  I 

"  Enough  of  turbans,"  said  the  weary  King, 
"These  dohmans  of  ours  are  not  the  thing; 
Try  we  the  Giaours,  these  men  of  coat  and 

vas  — 
1  vas  remember  dat,  von  year  or  two, 
I  saw  him  at  von  place  call'd  Vaterloo  — 
Ma  foi  !  it  s'est  tres  joliment  battii. 

cap.  I 
Incline  to  think  some  of  them  must  be  happy; 

Dat  is  for  Englishman.—  m'entendez-vous? 
But  den  he  had  wit  him  one  damn  son-gun, 

At  least,  they  have  as  fair  a  cause  as  any  can. 
The*  drink  good  wine  and  keep  no  Kamazan. 
Then  northward,  ho!"  —  The  vessel  cuts  the 

Rogue  I  no  like—  dey  call  him  Vellmgton." 
Monsieur's  politeness  could  not  hide  his  fret, 
So  Soliinuuii  took  leave,  and  cross'd  the  strait. 

sea. 

And  fair  Italia  lies  upon  her  lee.  — 

XV. 

But  fair  Italia,  she  who  once  unf'irl'd 
Her  eagle  banners  o'er  a  conquer'd  world. 
Long  from  her  throne  of  domination  tumbled, 
Lay.  by  her  quondam  vassals,  sorely  humbled  : 
The  Pope  himself  look'd  pensive,  pale,  and 

John  Bull  was  in  his  very  worst  of  moods. 
Raving  of  sterile  farms  and  unsold  goods  ; 
His  sugar-loaves  and  hales  about  he  threw, 
And  on  his  counter  beat  the  devil's  tattoo. 
His  wars  were  ended,  and  the  victory  won. 

lean. 
And  was  not  half  the  man  he  once  had  been. 

But   then,  'twas   reckoning-day  with  honest 

"  While  these  the  priest  and  those  the  noble 
fleeces. 

John; 
And  authors  vouch,  'twas  still  this  Worthy's 

Our  poor  old  boot,"*  they  said,  "is  torn  to 

•'  Never  to'  grumble  till  he  came  to  pay  : 

Its  tops  3  the  vengeful  claws  of  Austria  feel, 
And  the  Great  Devil  is  rending  toe  and  heel.* 

And  then  he  always  thinks,  his  temper's  such. 
The  work  too  little,  and  the  pay  too  much."  * 

1  Muter  of  the  ve—el. 
1  The  well-known  resemblance  of  Italy  in  the  map. 

4  The  CaUbrias,  infested  by  band*  of  aaraiunne.     One  of 
the  Irailtrs  wti-  ralle.1  Kr*  Uuvolo.  i.  e    Brniher  l>eT:l. 

9  Florence,  Venice,  &c. 

«  See  the  Tme  Born  kngli.hinan,  by  Daniel  De  Foe. 

LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     559 

Yet,  grumbler  as  he  is,  so  kind  and  hearty, 
That  when  his  mortal  foe  was  on  the  floor. 

If  peace  brought  down  the  price  of  tea  and 
pepper. 

And  past  the  power  to  harm  his  quiet  more, 

And  if  the  minings  were  grown  any  cheaper  :  — 

Poor  John  had   wellmgh  wept  lor  Bona- 

Were there  \\aespeeringsof  our  MungoPark  — 

parte  ! 

Ve'll  be  the  gentleman  that  wants  the  sark  ? 

Such  was  t  he  wight  whom  Solimaun  salam'd.  — 

If  ye  wad  buy  a  web  o'  auld  wife's  spinnin', 

"  And  who  are  you,"  John  auswer'd,  '•  and  be 
d-d  V 

I'll  warrant  ye  it's  a  weel-weariug  linen." 

XVI. 

XIX. 

"  A  stranger,  come  to  see  the  happiest  man,  — 

Then  op  got  Peg,  and  round  the  house  'gan 

So,  signior,  all  avouch.—  in  Frangistan."  —  ' 

scuttle 

"  Happy  ?  my  tenants  breaking  on  my  hand  ; 
i  Uustock'd  my  pastures,  and  untiU'd  my  land; 

In  search  of  goods  her  customer  to  nail. 
Until  the  Sullaun  strain'd  his  princely  throttle, 

Sugar  and  rum  a  drug,  and  mice  and  moths 

And  hollo'd.—  "  Ma'am  that  is  not  what  I  ail. 

i  The  sole  consumers  of  my  good  broadcloths  — 

Pray,  are   vou  happy,  ma'am,  in   this  snug 

Happy  ?  —  Why.  cursed  war  and  racking  tax 

glen  I''— 

Have  left  us  scarcely  raiment  to  our  backs."  — 

"  Happv  ?"  said  Peg;  "  What  for  d'ye  want  to 

"  In  that  case,  sixmor,  I  may  take  my  leave  ; 

ken? 

I  came  to  ask  a  favour  —  but  I  grieve"  

Besides,  just  think  upon  this  by-gane  year, 

"Favour?"  said  John,  and  eyed  the  Sultaun 

Grain    wadna    pay    the    yoking    of     the 

hard. 

pletigh."— 

"  It's  my  belief  you  come  to  break  the  yard  !  — 

"  What  say  you  to  the  present  ?"  —  "  Meal's  sae 

But,  stny.  you  look  like  some  poor  foreign  sin- 

dear. 

ner,  — 
Take  that  to  buy  yourself  a  shirt  and  din- 

To niak'  their  brose  my  bairns  have  scarce 
aneugh."  — 

ner."— 

"  The  devil  take  the  shirt."  said  Solimaun, 

With  that  he  chuck'd  a  guinea  at  his  head  ; 

"  I  think  my  quest  will  end  as  it  began.  — 

But,  with  due  dignity,  the  Sultaun  said, 

Farewell,  ma'am  :  nay.  no  cerernmiv.  I  beg"  — 

"  Permit  me,  sir,  your  bounty  to  decline  ; 

"  Ye  '11  no  be  for  the  linen  then  ?"  said  Peg. 

A  shirt  indeed  1  seek,  but  none  of  thine. 

!  Sisnior,  I  kiss  your  hands,  so  fare  you  well."— 

XX. 

••  Kiss  and  be  d—  d,"  quoth  John,  "  and  go  to 

Now,  for  the  land  of  verdant  Erin, 

hejl  1" 

The  Sultaun's  roval  bark  is  steering. 

XVII. 

The  Emerald  Isle,  where  honest  Paddvdwells, 

Next  door  to  John  there  dwelt  his  sister  Peg, 
Once  a  wild  lass  as  ever  shook  a  leg 

The  cousin  of  John  Bull,  as  story  tells. 
For  a  Ions  space  had  John,  with  words  of 

When  the  blithe  bagpipe  blew  —  but,  soberer 

thunder. 
Hard  looks,  and  harder  knocks,  kept  Paddy 

She  doucely  span  her  flax  and  milk'd  her  cow. 
And  whereas  erst  she  was  a  needy  slattern. 

under, 
Till  the  poor  lad,  like  boy  that's  flogg'd  un- 

Nor now  of  wealth  or  cleanliness  a  pattern, 
Yet  once  a-  month  her  house  was  partly  swept. 
And  once  a-week  a  plenteous  hoard  she  kept. 
And  whereas,  eke,  tiie  vixen  used  her  claws 
And  teeth,  of  yore,  on  slender  provocation, 
She  now  was  grown  amenable  to  laws, 
A  quiet  soul  as  any  in  the  nation  ; 

duly, 
Had  gotten  somewhat  restive  and  unruly. 
Hard  was  his  lot  and  lodging,  you'll  allow, 
A  wigwam  that  would  hardly  serve  a  sow  ; 
His  landlord,  and  of  middle-men  two  brace. 
Had  screw'd  his  rent  up  to  the  starving  plane; 
His  garment  was  a  top-coal,  and  an  old  one, 

The  sole  remembrance  of  her  warlike  joys 
Was  in  old  songs  she  sang  to  please  her  boys. 
John  Bull,  whom,  in  their  years  of  early  strife, 

His  meal  was  a  potato,  and  a  cold  one  ; 
But  still  for  fun  or  frolic,  and  all  that. 
In  the  round  world  was  not  the  match  of  Pat. 

She  wont  to  lead  a  cat-and-doggish  life. 

XXI. 

Now  found  the  woman,  as  he  said,  a  neigh- 

The Sultaun  saw  him  on  a  holiday. 

bour. 
Who  look'd  to  the  main  chance,  declined  no 

Which  is  with  Paddy  still  a  jolly  day  : 
When  mass  is  ended,  and  his  load  of  sins 

labour. 

Confess'd,  and  Mother  Church  hath  from  her 

Loved  a  long  grace,  and  spoke  a  northern 

binns 

jargon. 
And  was  d—  d  close  in  making  of  a  bargain. 

Dealt  forth  a  bonus  of  imputed  merit. 
Then  is  Pat's  time  for  fancy,  whim,  and  spirit  ! 

XVIII. 

To  jest,  to  sing,  to  caper  fair  and  free. 
And  danre  as  light  as  leaf  upon  the  tree. 

The  Snltann  enter'd,  and  he  made  his  leg, 

"  By  Mahomet,"  said  Sultaun  Solimann, 

And  with  decorum  curtsy'd  sister  Peg; 

"  That  ragged  fellow  is  our  very  man  ! 

(She  loved  a  book,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two. 

Rush  in  and  seize  him—  do  not  do  him  hurt. 

And  euess'd  at  once  with  whom  she  had  to  do.) 

But,  will  he  nill  he,  let  me  have  his  skirt."— 

She  bade  him  "  Sit  into  the  fire,"  and  took 

YYTT 

Her  dram,  her  cake,  her  kebhuck  from  the 

AA11. 

nook; 

Shilela  their  plan  was  wellnigh  after  baulk- 

Ask'd  him   "  about  the  news  from  Eastern 

ing, 

parts  ; 

(\fuch  less  provocation  will  set  it  a-walking.)  ' 

And   of  her  absent   bairns,   puir   Highland 

But  the  odds  that  foil'd  Hercules  foil'd  Paddy 

hearts  ! 

Whack  ; 

They  seized,  and  they  floor'd,  and  they  stripp'd 

1  Europe. 

him  —  Alack  ! 

560 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Cp-buhhoo '    Paddy  had  not a  shirt  to  his 

hack ! ! ! 
And  the  King,  disappointed,  with  sorrow  and 

shame. 
Went  back  to  Serendib  as  sad  as  he  came. 


r.  Bemble's  JFaretoell 


OX  TAKING  LEAVE  OF  THE  EDINBURGH  STAGE. 


As   the  worn  war-horse,  at    the    trumpet's 

sound, 
Erects  his  mane,  and  neighs,  and  paws  the 

ground  — 

Disdains  the  ease  his  generous  lord  assigns, 
And  longs  to  rush  on  the  embattled  lines. 
So  I,  your  plaudits  ringing  on  mine  ear. 
Can  scarce  sustain  to  think  our  parting  near ; 
To  think  my  scenic  hour  for  ever  past. 
And  that  these  valued  plaudits  are  my  last. 
Why  should  we  part,  while  still  some  powers 

remain. 

That  in  your  service  strive  not  yet  in  vain  ? 
Cannot  "high   zeal   the   strength  of  youth 

supply. 

And  sense  of  duty  fire  the  fadin?  eye ; 
And  all  the  wrongs  of  age  remain  sulxlued 
Beneath  the  burning  glow  of  gratitude  ? 
Ah,  no !  the  taper,  wearing  to  its  close, 
Oft  for  a  space  in  fitful  lustre  elows : 
But  all  too  soon  the  transient  gleam  is  past, 
It  cannot  be  renew'd.  and  will  not  last ; 
Even  duly.  zeal,  and  gratitude,  can  waee 
But  short-lived  conflict  with  the  frost  of  age. 
Yes!  It  were  poor,  remembering  what  I  was. 
To  live  a  pensioner  on  your  applause, 
To  drain  the  dregs  of  your  endurance  dry. 
And  take,  as  alms,  the   praise  I  once  could 

buy; 

Till  every  sneering  youth  around  enquires, 
"Is  this  the  man  who  once  could  please  our 

sires  ?" 
And   scorn    assumes   compassion's    doubtful 

mien, 

To  warn  me  off  from  the  encumber'd  scene. 
This  must  not  he;  —  and  higher  duties  crave 
Some  space  between  the  theatre  and  the 

grave, 


That,  like  the  Roman  in  the  Capitol, 

I  may  adjust  my  mantle  ere  I  fall : 

My  life1*  brief  act  in  public  service  flown. 

The  last,  the  closing  scene,  must  be  my  own. 

Here,  then,  adieu !   while  yet  some   well- 
graced  parts 

May  fix  an  ancient  favourite  in  your  hearts, 
Not  quite  to  he  forgotten,  even  when 
You  look  on  better  actors,  younger  men  : 
And  if  your  bosoms  own  this  kindly  debt 
Of  old  remembrance,  how  shall  mine  forget — 
O,  how  forget !  —  how  oft  I  hither  came 
In  anxious  hope,  how  oft  return'd  with  fame  ! 
How  oft  around  your  circle  this  weak  hand 
Has  waved   immortal  Shakspeare's   magic 

wand. 

Till  the  full  burst  of  inspiration  came. 
And   I   have   felt,  and  you   have   fann'd  the 

flame! 

By  mem'ry  treasured,  while  her  reign  en- 
dures. 

Those  hours  must  live  — and  all  their  charms 
are  yours. 

0  favour'd   Land !  renown'd  for  arts  and 

arms. 

For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms. 
Could  this  full  bosom  prompt  the  sinking  line, 
What  fervent  benedictions  now  were  thine! 
But  my  last  part  is  play'il.  my  knell  is  run;. 
When  e'en  your  praise  falls  faltering  from  my 

tongue ; 

And  all  that  you  can  hear,  or  I  can  tell. 
Is—  Friends 'and  Patrons,  hail,  and  fare  you 

well 


afties," 


WRITTEN  FOR  MISS  SMITH. 


1817. 


When  the  lone  pilgrim  views  afxr 
The  shrine  that  is  his  guiding  star. 
With  aw<>  his  footsteps  print  the  road 
Which  the  loved  saint  of  yore  has  trod. 
As  near  he  draws,  and  yet  more  near, 
His  dim  eye  sparkles  w'ith  a  tear; 
The  Gothic  fane's  unwonted  show. 
The  choral  hymn,  the  tapers'  glow. 
Oppress  his  soul ;  while  they  delight 
And  chasten  rapture  with  affright. 


1  These  lines  first  appeared,  April  5,  1817,  in  a  weekly     receive  him.)  to  deliver  his  farewell." "Mr. 

•heel,  called  the  "Sale  Boom,"  conducted  and  published  i  Kemble  delivered  these  lines  with  exquisite  beauty,  and 

prefixed,  Mr.  James  Ballantyne  says,  "  The  character  fixed  '•  many  of  the  audience.  His  own  emotions  were  very  con- 
upon.  with  happy  propriety,  for  Kemble's  closing  scene,  .  spicuous  When  his  farewell  was  closed,  he  lingered  long 
was  Macbeth,  in  which  he  took  his  final  lejve  of  Scotland  ;  on  the  stage,  as  if  u,,able  to  retire.  The  house  again 

had  laboured  under  •  severe' cold  for  a'  few  days  before,  long  shout,  of  applause.  At  length  he  finally  retired,  and, 
but  on  this  memorable  night  the  physical  annoynnce  yielded  in  so  far  a-  regards  Scotland,  the  curtain  dropped  upon  his 
to  the  energy  of  his  mind — '  He  was,'  he  said,  in  the  green-  professional  life  for  erer." 

room,  immediately  before  the  curtain  rose,  determined  1  These  lines  were  first  printed  in  "The  Forget-M<--NM, 
to  leare  behind  him  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  his  for  1834."  They  were  written  for  recitation  by  the  din- 
art  whi<-h  he  had  ever  shown,'  and  his  success  was  com-  :  tinruished  actress.  Miss  Smith,  now  Mrs  Bartley,  on  the 

applauses  were  Tenement  and    prolonged;    they  ceased  '  which  enclosed  them,  the  poet  intimated  that  they  were 

were  hushed.  In  a  few  minutes  the  curtain  ascended,  sent — that  hethoucht  the  ides  belter  than  t^e  executi 
and  Mr.  Krmble  came  forward  in  the  dre«s  of  Macbeth,  end  forwarded  them  with  the  hope  of  their  sddmj 
(the  audience  by  a  consentaneous  movement  rising  to  little  salt  to  the  bill." 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     561 


No  longer  dare  he  think  his  toil 
Can  merit  aught  his  patron's  smile; 
Too  luht  appeal's  the  distant  way, 
The  chilly  eve,  the  sultry  day — 
All  these  eiidim:d  no  favour  claim, 
j  But  murmuring  forth  the  sainted  name, 
He  lays  Ins  little  offering  down, 
And  only  deprecates  a  frown. 

We  too.  who  ply  the  Thespian  art, 
Oft  feel  such  bodinqs  of  the  heart. 
And.  when  our  utmost  powers  are  strain'd. 
Dare  hardly  hope  your  favour  gam'd. 
She.  who  from  sister  climes  has  sought 
The  ancient  laud  where  Wallace  fought;  — 
Land  lung  re»iowu'd  for  arms  and  arts, 
And  conquering  eyes  and  dauntless  hearts;— 
She,  as  the  fluttering*  ktre  avow. 
Feels  all  the  pilgrim's  terrors  now; 
Vet  sure  on  Caledonian  plain 
The  stranger  never  sued  in  vain. 
'Tis  yours  the  hospitable  task 
To  give  the  applause  she  dare  not  ask  ; 
And  they  who  bid  the  pilgrim  speed, 
The  pilgrim's  blessing  be  their  meed. 


I  And  coldly  mark  the  holy  fane 
Of  Metros*  rise  in  ruin'd  pride. 

The  quiet  lake,  the  balmy  air. 
The  hill,  the  stream,  the  tower,  the  tree,- 

Are  they  still  such  as  once  they  were  1 
Or  is  the  dreary  change  in  me  ? 

Alas,  the  warp'd  and  broken  board, 
_How  can  it  bear  the  painter's  dye  ? 
The  harp  of  strain'd  and  tuneless  chord, 

How  to  the  minstrel's  skill  reply  ! 
To  aching  eyes  each  landscape  lowers. 
To  feverish  pulse  each  gale  blows  chill ; 
And  Arahy's  or  Eden's  bowers 

Were  barren  as  this  moorland  hill. 


Cjje  Sun  upon  tlje  JHMrfclate 

mm 


1817. 


["Scott's  enjoyment  of  his  new  territories 
was.  however,  interrupted  by  various  returns 
of  his  cramp,  and  the  depression  of  spirit 
which  always  attended,  in  his  case,  the  use  of 
opium,  the  only  medicine  that  seemed  to  have 
power  over  the  disease  It  was  while  strug- 
gling with  such  languor,  on  one  lovely  evening 
of  this  autumn,  that  he  composed  the  follow- 
ing beautiful  verses.  They  mark  the  very 
spot  of  their  birth,—  namely,  the  then  naked 
height  overhanging  the  northern  side  of  the 
Cauldstnels  l.orti.  from  which  Me  I  ruse  Abbey 
to  the  eastward,  aud  the  hills  of  Ettnck  and 
Varrow  to  the  west,  are  now  visible  over  a 
wide  range  of  rich  woodland,—  all  the  work 
of  the  poet's  hand."— Life,  vol.  v.,  p.  237.] 
Air — "  Rimhin  alum  'slu  mo  run." 


The  air,  composed  br  the  Editor  or  Albyn's  Anthology. a 
The  word*  written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  IMM 
Mtlodin,  [1B22.] 

The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill, 

In  Ettrick's  vale  is  sinking  sweet: 
The  weslland  wind  is  hush  and  still. 

The  lake  lies  sleeping  at  my  feet. 
Yet  not  the  landscape  to  mine  eye 

Bears  those  bright  hues  that  once  it  bore ; 
Though  evening,  with  her  richest  dye. 

Flames  o'er  the  hills  of  Ettrick's  shore. 

With  listless  look  along  the  plain, 
I  see  Tweed's  silver  current  glide. 


of  Banflov'a 


Air  —  "  Yindaith  Minnjc." 

WRITTEN  FOB  MB.  GEORGE  THOMSON'S  WELSH 


Ethelfrid,  or  Olfrid,  King  of  Northumber- 
land, having  besieged  Chester  in  613,  and 
Brockmael,  a  British  Prince,  advancing  to  re- 
lieve it,  the  religious  of  the  neighbouring 
Monastery  of  Bangor  marched  in  procession, 
to  pray  for  the  success  of  their  countrymen. 
But  the  British  being  totally  defeated,  the 
heathen  victor  put  the  monks  to  the  sword, 
and  destroyed  their  monastery.  The  tune  to 
which  these  verses  are  adapted  is  called  the 
Monks'  March,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been 
played  at  their  lil-omened  procession. 

When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang. 
Round  beleaguer'd  Chester  rang, 
Veiled  nun  aud  friar  grey 
March'd  from  Bangor's  fair  Abbaye; 
High  their  holy  anthem  sounds, 
Cestna's  vale  the  hymn  rebounds, 
Floating  down  the  silvan  Dee, 

O  miserere,  Damine! 

On  the  long  procession  goes, 
Glory  round  their  crosses  glowg, 
And  the  Virgin-mother  mild 
In  their  peaceful  banner  smiled  ; 
Who  could  think  such  saintly  band 
Doom'd  to  feel  unhallow'd  hand  ? 
Such  was  the  Divine  decree, 

O  miserere,  Domine ! 

Bands  that  masses  only  sung, 
Hands  that  censers  only  swung, 
Met  the  northern  bow  and  bill, 
Heard  the  war-cry  wild  and  shrill : 
Woe  to  Brockmaei's  feeble  hand, 
Woe  to  Olfrid's  bloody  brand. 
Woe  to  Saxon  cruelty, 

O  miserere,  Domine  ! 


iltgtiland  air."—  Oeorgt  Thy 


562                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Weltering  amid  warriors  slnin, 
Spurn  'd  by  steeds  with  bloody  mane. 
Slaughtered  down  hy  heathen  blade, 
Bangor's  peaceful  monks  are  laid  : 
Word  of  parting  rest  unspoke. 
Mass  unsung,  and  bread  unbroke; 
For  their  souls  for  charity, 
Sing,  O  miserere,  Damme  1 

Bansor  !  o'er  the  murder  wail! 
Long  thy  ruins  told  the  tale. 
Shatter'd  towers  and  broken  arch 
Lone  recall'd  the  woeful  march  :  1 
On  thy  shrine  no  tapers  burn, 
Never  shall  thy  priests  return  ; 
The  pilgrim  sighs  and  sings  fur  thee, 
O  miserere,  Donane! 

"  '  Fimtarabian  cchofs  !'  continued  my  father, 
interrupting   himself;   •  the  Fontarabian  Fair 
would  h«ve  been  mure  to  the  purpose.  —  I'iy- 
nim?  —  What's  Piiynim  ?  —  Conli)  you  not  say 
Pagan  as  well,  and  write  English,  at  least,  if 
you  must  needs  write  nonsense."  " 

Sad  over  earth  and  ocean  sounding, 
And  England's  distant  cliffs  astounding, 
Such  are  the  notes  should  say 
How  Britain's  hope,  and  France's  fear, 
Victor  of  Cressy  and  Poitier, 
In  Bourdeaux  dying  lay. 

"'Poitiers,  by  the   way,  is  always  spelled 
with  an  »,  and  I  know  no  reason  why  ortho- 
graphy should  give  place  to  rhyme.'  " 

"  Raise  mv  faint  head,  my  squires,"  he  said, 
"And  let  the  casement  be  displayed, 
That  I  may  see  once  more 
The  splendour  of  the  setting  sun 
Gleam  on  thy  mirror'd  wave,  Garonne. 
And  Blaye's  empurpled  shore." 

14  '  Garonne  and  sun  is  a  bad  rhyme.    Why, 
Frank,  you  do  not  even  understand  the  beg- 
garly trade  you  have  chosen  '  " 

"  Like  me,  he  sinks  to  Glory's  sleep, 
His  full  the  dews  of  evening  steep, 
As  if  in  sorrow  shed. 
So  soft  shall  fall  the  trickling  tear, 
When  Knglumi's  minds  ami  matrons  hear 
Of  their  Black  Edward  dead. 

"  And  though  my  sun  of  glory  set, 
Nor  France  nor  England  shall  forget 
The  terror  of  my  name  : 
And  oft  shall  Britain's  heroes  rise, 
.New  planets  in  these  southern  skies. 
Through  clouds  of  blood  and  flame." 

"'A  cloud   of   flame   is  something  new  — 
Good-morrow,  my  masters   all.  and   a  merry 
Christmas  to  you  !—  Why,  the  bellman  writes 
better  lines.'  "                                  Chap.  ii. 

Hcttet 

TO  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BtJCCLEBCH, 
DRUM  LA.  N  RIG  CASTLE. 
Sonqohar,  1  o'clock,  July  30,  1817. 

From  Ross,  where  the  clouds  on  Benlomond 
are  sleeping  — 
From  Greenock,  where  Clyde  to  the  Ocean  is 
sweeping  — 
From    Largs,   where   the    Scotch   gave    the 
Northmen  a  drilling  — 
From  Ardrossan,  whose  harbour  cost  many  a 
shilling— 
From  Old  Cumnock,  where  beds  are  as  hard 
as  a  plank,  sir  — 
From  a  chop  and  green  pease,  and  a  chicken 
in  Sanquhar, 
This  eve,  please  the  fates,  at  Drumlanrig  we 
anchor.                                            W.  S. 

[Sir  Walter's  companion  on  this  excursion 
was  Captain,  now  Sir  Adam  Ferguson.  —  See 
Life,  vol.  v.,  p.  254.3 

jFrom  Hot  Hog. 

(2.)  —  TRANSLATION  FROM  ARIOSTO. 

1&17. 

1S17. 

(1.)  —  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  EDWARD 
THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 

"  A  bio'  ted  piece  of  paper  dropped  out  of  the 
book,  and  being  taken  up  by  my  father,  he  in- 
terrupted a  hint  from  Owen,  on  the  propriety 
of   securing   loose   memoranda  with   a   litile 
paste,  by  exclaiming,  'To  the  memory  of  Ed- 
ward the  Black  Prince  —  What's  all  this?  — 
verses  !  —  By  Heaven,  Frank,  yon  are  a  greater 
blockhead  than  I  supposed  you  !'  " 
O  for  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 
The  dying  hero's  call. 
That  told  imperial  Charlemagne. 
How  Paynim  sons  of  swarthy  Spain, 
Had  wrought  his  champion's  fall. 

'•  Miss  Vernon  proceeded  to  read  the  first 
stanza,  which  was  nearly  to  the   following 
purpose  :  "  — 

Ladies,  and  knights,  and  arms,  and  lore's  fair 
flame. 
Deeds  of  emprize  and  courtesy.  I  sing  ; 
What    time    the   Moors    from    sultry   Africk 
came, 
Led  on  hy  Agmmnnt,  their  youthful  king  — 
He  whom  revenge  and  hasty  ir«  did  liring 
O'er  the  broad  wave,  in  France  to  waste  and 

Such  ills  from  old  Trojano's  death  did  spring. 
Which  to  avense  lie  came  from  realms  afar. 
And   menaced  Christian  Charles,  the  Roman 
Emperor. 

]  William  of   Malmi-Khury  «ar«,  lhat   in   his    lime  the 
extent  of  the  niina  of  the  monastery  bore  ample  witueM 
to  (he  desolation  occasioned  by  the  massacre  :  —  "  tot  semi- 

ruti    parii-tet   rcclesumm,  tot    anfrar!u»  portieom,  taata 

LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     563 


Of  dauntless    Roland,  too,   my   strain    shall 

sound, 

In  import  never  known  in  prose  am]  rhyme, 
How  H«.  the  chief  of  judgment  deem'd  pro- 
found. 
For  luckless  love  was  crazed  upon  a  time— 

"'There  is  a  great  deal  of  it,'  said  she. 
glancing  along  the  paper,  and  interrupting  the 
sweetest  sounds  wlucii  mortal  ears  can  drink 
in  ;  those  of  a  youthful  poet's  verses,  namely, 
read  by  the  lips  which  are  dearest  to  them." 
Chap.  xvi. 


(3.)  — MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP.  I 

In  the  wide  pile,  by  others  heeded  not, 

Hers  was  one  sacied  solitary  spot. 

Whose  gloomy  aisles   and    bending   shelves 

contain. 
For  moral  hunger  food,  and  cures  for  moral 

pain.  Ainiiiiii'iiiuS: 

"The  library  at  Osbaldistone  Hall  was  a 
gloomy  room,"  <tc. 

(a.)— CHAP,  xm. 
Dire   was  his   thought,  who    first  in  poison 

steep'd 

The  weapon  form'd  for  slaughter— direr  his, 
And  worthier  of  damnation,  who  instill'd 
The  mortal  venom  in  the  social  cup, 
To  fill  the  veins  with  death  instead  of  life. 
Anonymous. 

(3)—  CHAP.  xxn. 
Look  ronnd  thee,  young  Astolpho :  Here's  the 

place 
Which  men  (for  being  poor)  are  sent  to  starve 

in, — 

Rude  remedy,  I  trow,  for  sore  disease. 
Within    these    walls,,    stifled    by  damp    and 

stench, 
Doth  Hope's  fair  torch  expire ;   and  at  the 

snuff. 

Ere  yet  'tis  quite  extinct,  rude,  wild,  and  way- 
ward, 

The  desperate  revelries  of  wild  despair, 
Kindling    their   hell-born    cressets,  light    to 

deeds 
That  the  poor  captive  would  have  died   ere 

practised. 

Till  bondage  sunk  his  soul  to  his  condition 
The  Prison,  Scene  iii.  Act  i. 

(4.)— CHAP.  XXVII. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  no  tree  was  seen. 
Earth,  clail  in  russet,  scorn 'd  the  lively  green ; 
No  hirds,  except  as  birds  of  passage,  flew ; 
No  bee  was  heard  to  hum,  no  dove  to  coo; 
No  streams,  as  amber  smooth,  HS  amoer  clear. 
Were  seen  to  glide,  or  heard  to  warble  here. 
Prup/iecv  of  Famine. 

l"Tlie  Appeal."  a  Tragedy,  by  John  Gait,  Esq.,  wa« 
played  for  Tour  nights  at  this  time  in  Edinburgh. 

2  It  ii  nerewary  to  mention,  that  the  allusions  in  thin 
piece  are  all  local,  and  addressed  only  to  the  Edinburgh 
audience.  The  new  prisonn  of  the  city,  on  the  Caltou  Hill, 


(5.)  — CHAP.  XXXI. 

"  Woe  to  the  vanquish'd  !"  was  stern  Brenno's 

word. 
When  stink  proud  Rome  beneath  the  Gallic 

swonl— 
"Woe  to  the  vanquished  !"  when  his  massive 

blade 
Bore    down   the    scale    against    her    ransom 

weigh'd. 

And  on  the  field  of  foushten  battle  still. 
Who  knows  no  limils  save  the  victor's  will. 
The  GauUiad. 
(6.)  —  CHAP,  xxxii. 

And  be  he  safe  restored  ere  evening  set. 
Or.  if  there's  veiiseance  in  an  injured  heart, 
And  power  to  wreak  it  in  an  armed  hand, 
Vour  land  shall  ache  for't.  Old  flay. 

(7)  — CHAP,  xxxvi. 
Farewell  to  the  land  where  the  clouds  love  to 

rest. 
Like  the  shroud  of  the  dead  on  the  mountain's 

cold  breast : 

To  the  cataract's  roar  where  the  eagles  reply. 
And  the  lake  her  lone  bosom  expands  to  the 

sky. 


SPOKEN  BT  MBS.  HENRY  8IDOOKS, 
Feb.  16. 18ia 

A  cat  of  yore  (or  else  old  ^Esop  lied) 
Was  changed  into  a  fair  and  blooming  bride, 
But  spied  a  mouse  ci|»on  her  marriage-day. 
Forgot  her  spouse,  and  seized  upon  her  prey; 
Even  thus  my  bridegroom  lawyer,  as  you  saw. 
Threw  off  poor  me,  and  pounced  upon  papa. 
His  neck   from   Hymen's  mystic  knot  made 

He  twisted  round  my  sire's  the  literal  noose. 
Such  are  the  fruits  of  our  dramatic  labour, 
Since   the  New  Jail   became  our  next-door 
neighbour. 2 

Yes,  times  are  changed  ;  for,  in  your  fathers' 

age, 

The  lawyers  were  the  patrons  of  the  stage ; 
However  hieh  advanced  by  future  fate. 
There  stands  the  bench  (points  to  the  Pit)  that 

first  received  their  weieht. 
The  future  legal  sase,  'twas  ours  to  see. 
Doom  though  uuwigg'd,  and  plead  without  a 

fee. 

But  now.  astounding  each  poor  mimic  elf. 
Instead  of  lawyers  conies  the  law  herself; 
Tremendous    neighbour,    on    our   right   she 

dwells, 
Builds  high  her  towers  and  excavates  her 

cells; 

While  on  the  Ifft  she  agitate*  the  town. 
With  the  tempestuous  question.  Up  or  down?' 
Twiil  Scylla  and  CharyUlis  Ihus  stand  we, 
Law's  final  end,  and  law's  uncertainty. 

3  At  this  lime  the  public  of  Edinburgh  wufl  much  agi- 
tated by  a  lawsuit  betwixt  the  Magistrate*  and  many  or 
the  Inhabitant*  of  the  City,  concerning  a  range  of  new 
building*  on  the  western  side  of  the  North  Bridge ;  which 
the  latter  insisted  should  be  rrmored  ma  a  deformity. 


564 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


But,  soft !  who  lives  at  Rome  the  Pope  must 

flatter, 

And  jails  and  lawsuits  are  no  jesting  matter. 
Then — just  farewell!  We  wait  with  serious 

awe 

Till  your  applause  or  censure  gives  the  law. 
Trusting  our  humble  efforts  may  assure  ye, 
We  hold  you  Court  and  Counsel,  Judge  and 

Jury. 


1818. 

Air—"  Cha  till,  mi  tuille."  > 
Mackrimmon,  hereditary  piper  to  the  Laird 
of  Macleod.  is  said  to  hnve  composed  this  La- 
ment when  the  Clan  was  about  to  depart  upon 
a  distant  and  dangerous  expedition.  The  Min- 
strel was  impressed  with  a  belief,  which  the 
event  verified,  that  he  was  to  be  slain  in  the 
approaching  feud  ;  and  hence  the  Gaelic  word?. 
••  Cha  till  mi  tuillf ;  ged  thtllis  Marked,  cha.  till 
Mackrimmon,"  "  I  shall  never  return  :  although 
Macleod  returns,  yet  Mackrimmon  shall  never 
return  !"  The  piece  is  but  too  well  known, 
from  its  being  the  strain  with  which  the  emi- 
grants from  the  West  Highlands  and  Isles 
usually  take  leave  of  their  native  shore. 


Macleod's  wizard  flag  from  the  grey  castle 

sallies. 
The  rovers  are  seated,  nnmoor'd  are  the  gal 

leys; 
Gleam  war-axe  and  broadsword,  clang  target 

and  quiver. 
As  Mackrimmon  sings,  "Farewell  to  Dunve- 

gan  for  ever ! 
Farewell  lo  each  cliff,  on  which  breakers  are 

foaming ; 
Farewell,  each  dark  glen,  in  which  red-<leer 

are  roaming; 
Farewell,  lonely  Skye,  to  lake,  mountain,  and 

river; 
Macleod  may  return,  but  Mackrimmon  shall 

never ! 

"Farewell  the  bright  clouds  that  on  Quillan 

are  sleeping ; 
Farewell  the  bright  eyes  in  the  Dun  that  are 

weeping : 
To  each  minstrel  delusion,  farewell ! — and  for 

ever — 

Markrimmon  departs,  to  return  to  you  never  ! 
The  Banshee's  wild  voice  sings  the  death-dirge 

before  me," 
The  pall  of  the  dead  for  a  mantle  hangs  o'er 

me; 
But  my  heart  shall  not  flag,  and  my  nerves 

siril!  not  shiver, 
Though  devoted  I  go— to  return  again  never! 

"Too  oft  shall  the  notes  of  Mackrimmon's  be- 

Be  heard  when  the  Gael  on  their  exile  are 
sailing; 


l«\Ve 


Dear  land !  to  the  shores,  whence  unwilling 

we  sever. 
Return — return — return  shall  we  never! 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille ! 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille. 

Gea  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon  !" 


Cafr&'s  Come 


Air  —  "Malcolm  Caird's  come  again."* 


1818. 


. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brush  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Donald  Caird  can  lilt  and  sing. 
Blithely  dance  the  Hielaml  fling, 
Drink  till  the  gudeman  be  blind, 
Fleech  till  the  gudewife  be  kind  ; 
Hoop  a  leglin,  clout  a  pan, 
Or  crack  a  pow  wY  ony  man  ; 
Tell  the  news  in  hrugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  wire  a  maukin, 
Kens  the  wiles  o'  dun-deer  staukin', 
Leisters  kipper,  makes  a  shift 
To  shoot  a  muir-fowl  in  the  drift; 
Water-bailiffs,  rangers,  keepers, 
He  can  wnuk  when  they  are  sleepers  ; 
Not  for  bountith  or  reward 
Dare  ye  mell  wi'  Donald  Caird. 

Donald  Caird's  mme  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Gar  the  bagpipes  hum  amain, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  drink  a  gill 
Fast  as  hostler-wife  can  fill  ; 
Ilka  ane  that  sells  gude  liquor 
Kens  how  Donald  bends  a  bicker; 
When  he's  fou  he's  stout  and  saucy, 
Keeps  the  cantle  o'  the  cawsey  ; 
1  ln-iand  chief  ami  Law  land  laird 
Maun  gie  room  to  Donald  Caird! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugli  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Steek  the  amrie.  lock  the  kist, 
Else  some  gear  may  weel  he  mis't  ; 
Donald  Caird  finds  orra  things 
Where  Allan  Gregor  fand  the  tings; 
Dunts  of  kebbnck.  tails  o'  woo. 
Whiles  a  hen  and  whiles  a  sow, 
Webs  or  duds  frae  hedge  or  vard— 
'Ware  the  wuddie,  Donald  Caird  ! 


a  Se»  a  note  on  Banthir,  Lady  of  the  Lake,  anlr,  p.  311. 
3  Caird  signifies  Tinker. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     565 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  \ 
Donald  Caird's  come  again! 
Dimia  lei  the  Shirra  ken 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

On  Donald  Caird  the  doom  was  stern, 
Craig  to  tether,  legs  to  airn  ; 
But  Donald  Caird.  wi"  mickle  study, 
f'aught  the  gift  to  cheat  the  wuildie  ; 
Rings  of  airn,  and  holts  of  steel. 
Fell  like  ioe  frae  hand  and  heel  ! 
Watch  the  sheep  in  faiild  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  asum  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Dmna  let  the  Justice  ken. 
Donald  Caird's  come  again.1 

jFrom  the  f^eart  of 
JttttMZLothfatt. 

It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad. 
That  we.irs  the  sleeves  of  blue  ; 
He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 
On  Friday  that  he  slew. 

There's   a    bloodhound   ranging   Tinwald 
Wood, 
There  '»  harness  glancing  sheen  ; 
There  's  a  maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 
And  she  sings  loud  between. 

TJp  in  the  air. 
On  my  bonnie  grey  mare, 
And  1  see,  aud  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet. 

In  the  bonnie  cells  of  Bedlam, 
Ere  I  was  ane  and  twenty, 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong, 
And  merry  whips,  ding-dong, 
And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 

My  banes  are  buried  in  yon  kirk-yard 
Sae  far  ayont  the  sea. 
And  it  is  hut  my  blithesome  ghaist 
That's  speaking  now  to  thee. 

1818. 

(1.)—  MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SOXGS. 
When  the  gledd's  in  the  blue  cloud, 
The  lavrock  lies  still  ; 
When  the  hound's  in  the  green-wood. 
The  hind  keeps  the  hill. 

0  sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said. 
When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 
There's  twenty  men,  wj'  how  and  blade, 
Are  seeking  where  ye  hide. 

Hey  for  cavaliers,  ho  for  cavaliers. 
Dub  a  dub.  dub  a  dub; 
Have  at  old  Beelzebub,— 
Oliver's  running  for  fear.  — 

I'm  Madge  of  the  country,  and  Madge  of  the 
town. 
And  I'm  Madge  of  the  lad  I  am  blithest  to 
own.  — 
The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine. 
But   hus  not  a  heart  half   so   lightsome  as 
mine. 

I  am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  I'm  Lady  of 
May, 
And  I  lead  the  blithe  ring  round  the  May-pole 
to-day  ; 
The  wild-Are  that  flashes  so  fair  and  so  free 
Was  never  so  bright,  or  so  bonnie  as  me. 

I  glance  like  the  wildfire  through  country  and 
town  ; 
I'm  seen  on  the  causeway  —  I'm  seen  on  the 
down; 
The   lightning   that  flashes  so  bright  and  so 
free. 
Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me. 

He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 
He  that  is  low  no  pride; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

Fulness  to  such  a  burden  is 
That  go  on  pilgrimage  ; 
Here  liitle.  and  hereafter  bliss. 
Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

"  As  Jennie  entered,  she  heard  first  the  air. 
and  then  a  part  of  the  chorus  and  words  of 
what  had  been,  perhaps,  the  song  of  a  jolly 
harvest-home." 

Our  work  is  over  —  over  now, 
The  goodman  wipes  bis  weary  brow. 
The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away, 
And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 
And  labour  ends  when  day  is  done. 
When  Autumn  's  gone,  and  Winter  's  come, 
We  hold  our  jovial  harvest-home. 

What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring—  bridal  ring- 
bridal  rm~<  1 
What  did  ye  wi'  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little 
cutty  quean,  O  ? 
I  eied  it  till  a  sodser.  a  sodger,  a  sodger. 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o' 
mine,  O. 

Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee; 
I  prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  form   and   the  features,  the  speech  and 
degree. 
Of  the  man  that  true  lover  of  mine  shall  be. 

1  Mr  D.  Thomson,  of  Qalashirlft,  prodoced  a  parody  on 

character  of  Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,   »nd  o»l»or-i».y«e( 

which  Sir  Waller  Scott  usually  attended  :   »ml  tht  Pott 
was  highly  amused  with  a  sly  allusion  to  hi>  two-fold 

"  TlriitJt  fe,  dv*  tke  Skirra  *e» 
Sub  M'Grceor'*  came  again  ?" 

566 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


-The  attendant  on  the  hospital  arranged 
her  in  her  bed  as  she  desired,  with  her  face  ;o 
the  wall,  and  her  back  to  the  light     So  soon 
as  she  was  quiet  in   tins  new  positum,  she 
began  again  to  sing  in   the    same    low  and 
modulated  strains,  as   if  she  was  recovering 
the  state  of  attraction  which  the  interrup- 
tion   of    her  visitants    had    disturbed.      Ttie 
strain,  however,   was    different,  and    rather 
resembled  the  music  of  the  methodist  hymns, 
though  the  measure  of  the  song  was  similar 
to  that  of  the  former  :"— 
When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought,— 
When  the  marriage  vest  is  wrought. — 
When  Faith  has  chased  cold  Doubt  away, — 
And  Hope  hut  sickens  at  delay, — 
When  Charity,  imprisoned  here, 
I  .ones  for  a  more  expanded  sphere ; 
Doff  thy  robes  of  sin  and  clay  ; 
Christian,  rise,  and  come  away. 

"  Her  next  seemed  to  be  the  fragment  of 
some  old  ballad  :" — 

Cauld  is  my  bed,  l-ord  Archibald, 

And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow  : 
But  thine  sail  he  as  sad  and  cauld, 
My  fause  true-love !  to-morrow. 
And  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free. 

Though  death  your  mistress  borrow  ; 
For  he  for  whom  1  die  to-<]ay. 
Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow. 
"  Again  she  changed  the  tune  to  one  wilder. 
less  monotonous,  and  less  regular.    But  of  the 
words  only  a  fraement  or  two  could  be  col- 
lected by  those  who  listened  to  this  singular 
scene :" — 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 
"Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird. 

When  shall  1  marry  me  ?" — 
"  When  six  bniw  gentlemen 
Kirkward  shall  carry  ye." 
"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly  ?"— 
"The  grey-headed  sexton 

That  delves  the  grave  duly. 
"The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  liirht  thee  steady. 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 

•  Welcome,  proud  lady.' " 
"Her  voice  died  away  with  the  last  notes, 
and  she  fell  into  a  slumber,  from  which  the 
experienced  attendant  assured  them,  that  she 
would  never  awake  at  all,  or  only  in  the  death- 
agony. 

"Her  first  prophecy  was  true.  The  poor 
maniac  parted  with  existence,  without  again 
uttering  a  sound  of  any  kind." 

Chaps,  xv.-xxxviii.  passim. 


(2.)  — MOTTOES. 

(t.)— CHAP.  XIX. 

To  man.  in  this  his  trial  state, 

The  privilese  is  given. 
When  lost  by  tides  of  human  fate, 

To  anchor  fast  in  Heaven 

Watts'  Hymns 


(3)—  CHAP.  XXIII. 
Law,   take   thy   victim! — May  she   find   the 

me  rev- 
In  yon   mild   heaven  which   this  hard  world 

deuies  her! 

(3.)— CHAP.  XXVIL 

And  Need  and  Misery,  Vice  and  Danger,  bind 
lu  sad  alliance,  each  degraded  mind. 

(4.)— CHAP.  XXXV. 

1  beseech  you — 

These   tears  beseech  you,  and  these  chaste 

hands  woo  you, 
That   never  yet  were   heaved   but  to  things 

holy- 
Things  like  yourself — You  are  a  God  above 

us ; 
Be  as  a  God,  then,  full  of  saving  mercy  ! 

The  Bloody  Brother. 
(11 )  — CHAP.  XLVL 
Happy  thou  art !  then  happy  be, 

Nor  envy  me  rny  lot: 
Thy  happy  state  I  envy  thee, 
And  peaceful  cot. 

Lady  C C 1. 


jfront  the  ajrfte  of 
Eammermoor. 


(1.)  — LUCY  ASHTOX'S  SONG. 

"The  silver  tones  of  I.nry  Ashton's  voice 
minsled  with  the  accompaniment  in  an  ancient 
air.  lo  which  some  one  had  adapted  the  fol- 
lowing words  :"— 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, — 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming.— 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens,— 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens,— 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  sinser,— 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger,— 
Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die.  Chap.  iii. 


(2.)  — NORMAN  THE  FORESTER'S 

SONG. 

"And   humming  his  rustic  ronndelay,  the 
yeoman  went  on  his  road,  the  sound  of  his 
ronsh  voice  gradually  dying  away  as  the  dis- 
tance betwixt  them  increased." 
The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring, 

The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime  ; 
But  the  yeoman  must  start  when  the  bugles 

sing, 
Tis  time,  my  hearts,  'tis  time. 

There  's  bucks  and  raes  on  Billhope  braes. 
There's  a  herd  on  Shortwood  .-haw; 

But  a  lily-white  doe  in  the  garden  goes, 
She  's  fairlv  worth  them  a'.  Chap.  in. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.      567 


(3.)  — THE  PROPHECY. 

"With  a  quivering;  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale 
with  apprehension,  Caleb  faltered  out  the 
following  lines:" 

Wiien    tlie    last    Laird    of    Ravenswood    to 

Ravenswood  sliall  ride, 
And  WHO  a  dead  maiden  to  he  his  bride, 
He  shall  stable  his  steed  in  the  Kelpie's  flow, 
And  his  name  sh.ill  be  lost  for  everinoe ! 

Chap,  xviii. 


(4.)  — MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —CHAP.  VIII. 

The  hearth  in  hall  was  black  and  dead, 
No  board  was  dight  in  bower  within, 
Nor  merry  howl  nor  welcome  bed; 
"  Here's  sorry   cheer,"  quoth  the  Heir  of 
Li  line. 

Old  Ballad, 
[Altered  from  "  The  Heir  of  ii'rine."] 

(5.)  — CHAP.  xiv. 

As.  to  the  Autumn  breeze's  busle-sound. 
Various  and  »ague  the  dry  leaves  dance  their 

round, 

Or.  from  the  earner-door,  on  sether  borne, 
The   chaff  flies  devious  from  the  winuow'd 

corn ; 

So  vague,  so  devious,  at  the  breath  of  heav'n. 
From   their  fix'd    ami   are    mortal    counsels 
driven.  Anonymous. 

(3  )  —  CHAP.  XVII. 

Here  is  a  father  now. 

Will  truck  his  daughter  for  a  foreign  venture, 
Make  her  the  stop-gap  to  some  canker'd  feud, 
Or  fling  her  o'er,  like  Jonah,  to  the  fishes, 
To  appease  the  sea  at  highest. 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— CHAP.  XVIII. 
Sir,  stay   at  home   and  take  an    old   man's 

counsel : 
Seek  nut  to  bask  you  by  a  stranger's  hearth  ; 


Our 


fire. 


bine  smoke  is  warmer  than  their 


the  JLejjnrtr  of 


. 

Domestic  food  is  wholesome,  though  'tis 
homely. 

And  fort-ign  dainties  poisonous,  though  taste- 
ful. The  French  Courtezan. 

(5.)— CHAP.  xxv. 
True-love,  an'  thou  Ire  true, 

Thou  has  ane  kittle  part  to  play, 
For  fortune,  fashion,  fancy,  and  thott 

Maun  strive  for  many  a  day. 

I've  kend  by  mony  friend's  tale. 
Far  better  by  this  heart  of  matt, 

What  time  and  change  of  fancy  avaiL; 
A  true-love  knote  to  untwine. 

Heridersoun. 

(8.)—  CHAP.  XXVIL 

Why,  now  I  have  Dame  Fortune  by  the  forer 

lock, 
And   if   she  'scapes   my   grasp, .the,  fault   is 

mine  ; 
He  that  hath  buffeted  with  stern  adversrtr. 


(1.)  —  ANCIENT  GAELIC  MELODY. 

'•So  saying,  Annot  Lyle  sate  down  at  a 
little  distance  upon  the  bench  on  which  Allan 
M'Aulay  was  placed,  and  tuning  her  clair- 
shach,  a  small  harp,  about  thirty  inches  in 
height,  she  accompanied  it  with  her  voice. 
The  air  was  an  ancient  Gaelic  melody,  and 
the  words,  which  were  supposed  to  be  very 
old,  were  in  the  same  language;  but  we  sub- 
join a  translation  of  them,  by  Secundus 
M'Pherson.  Esq..  of  Gienlbrgen;  which,  al- 
though submitted  to  the  fetters  of  English 
rhythm,  we  trust  will  be  found  nearly  as 
genuine  as  the  version  of  Ossiau  by  his  cele- 
brated namesake." 


Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul. 
Night-crow,  raven,  bat,  and  owl, 
Leave  the  sick  man  to  his  dream — 
All  night  long  he  heard  you  scream. 
Haste  to  cave  and  ruin'd  tower, 
Ivy-tod,  or  dingled-bower. 
There  to  wink  and  mop,  for,  hark ! 
In  the  mid  air  sings  the  lark. 

2. 

Hie  to  moorish  gills  andi  rocks, 
Prowling  wolf  and  wily  fox. — 
Hie  ye  fast,  nor  turn  your  view. 
Though  the  lamb  bleats  to  the  ewe. 
Couch  your  trains,  and.speed  your  Sight, 
Safety  parts  with  parting  night; 
And  on  distant  echo  borne. 
Comes  the  hunter's  early  horn, 

3. 

The  nwon's  wan  crescent  scarcely  gleams, 
Ghost-like  she  fades  in  morning  beams  ; 
Hie  hence,  each  peevish  imp.and  fay 
That  scare  the  pilgrim  on  hwway.— - 
Quench,  kelpy !  quench,  m.bug  and  fen,. 
Thy  torch,  that  cheats  benighted  men .; 
Thy  dance  is  o'er,  thy  reign  is  done,. 
For  Benyieglo  hath  seen  the  sun. 


Wild  thoughts,  that,  sinful,  dark,  and  deep, 
O'erpower  the  passive  mind  in.  sleep, 
Pass  from  the  slumberer's  soul  away. 
Like  night-mists  from  the  brow  of  da*  : 
Foul  hag.  whose  blasted  «isage  grim, 
Smothers  the  pulse,  umiernes  the  Un»t>, 
Spur  thy  dark  palfrey,  ami  begone ! 
Thou.darest  not  face  It*  gixluke  sun 


(2.)  —  THE  ORPHAN  MAID. 
"Tnning  her  iastrBmen.  and-  . 
assenting  look  fr«n  Ler 


.        . 

on  e  itb  an 


vhose   goodasss 


had  before  to  ackno* 

He  that  hatn  Dnrreieu  wiin  stern  atiyeraiir.        ™'lv-=  ,*""^C"  ^pd   utio   the  '••—•«•* 

Best  knows  to  shape  his  course  to  favouring   ledge,  has  tfcus  translated  u) 

breezes.  Old  Play.     >  tou*ue  :"  ^_____ 


568 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


November's  bail-cloud  drifts  away, 

November's  sun-beam  wan 
Looks  coldly  on  the  castle  grey. 

W  hen  forth  comes  Lady  Aune. 

The  orphan  by  the  oak  was  set, 

Her  arms,  her  feet,  were  bare ; 
The  bail-drops  had  not  melted  yet. 

Amid  her  raven  hair. 

"  And.  dame."  she  said,  "  by  all  the  ties 

That  child  and  mother  know. 
Aid  one  who  never  knew  these  joys, — 

Relieve  an  orphan's  woe." 

The  lady  said,  "  An  orphan's  state 

Is  hard  and  sad  to  hear; 
Yet  worse  the  widow'd  mother's  fate, 

Who  mourns  both  lord  and  heir. 

"Twelve  times  the  rolling  year  has  sped, 

Since,  from  the  vengeance  wild 
Of  fierce  Strathallan's  chief  I  fled. 

Fort  If  s  eddies  whelm'd  my  child.*' — 

"Twelve   times   the   year   its    course    has 
borne," 

The  wandering  maid  replied ; 
"  Since  fishers  on  St.  Bridget's  morn, 

Drew  nets  on  Campsie  side. 

"  St.  Bridget  sent  no  scaly  spoil, 

An  infant,  well  nigh  dead, 
They  saved,  and  rear'd  in  want  and  toil, 

To  beg  from  you  her  bread." 

The  orphan  maid  the  lady  kiss'd, — 

'•  My  husband's  looks  you  hear ; 
Saint  Bridget  and  her  morn  be  bless'd ! 

You  are  his  widow's  heir." 

They've  robed  that  maid,  so  poor  and  pale, 

In  silk  and  sandals  rare ; 
And  pearls,  for  drops  of  frozen  hail. 

Are  glistening  in  her  hair.  Chap.  ix. 


(3.)  — MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —  CHAP.  T. 

Dark  on  their  journey  lour'd  the  gloomy  day, 
Wild  were  the  hills,  and  doubtful  grew  the 

way; 
More  dark,  more  gloomy,  and  more  doubtful, 

show'd 
The  mansion  which  received  them  from  the 

road. 

The  Travellers,  a  Romance. 

fl.) -CHAP.  xi. 

Is  this  thy  castle.  Baldwin  ?    Melancholy 
Displays  her  sable  banner  from  the  donjon, 
Dark'ning   the   foam   of   the    whole    surge 

beneath. 

Were  I  a  habitant,  to  see  this  gloom 
Pollute  the  face  of  nature,  and  to  hear 
The  ceaseless  sound  of  wave  and  sea-bird's 

scream, 

I'd  wish  me  in  the  hot  that  poorest  peasant 

Ere  framed  to  give  him  temporary  shelter. 

Browne. 


(3.)— CHAP.  XIV. 

This  was  the  entry,  then,  these  stairs — hut 

whither  after? 

Yet  he  that's  sure  to  perish  on  the  land 
May  quit  the  nicety  of  card  and  compass, 
And  trust  the  open  sea  without  a  pilot. 

Tragedy  of  Brennoralt. 


jFrom  Etoatthoe. 

(1.)  — TIIE  CRUSADER'S  RETURN. 

1. 

High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame, 
From  Palestine  the  champion  came  ; 
The  cross  upon  his  shoulders  borne. 
Battle  and  blast  had  dimm'd  and  torn. 
Each  dint  upon  his  batler'd  shield 
Was  token  of  a  fonghlen  field  ; 
And  thus,  beneath  his  lady's  bower, 
He  sung,  as  fell  the  twilight  hour: 

2. 

"  Joy  to  the  fair !— thy  knight  behold, 

Return'd  from  yonder  land  of  cold  ; 

No  wealth  he  brings,  nor  wealth  can  need, 

Save  his  good  arms  and  battle-steed  ; 

His  spurs  to  da?h  against  a  foe, 

His  lance  and  sword  to  lay  him  low  ; 

Such  all  the  trophies  of  h'is  toil. 

Such— and  the  hope  of  Tekla's  smile  ! 

3. 

"Joy  to  the  fair!  whose  constant  knight 
Her' favour  fired  to  feats  of  might! 
I'nnoted  shall  she  not  remain 
Where  meet  the  bright  and  noble  train; 
Minstrel  shall  sing,  and  herald  tell— 
'  Mark  yonder  maid  of  beauty  well, 
'Tis  she  for  whose  bright  eyes  was  won 
The  listed  field  of  Ascalon! 

4. 

" '  Note  well  her  smile  ! — it  edged  the  blade 
Which  fifty  wives  to  widows  made. 
When,  vain  his  strength  and  Mahound's  spell, 
Icomum's  ttirbnn'd  Soldan  fell. 
See'st  thon  her  locks,  whose  sunny  gjow 
Half  shows,  half  shades,  her  neck  ot  snow? 
Twines  not  of  them  one  golden  thread. 
But  for  its  sake  a  Paynim  bled.' 


"Joy  to  the  fair! — my  name  unknown, 
Each  deed,  and  all  its  praise,  thine  own  ; 
Then,  oh  !  unbar  this  churlish  gate. 
The  night-dew  falls,  the  hour  is  late. 
Inured  to  Syria's  glowing  breath, 
I  feel  the  north  breeze  chill  as  death  ; 
Let  grateful  love  quell  maiden  shame. 
And  grant  him  bliss  who  brings  thee  fame." 
Chap  xviii. 


(2.)— THE  BAREFOOTED  FRTAR. 
I. 

Ill  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelvemonth  or 

twain, 
To  search  Europe  through  from  Byzantium  to 

Spain ; 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       569 


But  ne'er  shall  you  find,  shuulil  you  search  till 

you  tire, 
So  happy  a  man  as  the  Barefooted  Friar. 


Your  knight  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career. 
And   is   brought   home  at  even-song  prick'd 

through  with  a  spear; 
I  confess  him  in  haste — for  his  lady  desires 
No  comfort  on  earth   save   the    Barefooted 

Friar's. 


Your  monarch !  —  Pshaw  !  many  a  prince  has 

been  known 
To  barter  his  robes  for  our  cowl  and  our 

But  which  of  us  e'er  felt  the  idle  desire 

To  exchange  for  a  crown  the  grey  hood  of  a 

Friar! 

4. 
The  Fritr  has  walk'd  out.  and  where'er  he  has 

gone, 

The  land  and  its  fatness  is  mark'd  for  his  own  ; 
He  can  roam  where  he  lists,  he  can  stop  where 

he  tires, 
For  every   man's  house    is    the    Barefooted 

Friar's. 

5. 
He's  expected  at  noon,  and  no  wight,  till  he 

comes. 
May  profane  the  great  chair,  or  the  porridge 

of  plums; 
For  the  best  of  the  cheer,  and  the  seat  by  the 

fire. 
Is  the  undenied  right  of  the  Barefooted  Friar. 


He's  expected  at  night,  and  the  pasty's  made 

hot. 
They  broach  the  brown  ale,  and  they  fill  the 

black  pot; 
And  the  good-wife  would  wish  the  good-man 

in  the  mire, 
Ere  he  lack'd  a  soft  pillow,  the  Barefooted 

Friar. 

Long  flourish  the  sandal,  the  cord,  and  the 

cope, 

The  dread  of  the  devil  and  trust  of  the  Pope ! 
For  to  gather  life's  roses,  unscathed  by  the 

briar. 
Is  granted  alone  to  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Chap,  xviii. 


(3.)— THE  SAXON  'VTAR-SOXCr. 

"  The  fire  was  spreadins  rapidly  through  all 
parts  of  the  castle,  when  Ulrica,  who  had  first 
kindled  it.  appeared  on  a  turret,  in  the  guise 
of  one  of  the  ancient  furies,  yelling  forth  a 
war-song,  such  as  was  of  yore  chanted  on  the 
field  of  battle  by  the  yet  heathen  Saxons.  Her 
long  dishevelled  grey  hair  flew  back  from  her 
uncovered  head ;  the  inebriating  delight  of 
gratified  vengeance  contended  in  her  eyes 
with  the  fire  of  insanity  ;  and  she  brandished 
the  dist;iff  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  as  if 
she  had  been  one  of  the  Fatal  Sisters,  who 
spin  and  abridge  the  thread  of  human  life. 
Tradition  has  preserved  some  wrid  strophes 

48~* 


of  the  barbarous  hymn  which  she  chanted 
wildly  amid  that  scene  of  fire  and  slaugh- 
ter:"— • 

1. 

Whet  the  bright  steel, 
Sons  of  the  White  Dragon! 
Kindle  the  torch. 
Daughter  of  Hengist ! 
The  steel  glimmers  not  for  the  carving  of  the 


banquet. 
It  is  hard.  I 


.  broad,  and  sharply  pointed  ; 
The  torch  goeth  not  to  the  bridal  chamber, 
It  steams  and  glitters  blue  with  sulphur. 
Whei  the  steel,  the  raven  croaks ! 
Light  the  torch.  Zeruebuck  i-s  yelling! 
Whet  the  sieel.  sons  of  the  Dragon  ! 
Kindle  the  torch,  daughter  of  Hengist ! 


The  black  clouds  are  low  over  the  thane's 
castle: 

The  eagle  screams — he  rides  on  their  bosom. 

Scream  not,  grey  rider  of  the  sable  cloud 

Thy  banquet  is  prepared  ! 

The  maidens  of  Valhalla  look  forth. 

The  race  of  Hensisl  will  send  them  guests. 

Shake  your  black  tresses,  maidens  of  Val- 
halla! 

And  strike  your  loud  timbrels  for  joy  ! 

Many  a  haughty  step  bends  to  your  halls, 

Many  a  helmed  bead. 


Dark  sits  the  evening  upon  the  thane's  castle, 

The  black  clouds  gather  round  ; 

Soon  shall  they  be  red  as  the  blood  of  the  va- 
liant ! 

The  destroyer  «f  forests  shall  shake  his  red 
crest  against  them  ; 

He,  the  bright  consumer  of  palaces, 

Broad  waves  he  his  blazing  banner. 

Red,  wide,  and  dusky. 

Over  the  strife  of  the  valiant ; 

His  joy  is  in  the  clashing  swords  and  broKen 
bucklers; 

He  loves  to  lick  the  hissing  blood  as  it  bursts 
warm  from  the  wound ! 

4. 

All  must  perish ! 

The  sword  cleaveth  the  helmet; 

The  strong  armour  is  pierced  by  the  lance: 

Fire  devoureth  the  dwelling  of  princes, 

[engines  break  down  the  fences  of  the  battle. 

Allmust  perish! 

The  race  of  Hengist  is  gone — 

The  name  of  Horsa  is  no  more  ! 

Shrink  not  then  from  your  doom,  sons  of  (he 

sword ! 

I*t  your  blades  drink  blood  like  wine; 
Feast  ye  in  the  banquet  of  slaughter, 
By  the  light  of  the  blazing  halls! 
Strong  lie  your  swords  while  your  blood  is 

warm. 

And  spare  neither  for  pity  nor  fear, 
Fur  vengeance  hath  but  an  hour; 
Strong  hate  itself  shall  expire ! 
I  also  must  perish. 


Notf.  —  "It  will  readily  occur  to  the  anti- 
quary, that  these  verses  are  intended  to  imi- 
tate the  antique  poetry  of  the  Scalds  —  the 


570 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


minstrels  of  the  old  Snau  lin-ivians  — the  race, 
a.«  'be  Laureate  so  happily  terms  them, 

"Stern  to  inflict,  ami  stubborn  to  endure. 
Who  smiled  in  death." 

The  poetry  of  thfi  Anglo-Saxons,  after  their 
civilisation  and  conversion,  was  of  a  different 
and  softer  character:  but.  in  the  circumstances 
of  Ulni-a.  she  may  be  not  unnaturally  supposed 
to  return  to  the  wild  strains  which  animated 
her  forefathers  during  the  limes  of  Paganism 
am]  untamed  ferocity." 

Chap,  xxxil 


(4.)— REBECCA'S  HYMN. 

"  It  was  in  the  twilieht  of  the  day  when  her 
trial,  if  it  could  be  called  such,  had  taken 
place,  that  a  low  knock  wns  heard  at  the  door 
of  Kebecca's  prison  chamber.  Itdisturhed  not 
the  inmate,  who  was  then  engaged  in  the 
evening  prayer  recommendi-d  by  her  religion, 
and  which  concluded  with  a  hymn,  which  we 
have  ventured  thug  to  translate  into  Eng- 
lish :" 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved. 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came. 
Her  fathers'  God  before  her  moved, 

An  awful  guide  in  sm.ike  and  flame. 
By  day.  along  the  astonish'd  lands, 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow; 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimson 'd  sands 

fieturn'd  the  fiery  column's  glow. 

There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise. 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answtr'd  keen. 
And  Zion's  daughters  pour'd  their  lays, 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze. 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone : 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

Bat  present  still,  though  now  unseen  ! 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day, 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 
And  oh.  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  aud  sUirm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-suffering,  slow  to  wratb, 

A  burning  and  a  shining  light ! 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams, 

The  tyrant's  jest,  ihe  Gentile's  scorn  ; 
No  censer  round  our  altar  beams. 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  harp,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said.  'The  blood  of  goat, 

The  flesh  of  rams  I  will  not  prize; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought. 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice.' 

Chap.  xl. 


Anna-Marie,  love,  up  is  the  sun, 

Anna-Mane,  love,  morn  is  begun. 

Mists  are  dispersing,  love,  birds  singing  free, 

Up  in  the  morning,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  in  the  morn. 

The  hunter  is  winding  blithe  sounds  on  his 

horn. 
The   echo   rings  merry  from  rock  and  from 

tree, 
'Tis  time  to  arouse  thee,  love,  Anna-Marie. 


O  Tybalt,  love.  Tybalt,  awake  me  not  yet. 
Around   my  soft  pillow  while  softer  dreams 

flit; 
For  wlnt  are   the  joys  that  in  waking  we 

prove. 
Compared  with  these  visions,  O  Tybalt !  my 

love  ? 
]  Let  the  birds  to  the  rise  of  the  mist  carol 

shrill, 
i  Let  the  hunter  blow  out  his  loud  horn  on  the 

hill. 
!  Softer  sounds,  softer  pleasures,  in  slumber  I 

prove. 
But  think  not  I  dream'd  of  thee,  Tybalt,  my 

love.  Chap.  xli. 


(5.)— THE  BLACK  KNIGHT'S  SONG. 

"  At  the  point  of  their  journey  at  which  we 
take  I  hem  up.  this  joyous  pair  were  engaged 
in  singing  a  virelai,  as  it  was  called,  in  which 
the  clown  bore  a  stiff  and  mellow  burthen  to 
the  better  instructed  Knight  of  the  Fetterlock. 
And  thiir.  ran  the  ditty  :" 


(6.)  — SONG. 

THE  BLACK  KNIGHT  AND  WAMDA. 

"The  Jester  next  struck  into  another  carol, 

a  sort  of  comic  ditty,  to  which  the  Knight, 

catching  up  the   tune,  replied   in  the    like 

manner. 

KNIGHT  ASD   WAMBA. 

There  came   three  merry  men   from  south, 

west,  and  north, 
Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
To  win  the  Widow  of  Wycotnbe  forth. 
And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  them 
nay? 

The  first  was  a  knight,  and  from  Tynedale  he 

came. 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
And  his  fathers,  God  suve   us,  were  men  of 

great  fame. 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him 
iiay  f 

Of  his  father  the  laird,  of  his  uncle  the  squire, 
He  boasted  in  rhyme  ami  in  roundelay; 

She  barle  him  go  bask  by  his  sea-coal  fire, 
For  she  was  the  widow  would  say  him  nay. 

WAMBA. 

The  next  that  came  forth,  swore  by  blood  and 

by  nails. 

Merrily  sing  the  roundelay ; 
Hur's  a  gentleman,  God  wot.  and  hur's  lineage 

was  of  Wales. 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him 
nay? 

Sir  David  ap  Morgan  ap  Griffith  ap  Hugh 
Ap  Tudor  Ap  Kliice.  quoth  his  roundelay; 

She  said  that  one  widow  for  so  many  was  too 

few. 
And  she  hade  the  Welshman  wend  his  way. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     571 


But  then  next  came  a  yeoman,  a  yeoman  of 

Kent, 

Joluly  singing  his  roundelay; 
He  spoke  to  the  widow  of  living  and  rent, 
And  where  was  the  widow  could  say  him 
nay  ?    ' 

BOTH. 

So  the  knight  and  the  squire  were  both  left  in 

the  mire. 

There  for  to  sing  the  roundelay  ; 
For  a  yeoman  of  Kent,  with  his  yearly  rent. 
There  ue'er  was  a  widow  could  say   him 
nay.  Chap.  zli. 


(7.)  — FUNERAL  HYMN. 

"  Four  maidens.  Rowena  leadms  the  choir, 
rnised  a  hymn  for  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  of 
winch  we  have  only  been  able  to  decipher 
two  or  three  stanzas :" 
Dust  unto  dust, 
To  this  u\\  must; 

The  tenant  hath  resign'J 
The  faded  form 
To  waste  and  worm  — 
Corruption  claims  her  kind. 

Through  paths  unknown 
Thy  soul  hath  flown. 

To  seek  the  realms  of  woe. 
Where  fiery  pain 
Shall  purse  and  stain 

Of  actions  done  below. 

In  that  sad  place, 
By  ^fary's  grace. 

Brief  may  thy  dwelling  be ! 
Till  prayers  and  alms. 
And  holy  psalms. 

Shal1  set  the  captive  free. 

Chap,  iliii. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— 'CHAP.  XIX. 

Away !    our  journey  lies  through  dell  and 

Where  the   blithe   fawn   trips    by  its   timid 

mother, 
Where  the   broad  oak,  with    intercepting- 

boughs. 
Chequers  the  sun-beam  in  the  green  sward 

alley  — 

Up  and  away ! — for  lovely  paths  are  these 
To  tread,  when  the  glad  sun  is  on  his  throne  : 
Less  pleasant,  and  less  safe,  when  Cytithia's 

lamp, 
With   doubtful   glimmer,  lights  the   dreary 

forest.  Eltrick  Forest. 

(a.)— CHAP.  xxi. 
When  autumn  nights  were  long  and  drear, 

And  forest  walks  were  dark  and  dim, 
How  sweetly  on  the  pilgrim's  ear 
Was  wont  to  steal  the  hermit's  hymn ! 

Devotion  borrows  Music's  tone, 
And  Music  took  Devotion's  wing, 

And,  like  the  bird  that  hails  the  sun. 
They  soar  to  heaven,  ami  soannr  sing. 

The  Hermit  of  at.  Clemnifs  Well. 


(3.)  — CHAP.  xxvu. 
The  hottest  horse  will  oft  be  cool, 

The  dullest  will  show  lire 
The  fnar  will  often  play  Hie  fool, 
The  fool  will  plav  tiie  Iriar. 

Old  Song. 

(4.j  —  CHAP.  XXIX. 

This  wandering  race,  sever'd  from  other  men, 
Boast  yet  their  intercourse  wuh  human  arts; 
The  seas,  the  woods,  the  deserts  which  they 

haunt. 
Find    them   acquainted  with    their   secret 

treasures: 
And   unregarded    herbs,  and    flowers    and 

blossoms. 
Display  uudream'd-of  powers  when  gather'd 

by  them.  The  Jew. 

(5.)— CHAP,  xxxu 

Approach  the  chamber,  look  upon  his  bed, 
His  is  the  passing  of  no  peaceful  ehost, 
Which,  as  the  lark  arises  to  the  sky, 
'Mid  morning's  sweetest   breeze  and   softest 

dew. 
Is  wing'd  to  heaven  by  good  men's  sighs  and 

tears! 
Anselm  parts  otherwise.  Old  Play. 

(6.)— CHAP.  XXXIII. 

Trust  me.  each  state  must  have  its  policies  ; 
Kingdoms    have    edicts,  cities   have   their 

charters; 

Even  the  wild  outlaw,  in  his  forest-walk, 
Keeps  yet  some  touch  of  civil  discipline. 
For  not  since  Adam  wore  his  verdant  apron, 
Hath  man  with  man  in  social  union  dwelt. 
But  laws  were  made  to  draw  that  union  closer. 

(M.  Play. 
(7.)  — CHAP.  XXXVI. 

Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts. 
Strive  with  the  half-starved  lion  for  his  prey  ; 
Lesser  the   risk,   than   rouse  the  slumbering 

fire 
Of  wild  Fanaticism.  Anonymous. 

(8.)  —CHAP.  XXXVII. 

Say  not  my  art  is  fraud— all  live  hy  seeming. 
The  begear  bess  with  it,  and  the  gay  courtier 
Gains  land  and  title,  rank  and  nile,  by  seem- 
ing : 

The  clergy  scorn  it  not,  and  the  bold  soldier 
Will  eke  with  it  his  service.— All  admit  it. 
All  practise  it ;  ami  he  who  is  content 
With  showing  what  he  is,  shall  have  small 

credit 

In  church,  or  camp,  or  state.  —  So   wass  the 
world.  Old  Play. 

(».)—  CHAP.  XXXVIII. 

Stern  was  the  law  which  bade  its  vot'ries 

leave 

At  human  woes  with  human  hearts  to  erieve  ; 
Stern  was  the  law,  which  at  the  winning 

wile 
Of  frank   and   harmless  mirth   forbade  to 

smile  : 

But  sterner  still,  when  hish  the  iron-rod 
Of  tyrant  power  she  shook,  anil   call'd   that 

power  of  God.  Miildle  Aries. 


572 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


on  fftrs.  SErsfcfne.1 


1819. 

Plain,  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind, 
Arise  the  tomb  of  her  we  have  resign'd  ; 
Unflaw'd  and  stainless  be  the  marble  scroll, 
Emblem  of  lovely  form  and  candid  soul  — 
But,  oh  !  what  symbol  may  avail,  to  tell 
The  kindness,  wit,  and   sense,  we   loved  so 

well  ! 

What  sculplure  show  the  broken  ties  of  life. 
Here  buried  with  the  parent,  friend,  and  wife  ! 
Or  on  the  tablet  stamp  each  til  le  dear, 
By  which  thine  urn,  Euphemia,  claims  the 

tear! 

Yet  taught,  by  thy  meek  sufferance,  to  assume 
Patience  in  anguish,  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Resign'd,  though  sad,  this  votive  verse  shall 

flow, 
And  brief,  alas  !  as  thy  brief  span  below. 


the 


(1.)  — SONGS  OF  THE  WHITE  LADY 
OF  AVENEL. 


NO  TWEED  RIVER. 

I. 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright. 
Both  current  and  ripple  are  dancing  in  light. 
We  have  roused  the  night  raven,  I  heard  him 

croak. 

As  we  plashed  alone  beneath  the  oak 
Tnat  flings  its  broad  branches  so  far  and  so 

wide. 
Their  shadows  are  dancing  in  midst  of  the 

tide. 
"Who  wakens  my  nestlings!"  the  raven  he 

said, 

"  My  beak  shall  ere  morn  in  his  blood  be  red  ! 
For  a  blue  swollen  corpse  is  a  dainty  meal. 
And  I'll  have  my  share  with  the  pike  and  the 

eel." 

2. 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright. 
There's  a  golden  gleam  on  the  distant  height: 
There 's  a  silver  shower  on  the  alders  dank. 
And  the  drooping  willows  that  wave  on  the 

bank. 

I  see  the  Abbey,  both  turret  and  tower, 
It  is  all  astir  for  the  vesper  hour; 
The  Monks   for  the  chapel  are  leaving  each 

cell. 
But  where  's    Father  Philip  should  toll  the 

bell? 

3. 

Merrily  swim  we.  the  moon  shines  bright:. 
Downward  we  drift  through  shadow  and  light. 
I  nder  yon  rock  the  eddies  sleep, 
Calm  and  silent,  dark  and  deep. 


The  Kelpy  has  risen  from  the  fathomless  pool. 

He  has   lighted  his  caudle   of  deatii  and  of 
dool: 

Look,  Father,  look,  and  you'll  laugh  to  see 

How   he  gapes  and  glares  with  his  eves  on 
tliee ! 

4. 

Good  luck  to  your  fishing,  whom  watch  ye  to- 
night? 

A  man  of  mean  or  a  man  of  might? 

Is  it  layman  or  priest  that  must  float  in  your 
cove. 

Or  lover  who  crosses  to  visit  his  love  ? 

Hark  !    heard    ye    the    Kelpy    reply    as    we 
pass'd. — 

"  God's  blessing  on  the  warder,  he  lock'd  the 
bridge  fast ! 

All  that  come  to  my  cove  are  sunk, 

Priest  or  layman,  lover  or  monk." 


Landed — landed  !  the  black  book  hath  won. 
Else  had  you  seen  Berwick  witli  morning  sun ! 
Sain  ye,  and  save  ye.  and  blithe  mot  ye  lie. 
For  seldom  they  land  that  go  swimming  with 
me.  Chap.  v. 


TO  THE  SUB-PRIOR. 

Good  evening.  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you 

ride. 
With  your  mule  so  fair,  and  your  mantle  so 

wide ; 
But  ride  you  through  valley,  or  ride  you  o'er 

hill, 
There  is  one  that,  has  warrant  to  wait  on  you 

still. 

Back.  back. 
The  volume  black! 
I  have  a  warrant  to  carry  it  back. 

What,  ho!  Sub-Prior,  and  came  you  but  here 
To  conjure   a   book   from    a  dead   woman's 

bier? 

Sain  you.  and  save  you,  be  wary  and  wise, 
Ride  back  with   the   book,  or  you'll  pay  for 

your  prize. 

Back,  back. 

There  's  death  in  the  track  ! 
In  the  name  of  my  master,  I  bid  thee  bear 

back. 

"In  the  name  of  my  Master."  said  the 
astonished  Monk,  "that,  name  before  which 
ail  things  created  tremble.  I  conjure  thee  to 
say  what  thou  art  that  hauntest  me  thus?" 

The  same  voice  replied. — 

That  which  is  neither  ill  nor  well, 
That,  which  helonzs  not  to  heaven  nor  to  hell, 
A  wreath  of  the  mist,  a  bubble  of  the  stream, 
'Twixt  a   waking    thought    and    a    sleeping 
dream ; 

A  form  that  men  spy 
With  the  half-shut  eye 
In  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  am  I. 

Vainly,  Sir  Prior,  wouldst  thou  bar  me  my 

right ! 
Like   the  star  when    it   shoots,   I  can    dart 

through  the  night; 

buried  >t  Salina,  in  lh«  county  of  Fife,  where  the*!  lin« 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.      573  j 

1  can  dance  on  the  torrent,  and  ride  on  the 
air. 
And  travel  tlie  world  with  the  bonny  night- 
mare. 
Again,  again. 
At  the  crook  of  the  glen, 
Where  bickers  the    bunue,   I'll    meet    thee 
again. 
Men  of  good  are  bold  as  sackless.l 
Men  of  rude  are  wild  and  reckless. 
Lie  thou  still 
hi  the  nook  of  the  hill. 
For  those  be  before  thee  that  wish  thee  ill. 
Cttap.  ji. 

Ay  !  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell, 
To  waken  me  here  by  the  Fairies'  Well. 
But  thou  hast  loved  the  heron  and  hawk. 
More  than  to  seeK  my  haunted  walk  ; 
And  thou  has',  loved  the  lance  and  the  sword, 
More  than  good  text  and  holy  word; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  deer  to  track, 
More  than  tlie  lines  and  the  letters  black; 
And  thou  art  a  ranger  of  moss  and  wood. 
And  scornest  the  nurture  of  gentle  blood. 

Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused, 
Thine  idlehood  my  trust  abused; 
He  that  draws  to  harbour  late, 
Must  sleep  without,  or  burst  the  gate. 
There  is  a  star  for  thee  which  burn'd. 
Its  influence  wanes.  iU>  course  is  turn'd  ; 
Valour  and  constancy  alone 
Can  bring  thee  back  the  chance  that's  flown. 

HALBERT'S  INCANTATION. 

Thrice  to  the  holly  brake- 
Thrice  to  the  well:— 
I  hid  thee  awake. 
White  Maid  of  Avenel! 
Noon  gleams  on  the  Lake  — 
Noon  glows  on  the  Fell- 
Wake  thee,  O  wake. 
White  Maid  of  Avenel. 

Within  that  awful  volume  lies 
The  mystery  of  mysteries  ! 
Happiest  they  of  human  race. 
To  whom  God  has  granted  grace 
To  read,  to  tear,  to  hope,  to  pray. 
To  lift  the  latch,  and  force  the  way; 
And  better  had  they  ne'er  been  horn, 
Who  read  to  doubt,  or  read  lo  scorn. 

Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep 
1  have  laid  the  book  to  sleep  ; 
Ethereal  fires  around  it  glowing  — 
Ethereal  music  ever  flowing  — 
The  sacred  pledge  of  Heav'n 
All  things  revere, 
Each  in  ms  sphere, 
i»ave  man  for  whom  'twas  giv'n: 
Lend  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy 
Thuigs  ne'er  seen  by  mortal  eye. 

TO  HALBERT. 

Youth  of  the  dark  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou 
call  me  ? 
Wherefore  art  thou  here,  if  terrors  can  appal 
tl.ee  ? 
He  that  seeks  to  deal  with  us  must  know  nor 
fear,  nor  failing; 
To  coward  and  churl  our  speech  is  dark,  our 
gilt*  are  unavailing. 
The  breeze  that  brought  me  hither  now  mnst 
sweep  Egyptian  ground. 
The  fleecy  cloud  on  which  1  ride  for  Araby  is 
hound  ; 
The  fleecy  cloud   is  drifting  by,  the  breeze 
sigh's  for  my  stay. 
For  I  must  sail  a  thousand  miles  before  the 
close  of  day. 

Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me  ? 
Still  it  is  free  to  thee 
A  peasant  to  dwell  ; 
Thou  may'st  drive  the  dull  steer, 
And  chase  the  king's  deer, 
But  never  more  come  near 
This  haunted  well. 

What  1  am  I  must  not  show— 
What  I  am  thou  coulilst  not  know  — 
Something  hetwixt  heaven  and  hell  — 

Something  that  through  thy  wit  or  will 
May  work  thee  g<xxl—  may  work  thee  iU. 
Neil  her  substance  quite,  nor  shadow, 
Haunting  lonely  moor  and  meadow, 
Dancing  by  the  haunted  spring. 
Riding  on  Ihe  whirlwind's  wing; 
Aping  in  fantastic  fashion 
Every  change  of  human  passion. 
While  o'er  our  frozen  minds  they  pass, 
Like  shadows  from  the  mirror'd  glass. 
Wayward,  tickle,  is  our  mood. 
Hovering  betwixt  bad  and  good, 
Happier  than  brief-dated  man, 
Living  ten  times  o'er  his  span  ; 
Far  Irss  happy,  for  we  have 
Help  nor  hope  beyond  the  grave! 
Man  awakes  lo  joy  or  sorrow  ; 
Ours  the  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow. 
Tins  is  all  that  I  can  show— 
This  is  all  that  thou  may'st  know. 

Here  lies  the  volume  thou  hast  boldly  sought  ; 
Touch  it,  and  take  it,  'twill  dearly  be  bought. 

Rash  thy  deed. 
Mortal  weed 
To  immortal  flames  applying  : 
Hasher  trust 
Has  thing  of  dust, 
On  his  own  weak  worth  relying  : 
Strip  thee  of  such  fences  vain. 
Strip,  and  prove  thy  luck  again. 

Mortal  warp  and  mortal  woof 
Cannot  brook  this  charmed  roof; 
All  that  mortal  art  hath  wrought 
In  our  cell  returns  to  nought. 
The  molten  gold  returns  to  clay, 
The  pohsh'd  diamond  melt*  away  ; 

1  SocUiH  —  Innocent 

574 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


All  is  alter'd.  all  is  flown. 
Noueht  Mauds  fast  but  truth  alone. 
Not  for  lhat  thy  quest  give  o'er: 
Courage !  prove  tUy  chance  once  more. 


Alas!  alas! 

Not  ours  Hie  grace 

These  holy  characters  to  trace : 

Idle  forms  of  painted  air. 

Not  to  us  is  given  to  share 
The  boon  hestow'd  on  Adam's  race. 

With  patience  bide, 

Heaven  will  provide 
The  fitting  time,  the  fitting  guide. 

Chap.  lii. 


HALBERTS  SECOND  INTERVIEW 
WITH  THE  WHITE  LADY  OF 
AVENEL. 

"  She  spoke,  and  her  speech  was  still  son?. 
or  rather  measured  chant;  but  if.  as  now. 
more  familiar,  it  flowed  occasionally  in  modu- 
lated blank  verse,  and,  at  other  times,  in  the 
lyrical  measure  which  she  had  used  at  their 
former  meeting." 

This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind 

Sit  weeping  alone  for  their  hopeless  lot, 

And  I  he  wood-maiden  sighs  to  the  sighing 

wiud. 
And    the    mermaiden   weeps  in  her  crystal 

grot ; 

For  this  is  a  day  that  the  deed  was  wrought, 
In  which  we  have  neither  part  nor  share. 
For  the  children  of  clay  was  salvation  bought, 
But  "not  for  the  forms  of  sea  or  air ! 
And  ever  the  mortal  is  most  forlorn. 
Who  meeteth  our  race  on  the  Friday  morn. 


Daring  youth  !  for  thee  it  is  well, 

Here  calling  me  in  haunted  dell, 

That  thy  heart  has  not  quail'd, 

Nor  thy  courage  fail'd. 

And  that  thoii  couldst  brook 

The  angry  look 

Of  Her  of  Avenel. 

Did  one  limb  shiver. 

Or  an  eyelid  quiver, 

Thou  wert  lost  for  ever. 
Though  1  am  form'd  from  the  ether  blue, 
And  n.y  blood  is  of  the  unfallen  dew, 
And  thoii  art  framed  of  mud  and  dust, 
'Tis  thine  to  speak,  reply  I  must. 


A  miehtier  wizard  far  than  I 
Wield-  o'er  the  universe  his  power; 
Him  owns  the  eagle  in  the  sky, 
The  turtle  in  the  bower. 
Changeful  in  shape,  yet  mightiest  still, 
He  wields  the  heart  of  man  at  will, 
From  ill  to  good,  from  good  to  ill, 
In  cot  and  castle-tower. 

Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell 
Is  fill'd  with  Mary  Avenel ! 
Ask  thy  pride,  why  scornful  look 
In  Mary's  view  it  will  not  brook  ? 


Ask  it,  why  thou  seek'st  to  rise 
Among  the  mighty  and  the  wise, — 
Why  thou  spuni'si  thy  lowly  lot,— 
Why  thy  pastimes  are  forgot. — 
Why  thou  wouldst  in  bloodv  strife 
Mend  thy  luck  or  lose  thy  life  ? 
Ask  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  tell, 
Siehing  from  its  secret  cell, 
'Tis  for  Mary  Avenel. 

Do  not  ask  me  ; 

On  doubts  like  these  thou  canst  not  task  me. 

We  only  see  the  passing  show 

Of  human  passions'  ehh  and  flow; 

And  view  the  pageant's  idle  glance 
!  As  mortals  eye  the  northern  dance, 
j  When  thousand  streamers,  flashing  bright, 
'  Career  it  o'er  the  brow  of  night, 
1  And  gazers  mark  their  changeful  glenms. 
!  But  feel  no  influence  from  their  beams 



:  By  ties  mysterious  link'd.  our  fated  race 

Holds  strange  connection  with  the  sons  of 

men. 

1  The  star  that  rose  upon  the  House  of  Avenel, 
I  When  Norman  Ulric  fust,  assumed  the  name, 
|  That  star,  when  culminating  in  its  orbit, 
|  Shot  from  its  sphere  a  drop  of  diamond  dew. 

And  this  bright  font  received  it— and  a  Spirit 

Rose  from  the  fountain,  and  her  date  of  life 

Hath  co-existence  with  the  House  of  Arene) 

And  with  the  star  that  rules  it. 

Look  on  my  girdle— on  this  thread  of  gold— 
'Tis  fine  as  web  of  lightest  gossamer, 
And.  hut  there  is  a  spell  on't.  would  not  hind. 
Light  as  they  are.  the  folds  of  my  thin  rone 
But  when  'twas  donn'd.  it.  was  a  massive  chain, 
Such  as  might  bind  the  champion  of  the  Jews, 
Even  when  his  locks  were  longest  —  it  hath 

dwindled. 
Hath   'minish'd    in    its    substance    and    its 

strength, 

As  sunk  the  greatness  of  the  House  of  Avenel. 
When  this  frail  thread  gives  way,  I  to  the  ele- 
ments 

Resign  the  principles  of  life  they  lent  me. 
Ask  me  no  more  of  this ! — the  stars  forbid  it. 

Dim  burns  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel, 
Dim  as  thn  beacon  when  the  morn  is  nigh, 
And  the  o'er-wearied  warder  leaves  the  light- 
house ; 

There  is  an  influence  sorrowful  and  fearful. 
That  dogs  its  downward  course.    Disastrous 

passion. 

Fierce  hate  and  rivalry,  are  in  the  aspect 
That  lowers  upon  its  fortunes. 

Complain  not  on  me.  child  of  clay, 
If  to  thy  harm  T  yield  the  way. 
We.  who  soar  thy  sphere  above. 
Know  not  aught  of  hate  or  love ; 
As  will  or  wisdom  rules  thy  mood, 
My  gifts  to  evil  turn  or  good. 

When  Piercie  Shafton  boasteth  high, 
I*t  this  token  meet  his  eye. 
The  sun  is  westering  from  the  dell. 
Thy  wish  is  granted— fare  thee  well ! 
Chap.  xvii. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.      575 


THE  -WHITE  LADY  TO  MART 
AVENEL. 

Maiden,  whose  sorrows  wail  the  Living  Dead. 
Whose  eyes  shall  commune  with  the  Dead 

Alive. 

Maiden,  attend !     Beneath  my  foot  lies  hid 
The  Word,  the  Law.  the  Path  which  thou 

dost  strive 
To  find,  and  canst  not  find.  — Could  Spirits 

shed 

Tears  for  their  lot,  it  were  my  lot  to  weep, 
Showing  the  road  which  I  shall  never  tread, 
Though  my  foot  points  it.  — Sleep,  eternal 

sleep. 
Dark,  limp,  and  cold  forgetfiilness  my  lot  !— 

But  do  n.  it  thou  at  human  ills  repine ; 
Secure  there  lies  full  guerdon  in  this  spot 
For  all   the  woes   that  wait  frail   Adam's 

line- 
Stoop  then  and   make  it  your's, — I  may  not 
make  it  mine ! 

Chap.  xxx. 


THE  WHITE  LADY  TO  EDWARD 
GLENDINNING. 

Thou  who  seek'st  my  fountain  lone. 
,  With  thoughts  and  hopes  thou  dar'st  not  own 
Whose  heart  within  leap'd  wildly  glad. 
When  most  his  brow  seern'd  dark  and  sad  ; 
Hie  thee  back,  thou  mid'st  not  here 
Corpse  or  coffin,  grave  or  hier; 
The  Dead  Alive  is  gone  and  fled — 
Go  thou,  and  join  the  Living  Dead ! 

The  Living  Dead,  whose  sober  brow 

on  shrouds  such  thoughts  as  thou  hast  now, 

Whose  hearts  within  are  seldom  cured 

Of  passions  by  their  vows  abjured ; 

Where,  under  sad  and  solemn  show, 

Vain  hopes  are  nursed,  wild  wishes  glow. 

Seek  the  convent's  vaulted  room, 

Prayer  and  vigil  be  thy  doom  ; 

Doff  the  green,  and  don  the  grey, 

To  the  cloister  hence  away  ! 

Chap.  xxxii. 


THE  WHITE  LADY'S  FAREWELL. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  Holly  green ! 

Thou  shall  seldom  now  be  seen. 

With  all  thy  glittering  garlands  bending. 

As  to  greet  my  slow  descending, 

Startling  the  bewilder'd  hind. 

Who  sees  thee  wave  without  a  wind. 

Farewell.  Fountain  !  now  not  long 
Siiait  thou  murmur  to  my  song. 
vs  title  fiy  crystal  bubbles  glancing, 
Keep  the  time  in  mystic  diincing. 
Rise  and  swell,  are  burst  and  lost. 
Like  mortal  schemes  by  fortune  cross'd. 

The  knot  of  fate  at  length  is  tied, 
The  Churl  is  Lord,  the  Maid  is  Bride! 
Vainly  did  my  magic  sleight 
Send  the  lover  from  her  sight; 
Wither  bush,  and  perish  well, 
Fall'n  is  lofty  Avenel ! 

Chap,  ixxvii. 


(2.)  — BORDER  BALLAD. 

1. 

March,  march.  Ettrick  and  Tevinrdale, 
Why  the  deil  dinna  ye  march  forward  in 

order  ? 

March,  march.  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale. 
All  the   Blue  Bonnets  are   bound  for  the 
Border. 

Many  a  banner  spread, 
Flutters  above  your  head, 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story. 
Mount,  and  make  ready  then, 
Sous  of  the  mountain  glen. 
Fight  for  the  Queen  and  our  old  Scottish 
glory. 

2. 
Come  from  the  hills  where  your  lursels  are 

grazing, 
Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the 

roe; 

Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing. 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  laiice,  and  the 
bow. 

Trumpets  are  sounding, 
War-steeils  are  bounding. 
Stand   to  your  arms,  and   march   in  good 
order, 

England  shall  many  a  day 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 
When    the    Blue   Bonnets  came   over  the 
Border.  Chop  xxv. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)  — CHAP.  I. 

0  ay!  the  Monks,  the  Monks,  they  did  the 

mi>chief! 

Theirs  all  the  grossness,  all  the  superstition 
Of  a  moat  gross  and  superstitious  age. — 
May  He  be  praised  that  sent  the   healthful 

tempest, 

And  scatter'd  all  these  pestilential  vapours; 
But  that  we  owed  them  all  to  yonder  Harlot 
Throurd  on  the  seven  hills  with  her  cup  of 

gold, 

1  will  as  soon  believe,  with  kind  Sir  Roger, 
That  old  Moll  White  took  wing  with  cat  and 

broomstick, 
And  raised  the  last  night's  thunder. 

Old  Play. 
(2.)  —  CHAP.  II. 

In  yon  lone  vale  his  early  youth  was  bred. 
Not  solitary  then— the  bugle-horn 
Of  fell  Alecto  often  waked  its  windings, 
From  where  the  brook  juins  the  majestic  river, 
To  the  wild  northern  log.  the  curlieu's  haunt, 
Where  oozes  forth  its  first  and  feeble  stream- 
let Old  flay. 
(3.)— CHAP.  V. 

A  priest,  ye  cry,  a  priest !  —  lame  shepherds 

they. 

How  shall  they  gather  in  the  straggling  flock  ? 
Dumb  dogs  which  bark  not  —  how  shall  they 

compel 

The  loitering  vagrants  to  the  Master's  fold  ? 
Fitter  to  bask  before  the  blazing  fire. 
And    snuff  the    mess    neat -handed    Phillis 

dresses, 
Than  on  the  snow-wreath  battle  with  the 

wolf.  Reformation. 


576 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(4.)—  CHAP.  VI. 
Now  let  us  sit  in  conclave.    Thnt  these  \ 


Be  rooted  from  the  vineyard  of  Hie  Church, 


(II.)  — CHAP.   XIX 
eeds    Now  choose  thee,  gallant,  betwixt  wealth  and 


thee 


That  these  foul   tares   be  sever'd   from  the    There   lies  the   pelf,  in    sum  to    beai 

wheat.  through 

We  are,  I  trust,  agreed. — Yet  how  to  do  this,   IThe  dance  of  youth,  and  the  turmoil  of  man- 
Is  or  hurt  the  wholesome  crop  and  tender  vine-  j  hood. 

plants,  i  Yet  'eav.e  enough  for  age's  chimney  corner ; 


Craves  good  advisement. 

The  Rtformation. 

(5)—  CHAP.  VIII. 

Nay,  dally  not  with  time,  the  wise  man's  trea- 
sure. 

Though  fools  are  lavish  on't — the  fatal  Fisher 
Hooks  souls,  while  we  waste  moments 

Old  Play. 

(».)— CHAP.  XL 

You  call  this  education,  do  yon  not  ? 
Why.  'tis  the  forced  n.arc.h  of  a  herd  of  bul- 
locks 

Before  a  shonting  drover.    The  glad  van 
Move  on  at  ease,  and  pause  a  while  to  snatch 
A  passing  morsel  from  the  dewy  green-sward. 
While  all  the  blows,  the  oalhs.  the  indignation. 
Fall  on  the  croupe  of  the  ill-faled  laggard 
That  cripples  in  the  rear.  Old  Play. 

(7.)  — CHAP.  XII. 

There's  something  in  that  ancient  supersti- 
tion. 

Which,  erring  as  it  is.  our  fancy  loves. 
The   spring  that,  with  its  thousand   crystal 

hubbies. 

Bursts  from  the  bosom  of  some  desert  rock 
In  secret  solitude,  may  well  be  deem'd 
The  haunt  of  something  purer,  more  refined, 
And  mightier  than  ourselves.  Old  Play. 

(8)— CHAP.  XIV. 

Nay,  let  me   have   the  friends  who  eat  my 

victuals. 
As  various  as  my  dishes.  The  feast  'a 

naught. 
Where  one  huge  plate  predominates. — John 

Plaintext. 

He  shall  be  mighty  beef,  onr  English  start!?  ; 
The  worthy  Alderman,  a  hntter'J  dumpling; 
Yon  pair  of  whisker'd  Cornets,  ruffs  and 

rees; 
Their  friend  the  Dandy,  a  green   goose  in 

sippets. 

And  so  the  board  is  spread  at  once  and  fill'd 
On  the  same  principle  — Variety. 

Neto  Play. 

(9.)  — CHAP.  XV. 

He  strikes  no  coin,  'tis  true,  bat  coins  new 

phrases. 
And  vends  them  forth  as  knaves  vend  gilded 

counters. 
Which  wise  men  scorn,  and  fools  accept  in 

payment.  Old  Play. 

(10.)  — CHAP.  XVI. 

A  courtier  extraordinary,  who  by  diet 
Of  meals  and  drinks,  his  temperate  exercise. 


But  an  thou  grasp  to  it.  farewell  Ambition 
Farewell  each  hope  of  bettering  thy  condition, 
And  raising  thy  low  rank  above  the  churls 
That  till  the  earth  for  bread  !          Old  Play. 

(11)  — CHAP.  XXI. 
Indifferent,  but  indifferent — pshaw !  he  doth  it 

not 
Like  one  who  is  his  craft's  master  — ne'erthe- 

less 

I  have  seen  a  clown  confer  a  bloodv  coxcomb 
On  one  who  was  a  master  of  defence. 

Old  Ploy. 

(13.)  — CHAP.  XXII. 

Yes.  life  hath  left  him — every  busy  thought, 
Each  fiery  passion,  every  strong  affection. 
The  sense  of  outward  ill  and  inward  sorrow. 
Are  fled  at  once  from  the  pale  trunk  before 

me  ; 
4nd    I    have    given    that  which    spoke    and 

moved. 

Thought,  acted.  snfTer'd.  as  a  living  man, 
To  he  a  ghastly  form  of  bloody  clay. 
Soon  the  foul  food  for  reptiles!        Old  Play. 

(II.)— CHAP.  XXin. 
Ti3  when   the  wound   is  stiffening  with  the 

cold. 
The  warrior  first   feels  pain  — 'tis  when  the 

heat 

And  fiery  fever  of  his  soul  is  past, 
The  sinner  feels  remorse.  Old  Play. 

(15 )  —  CHAP.  xxrv. 

I'll  walk  on  tiptoe  ;  arm  my  eye  with  caution. 
My  heart  with   courage,  and   my   hand  with 

weapon. 
Like  him  who  ventures  on  a  lion's  den. 

Old  Play. 

(Id.)—  CHJU>.  IXVII. 

Now,   by   Our    Lady    Sheriff,   'tis   hard 

reckoning. 

That  I.  with  every  odds  of  birth  and  harony. 
Should  be  detain'd  here  for  the  casual  death 
Of  a  wild  forester,  whose  utmost  having 
fs  but  the  brazen  buckle  of  the  belt 
In  which  he  sticks  his  hedge-knife. 


Old  Play. 


(17.)— CHAP.  XXX. 


Yon  call  it  an  ill  angel— it  may  be  so : 
But  sure  I  am,  among  the  ranks  which  fell, 
'Tis  the  first  fiend  ere  counselled  man  to  rise, 
And  win  the   bliss  the  sprite    himself   had 
forfeited.  Old  Play. 

(18.)— CHAP.  XXXI. 

At  school  I  knew  him— a  sharp-witted  youth. 


Choice  music,  frequent  bath,  his  horary  shifts    Grave,  thoughtful,  and  reserved  among  his 


Of  shirts  and  waistcoats,  means  to  immor- 
talize 

Mortality  itself,  and  makes  the  essence 
Of  his  whole  happiness  the  trim  of  court. 

Magnetic  Lady. 


mates, 
Turning   the   hours   of  sport   and   food   to 

labour, 
Starving  his  body  to  inform  his  mind. 

Old  Play. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       677 


(19.)— CHAP.  XXXIII. 

Now  on  my  faith  this  sear  is  all  entangled, 
Like  to  the  yarn-clew  of  the  drowsy  knitter, 
Dragg'd  hy  the  frolic  kitten  through  the 

cabin. 
While  the  good  dame  sits  nodding  o'er  the 

fire — 
Musters,  attend  ;   'twill  crave  some  skill  to 

clear  it.  Old  Play. 

(*>.)  —CHAP,  xxxrv. 

It  is  not  texts  will  do  it— Church  artillery 
Are  silenced  soon  by  real  ordnance, 
And  canons  are  but  vain  opposed  to  cannon. 
Go,  coin  your  crosier,  melt  your  church  plate 

down, 

Bid  the  starved  soldier  banquet  in  your  halls. 
And  quaff  the  long-saved  hogsheads— Turn 

them  out 
Thus  primed  with  your  good  cheer,  to  guard 

your  wall, 

And  they  will  venture  for't. 

Old  Play. 


jFrom  the 


(1.)  — THE  PARDONER'S  ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

"  At  length  the  pardoner  pulled  from  his 
scrip  a  small  phial  of  clear  water,  of  which 
he  vaunted  the  quality  in  the  following 
verses:" — 

Listneth.  gode  people,  everiche  one, 
For  in  the  Imulf  of  Babylone, 
Far  eastward  I  wot  it  lyeth. 
And  is  the  rir>t  londe  the  sonne  espieth, 
Ther,  as  he  Cometh  fro  out  the  se ; 
In  this  ilk-  londe.  as  thinketh  me, 
Kight  as  holie  legmdes  tell, 
Siiottreth  from  a  roke  a  well. 
And  falleth  into  ane  bath  of  ston, 
Wher  chast  Kusanue  in  times  lonjj  gon, 
Was  wont  to  wash  her  bodie  and  lini — 
Mickle  vertue  hath  that  strenie, 
As  ye  shall  se  er  that  ye  pas, 
Ensample  by  this  little  glas — 
Through  nightes  cold  and  dayes  hole, 
Hiderward  I  have  it  brought ; 
Hath  a  wife  made  slip  or  slide, 
Or  a  maiden  stepp'd  aside ; 
Putteth  this  water  under  her  nese, 
Wold  she  nold  she,  she  shall  snese. 

Chop,  xxvii. 


(2.)  — MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP.  V. 

-In  the  wild  storm. 


The  seaman  hews  his  mast  down,  and  the 

merchant 
Heaves  to  the  billows  wares  he  once  deem'd 

precious : 

So  prince  and  peer,  'mid  popular  contentions, 
Cast  off  their  favourites.  Old  Play. 

49  2 


(Z.)  — CHAP.  VI. 

Thou  hast   each   secret   of  the   household, 

Francis. 

I  dare  he  sworn  thou  hast  been  in  the  buttery 
Steeping  thy  curious  humour  in  fat  ale. 
And  in  the  butler's  tattle— ay,  or  chatting 
With    the  glib    waiting-woman   o'er   her 

comnts — 

These   bear   the   key   to   each  domestic 
mystery.  Old  Play. 

(s.)  —  CHAP.  vin. 

The  sacred  tapers'  lights  are  gone, 
Grey  moss  has  clad  the  altar  stone 
The  holy  image  is  o'erthrown, 

The  bell  has  ceased  to  toll. 
The  long-ribb'd  aisles  are  burst  and  shrunk, 
The  holy  shrines  to  ruin  sunk, 
Departed  is  the  pious  monk, 

God's  blessing  on  his  soul !        Redwiva. 
(4.)  — CHAP.  XI. 

Life  hath  its  May,  and  all  is  mirthful  then : 
The  woods  are  vocal,  and  the  flowers   all 

odour; 
Its   very    blast   has   mirth   in't, — and  the 

maidens, 
The  while  they  don  their  cloaks  to  skreen 

their  kirtles. 
Laugh  at  the  rain  that  wets  them. 

Old  Play. 
(s.)  —CHAP.  xn. 

Nay,  hear  me,  brother— I  am  elder,  wiser, 
And  holier  than  thou;  and  age,  and  wisdom, 
And  holiness,  have  peremptory  claims. 
And  will  be  listen'd  to.  Old  Play. 

(«.)— CHAP,  xiv. 
Not   the   wild   billow,  when   it   breaks   its 

barrier — 
Not   the   wild   wind,   escaping   from   its 

cavern — 

Not  the  wild,  fiend,  that  mingles  both  toge- 
ther, 
And   pours   their   rage   upon    the    ripening 

harvest. 
Can  match  the  wild  freaks  of  this  mirthful 

meeting — 

Comic,  yet  fearful— droll,  and  yet  destructive. 
The  Conspiracy. 

(7.)— CHAP.  XVI. 

Youth !  thou  wear'st  to  manhood  now, 

Darker  lip  and  darker  brow, 

Statelier  step,  more  pensive  mien, 

In  thy  face  and  gait  are  seen  : 

Thou  must  now  brook  midnight  watches, 

Take  thy  food  and  sport  by  snatches ! 

For  the  gaml>ol  and  the  jest, 

Thou  wert  wont  to  love  the  best, 

Graver  follies  must  thou  follow, 

But  as  senseless,  false,  and  hollow. 

Life,  a  Poem. 

(«.}  — CHAP.  xix. 

It  is  and  is  not— 'tis  the  thing  I  sought  for. 
Have  kneel'd  for,  pray'd  for,  risk'd  my  fame 

and  life  for. 

And  yet  it  is  not — no  more  than  the  shadow 
Upon  the  hard,  cold,  flat,  and  polish'd  mirror, 
Is  the  warm,  graceful,  rounded,  living  sub- 
stance 
Which  it  presents  in  form  and  lineament. 

Old  Play. 


578 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


(».)— CHAP.  XIII!. 

Give  me  a  morsel  on  the  greensward  rather. 
Coarse  as  you  will  the  cooking— Let  the  fresh 

spring 

Bubble  beside  my  napkin — and  the  free  birds, 
Twittering  and  chirping,  hop  from  bough  to 

bough. 

To  claim  the  crumbs  1  leave  for  perquisites  — 
Your  prison  feasts  I  like  not. 

The  Woodman,  a  Drama. 

(».)  —  CHAP.  XXIV. 

Tis  a  weary  life  this 

Vaults  overhead,  and  grates  and  bars  around 

me, 

And  my  sad  hoars  spent  with  as  sad  compan- 
ions, 
Whose  thoughts  are  brooding  o'er  their  own 

mischances, 
Far,  far  too  deeply  to  take  part  in  mine. 

The  Woodsman. 

(11.)—  CHAP.  XIV. 

And  when  Love's  torch  hath  set  the  heart  in 

flame. 

Comes  Seignor  Reason,  with  his  saws  and  cau- 
tions, 

Giving  such  aid  as  the  old  grey-heard  Sexton, 
Who  from  the  church-vault  drags  his  crazy 

engine. 

To  ply  its  dribbling  ineffectual  streamlet 
Against  a  conflagration.  Old  Play. 

(is.)— CHAP,  xxviii. 

Yes,  it  is  she  whose  eyes  look'd  on  thy  child- 
hood. 

And  watch'd  with  trembling  hope  thy  dawn 
of  youth, 

That  now,  with  these  same  eye-balls,  dimm'd 
with  age, 

And  dimmer  yet  with  tears,  sees  thy  dis- 
honour. Old  Play. 

(13.)— CHAP.  XXX. 

In  some  breasts  passion   lies  conceal'd  and 

silent, 

Like  war's  swart  powder  in  a  castle  vault. 
Until  occasion,  like  the  linstock,  lights  it ; 
Then  comes  at  once  the  lightning  and  the 

thunder. 

And  distant  echoes  tell  that  all  is  rent  asunder. 
Old  Play. 

(14.)— CHAP.  XXXIII. 

Death  distant  ?— No,  alas !  he's  ever  with  us, 
And  shakes  the  dart  at  us  in  all  our  actings; 
He  lurks  within  our  cup,  while  we're  in 

health; 

Sits  by  our  sick-bed,  mocks  our  medicines  ; 
We  cannot  walk,  or  sit,  or  ride,  or  travel, 
But  Death  is  by  to  seize  us  when  he  lists. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

(16.)— CHAP.  XXXIV. 

Ay,  Pedro,  —  Come  you  here  with  mask  and 

lantern, 

Ladder  of  ropes,  and  other  moonshine  tools  — 
Why,  youngster,  thou  may'st  cheat  the  old 

Duenna, 

Flatter  the  waiting-woman,  bribe  the  valet : 
But  know,  that  I  her  father  play  the  Gryphon, 
Tameless   and  sleepless,  proof  to  fraud  or 

bribe. 

And  guard  the  hidden  treasure  of  her  beauty. 
The  Spanish  Fal/ier. 


(16.)  — CHAP.  XXXV. 

It  is  a  time  of  danger,  not  of  revel, 
When  churchmen  turn  to  masquers. 

The  Spauish  Father. 

(17.)— CHAP.  XXXVU. 

Ay,  sir — our  ancient   crown,  in  these  wild 

times, 

Oft  stood  upon  a  cast — the  gamester's  ducat, 
So  often  staked,  and  lost,  and  then  regam'd, 
Scarce  knew  so  many  hazards. 

The  S]>anish  Father. 


jFrom 


1821. 


(1.)  — GOLDTHRED'S  SONG. 
"After  some   brief  interval.  Master  Gold- 
thred,  at  the  earnest  instigation  of  mine  host, 
and  the  joyous  concurrence  of  his  guests,  in- 
dulged the  company  with  the  following  morsel 
of  melody :" — 
Of  all  the  birds  on  bash  or  tree, 

Commend  me  to  the  owl. 
Since  he  may  best  ensample  lie 
To  those  the  cup  that  trowl. 
For  when  the  sun  hath  left  the  west. 
He  chooses  the  tree  that  he  loves  the  best. 
And  he  whoops  out  his  song,  and  he  laughs  at 

his  jest. 

Then,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  foul, 
We'll  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny 

owl. 
The  lark  is  but  a  bumpkin  fowl, 

He  sleeps  in  his  nest  till  morn; 
But  my  blessings  upon  the  jolly  owl, 

That  all  night  blows  his  horn. 
Then  up  with  your  cup  till  you  stagger  in 

speech. 
And  match  me  this  catch  till  you  swagger  and 

screech. 

And  drink  till  you  wink,  my  merry  men  each ; 
For,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  be 

foul, 

We'll  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny 
owl.  Chap.  11. 


(2.)— SPEECH  OF  THE  PORTER  AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"  At  the  approach  of  the  Queen,  upon  sight  of 
/horn,  as  struck  by  some  heavenly  vision,  the 
gigantic  warder  dropped  his  club,  resigned  his 
keys,  and  gave  open  way  to  the  Goddess  of  the 
night,  and  all  her  magnificent  train. " 
What  stir,  what  turmoil,  have  we  for  the 

nones? 
Stand    back,  my  masters,  or  beware  your 

bones ! 

Sirs,  I'm  a  warder,  and  no  man  of  straw ; 
My  voice  keeps  order,  and  my  club  gives  law. 
Yet  soft — nay  stay — what  vision  have  we  here  ? 
What  dainty  darling's  this— what  peerless 
peer? 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     679 


What  loveliest  face,  that  loving  ranks  eufofil, 
Like  brightest  diamond  cliased  in  purest  gold? 
Dazzled  and  blind,  mine  office  I  forsake, 
My  club,  my  key,  my  knee,  my  homage  take. 
Bright  paragon,  pass  on  in  joy  and  bliss; — 
Beshrew  the  gate  that  opes  not  wide  at  such 
a  sight  as  this  !  1  Chap.  xix. 


(3.)  — MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP.  IV. 

Not  serve  two  masters  ? — Here  's  a  youth  will 

try  it  — 
Would  fain  serve  God,  yet  give  the  devil  his 

due; 

Says  grace  before  he  doth  a  deed  of  villany. 
And  returns  his  thanks  devoutly  when  'tis 

acted.  Old  Play. 

(i)  — CHAP.  v. 

He  was  a  man 

Versed  in  the  world  as  pilot  in  his  compass. 
The  needle  pointed  ever  to  that  interest 
Which  was  his  loadstar,  and   he   spread  his 

sails 

With  vantage  to  the  gale  of  others'  passion. 
The  Deceiver— a  Tragedy. 

(3.)— CHAP.  vil. 

This  is  He 

Who  rides  on  the   court-gale ;   controls   its 

tides ; 

Knows  all  their  secret  shoals  and  fatal  eddies ; 
Whose  frown  abases,  and  whose  smile  exalts 
He  shines  like  any  rainbow— and,  perchance. 
His  colours  are  as  transient.  Old  Play. 

(4.)— CHAP.  XIV. 

This  is  rare   news  thou  tell'st  me,  my  good 

fellow ; 
There   are  two  bulls   fierce   battling  ou  the 

green 

For  one  fair  heifer  —  if  the  one  goes  down. 
The  dale  will  be  more  peaceful,  and  the  herd, 
Which  have  small  interest  in  their  brulzie- 

ment. 
May  pasture  there  in  peace.  Old  Play. 

(5 )  —CHAP.  XVIL 
Well,  then,  our  course  is  chosen ;  spread  the 

sail, — 
Heave  oft  the  lead,  and  mark  the  soundings 

well; 

Look  to  the  helm,  good  master  ;  many  a  shoal 
Marks  this  stern  coast,  and  rooks  where  sits 

the  siren. 

Who,  like  ambition,  lures  men  to  their  rum. 
The  Shipwreck. 

(6.)  — CHAP.  XXIII. 

Now  God  he  good  to  me  in  this  wild  pilgri- 
mage! 

All  hope  in  human  aid  I  cast  behind  me. 

O,  who  would  tte  a  woman  ?  who  that  fool. 

A  weeping,  pining,  faithful,  loving  woman  ? 

bhe  has  hard  measure  still  where  she  hopes 
kindest, 

And  all  her  bounties  only  make  ingrates. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 

This  is  an  imitation  of  Gajwoigne's  versr*.  spoken  by 
the  Herculean  porter,  IS  mentioned  in  Ihe  text  (of  the 
MoTel.]  The  original  may  be  found  in  the  republication 


(7.)— CHAP.  IXV. 

Hark  !  the  bells  summon,  and  the  bugle  calls. 
But  she  the  fairest  answers  imi ;  the  tide 
Of  nobles  and  of  ladies  throngs,  the  halls. 
But  she  the  loveliest  must  in  secret  hide. 
What  eyes  were  thine,  proud  Prince,  which  in 

the  gleam 

Of  yon  gay  meteors  lost  that  better  sense. 
That  o'er  the  glow-worm  doth  the  stur  esteem, 
And   merit's  modest  blush  o'er  courtly  inso- 
lence ?  The  Glass  Sitpper. 

(e.)— CHAP.  JXVin. 

What,  man,  ne'er  lack  a  draught,  when  the 

full  can 

Stands  at  thineelbow.  and  craves  emptying! — 
Nay.  fear  not  me.  for  I  have  no  delight 
To  watch  men's  vices,  since  1  have  myself 
Of  virtue  nought  to  boast  of. — I'm  a  striker. 
Would  have  the  world  strike  with  me.  pell- 
mell,  all.  Pandamonitan. 

(3.)  — CHAP.  XXIX. 

Now  fare  thee  well,  my  master !  if  true  ser- 
vice 

Be  guerdon'd  with  hard  looks,  e'en  cut  the 
tow-line, 

And  let  our  barks  across  the  pathless  flood 

Hold  different  courses.  Shipwreck. 

(10.) -CHAP.  xxx. 

Now  bid  the  steeple  rock  —  she  comes,  she 

comes ! 
Speak    for    us.  bells !   speak    for    us,   shrill- 

tongued  tuckets! 

Stand  to  the  linstock,  gunner  ;  let  thy  cannon 
Play  such  a  peal,  as  if  a  Payniin  foe 
Came  stretch'd  in  turban'd  ranks  to  storm  the 

ramparts. 
We  will  have  pageants  too ;  but  that  craves 

wit. 
And  I'm  a  rough-hewn  soldier. 

The  Virgin-Queen,  a  Trout- Comedy. 

(1).)  — CHAP.  XXXII. 

The  wisest  sovereigns  err  like  private  men, 
And  royal  hand  has  sometimes  laid  the  sword 
Of  chivalry  upon  a  worthless  shoulder. 
Which  better  had  been  branded  by  the  hang- 
man. 
What  then  ?    Kings  do  their  best, — and  they 

and  we 

Must  answer  for  the  intent,  and  not  the  event. 
OU  Play. 

(!».)  — CHAP.  XXXIII. 

Here  stands  the  victim  —  there  the  pri-id  be- 
trayer. 

E'en  as  the  hind  pull'd  down  by  strangling 
dogs 

Lies  at  the  hunter's  feet,  who  courteous  prof- 
fers 

To  some  high  dame,  the  Dian  of  the  chase. 

To  whom  he  looks  for  guerdon,  his  sharp 
blade. 

To  gash  the  sobbing  throat. 

The  Woodsman. 


580 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(13.)  — CHAP.  XL. 

High  o'er  the  eastern  steep  the  sun  is  beam- 
ing, 

And  darkness  flies  with  her  deceitful  sha- 
dows; 

So  truth  prevails  o'er  falsehood. 

Old  Play. 


jFrow  the  31  Crate. 


1821. 

(1.)  — THE  SOXG  OF  THE  TEMPEST. 
"  A  Norwegian  invocation,  still  preserved 
in  the  island  of  Unst,  under  the  name  of  the 
SOD?  of  the  Reim-kennar,  though  some  call  it 
the  Song  of  the  Tempest.  The  following  is  a 
free  translation,  it  being  impossible  to  render 
literally  many  of  the  elliptical  and  metaphori- 
cal terms  of  expression  peculiar  to  the  ancient 
Northern  poetry :" — 

L 

Stern  eagle  of  the  far  north-west, 

Thou  that  bearest  in  thy  grasp  the  thunder- 
bolt, 

Thou  whose  rushing  pinions  stir  ocean  to 
madness, 

Thou  the  destroyer  of  herds,  thou  the  scat- 
terer  of  navies, 

Amidst  the  scream  of  thy  rage, 

Amidst  the  rushing  of  thy  onward  wings, 

Though  thy  scream  be  loud  as  the  cry  of  a 
perishing  nation. 

Though  the  rushing  of  thy  wings  be  like  the 
roar  of  ten  thousand  waves. 

Yet  bear,  in  thine  ire  aud  thy  haste. 

Hear  thou  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 

2. 

Thou  hast  met  the  pine-trees  of  Drontheim, 
Their  dark-green  heads  lie  prostrate  beside 

their  uprooted  stems ; 
Thou  hast  met  the  ruler  of  the  ocean. 
The  tall,  the  strong  bark  of  the  fearless  rover, 
And  she  has  struck  to  thee  the  topsail 
That  she  had  not  veil'd  to  a  royal  armada : 
Thou  hast  met  the  tower  that  bears  its  crest 

among  the  clouds, 

The  battled  massive  tower  of  the  Jarl  of  for- 
mer days. 

And  the  cope-stone  of  the  turret 
Is  lying  upon  its  hospitable  hearth ; 
But  ihou  too  shalt  stoop,  proud  compeller  of 

clouds, 

When  thou  nearest  the  voice  of  the  Reim- 
kennar. 

3. 
There  are  verses  that  can  stop  the  stag  in  the 

forest, 
Ay,  and  when  the  dark-colour'd  dog  is  opening 

on  his  track ; 
There  are  verses  can  make  the  wild  hawk 

pause  on  the  wing. 
Like  the  falcon  that  wears  the  hood  and  the 

jesses, 

And  who  knows  the  shrill  whistle  of  the 
fowler. 


Thou  who  canst  mock  at  the  scream  of  the 

drowning  manner. 
And  the  crash  of  the  ravaged  forest. 
And  the  groan  of  the  overwhelmed  crowds, 
VVueii  the  church  hath  fallen  in  the  moment 

of  prayer ; 

There  are  sounds  which  thon  also  must  list, 
When  they  are  chanted  by  the  voice  of  the 

Reim-kennar. 

4. 

Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the 
ocean, 

The  widows  wring  their  hands  on  the  beach  ; 

Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the 
land. 

The  husbandman  folds  his  arms  in  despair; 

Cease  thou  the  waving  of  thy  pinions, 

Let  the  ocean  repose  in  her  dark  strength  ; 

Cease  thou  the  flashing  of  thine  eye. 

Let  the  thunderbolt  sleep  in  the  armourv  of 
Odin; 

Be  thou  still  at  my  bidding,  viewless  racer  of 
the  north-western  heaven. — 

Sleep  thou  at  the  voice  of  Norna  the  Reim- 
kennar. 

5. 

Eagle  of  the  far  north-western  waters, 

Thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the  Reim-ken- 
nar. 

Thou  hast  closed  thy  wide  sails  at  her  bid- 
ding. 

And  folded  them  in  peace  by  thy  side. 

My  blessing  be  on  thy  retiring  path ; 

When  thou  stoopest  from  thy  place  on  high. 

Soft  be  thy  slumbers  in  the  caverns  of  the  un- 
known ocean. 

Rest  till  destiny  shall  again  awaken  thee  ; 

Eagle  of  the  north-west.  Ihou  hast  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Reim-kenuar. 

Chap.  vi. 


(2.)  — CLAUD  HALCRO'S  SOXG. 

MART. 

Farewell  to  Northmaven, 

Grey  Hillswicke,  farewell! 
To  the  calms  of  thy  haven, 

The  storms  on  thy  fell- 
To  each  breeze  that  can  vary 

The  mood  of  thy  main, 
Aud  to  thee.  bonny  Mary! 

We  meet  not  again ! 

Farewell  the  wild  ferry. 

Which  Hacon  could  brave. 
When  the  peaks  of  the  Skerry 

Were  white  in  the  wave. 
There's  a  maid  may  look  over 

These  wild  waves  in  vain, — 
For  the  skiff  of  her  lover — 

He  comes  not  again ! 

The  vows  thou  hast  broke, 

On  the  wild  currents  fling  them  ; 
On  the  quicksand  and  rock 

Let  the  mermaidens  sing  them. 
New  sweetness  they'll  give  her 

Bewildering  strain ; 
But  there's  one  who  will  never 

Believe  them  again. 


LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.      581 


O  were  there  an  island. 

Though  ever  so  wild, 
Where  woman  could  smile,  and 

No  man  be  beguiled — 
Too  tempting  a  snare 

To  poor  mortals  were  given ; 
And  the  hope  would  fix  there, 

That  should  anchor  in  heaven. 

Chap.  xii. 


(3.)  — THE  SONG  OP  HAROLD  HAR- 
FAGER. 

The  son  is  rising  dimly  red. 
The  wind  is  wailing  low  and  dread ; 
From  his  cliff  the  eagle  sallies, 
Leaves  the  wolf  his  darksome  valleys ; 
In  the  mist  the  ravens  liover, 
Peep  the  wild  dogs  from  the  cover, 
Screaming,  croaking,  baying,  yelling, 
£ach  in  his  wild  accents  telling, 
"  Soon  we  feast  on  dead  and  dying1, 
Fair-hair'd  Harold's  flag  is  flying." 

Many  a  crest  on  air  is  streaming, 
Many  a  helmet  darkly  gleaming, 
Many  an  arm  the  axe  uprears, 
Doom'd  to  hew  the  wood  of  spears. 
All  along  the  crowded  ranks 
Horses  neigh  and  armour  clanks; 
Chiefs  are  shouting,  clarions  ringing. 
Louder  still  the  bard  is  singing. 
"  Gather  footmen,  gather  horsemen, 
To  the  field,  ye  valiant  Norsemen  ! 

"  Halt  ye  not  for  food  or  slumber. 
View  not  vantage,  count  not  number: 
Jolly  reapers,  forward  still. 
Grow  the  crop  on  vale  or  hill. 
Thick  or  scatter'd,  stiff  or  lithe. 
It  shall  down  before  the  scythe. 
Forward  with  your  sickles  bright, 
Reap  the  harvest  of  the  fight  — 
Onward  footmen,  onward  horsemen, 
To  the  charge  ye  gallant  Norsemen  1 

"  Fatal  Choosers  of  the  Slaughter, 
O'er  you  hovers  Odin's  daughter ; 
Hear  the  choice  she  spreads  before  ye,— 
Victory,  and  wealth,  and  glory  ; 
Or  old  Valhalla's  roaring  hail, 
Her  ever-circling  mead  and  ale, 
Where  for  eternity  unite 
The  joys  of  wassail  and  of  fight. 
Headlong  forward,  foot  and  horsemen, 
Charge  and  fight,  and  die  like  Norsemen  !"— 
Chap.  XT. 


(4.) 


.)  —  SONG  OF  THE  MERMAIDS  AND 
MERMEN. 

MERMAID. 

Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave, 

Stringing  beads  of  glistering  pearl, 
Singing  the  achievements  brave 

Of  many  an  old  Norwegian  earl ; 
Dwelling  where  the  tempest's  raving, 

Falls  as  light  upon  our  ear, 
As  the  sigh  of  lover,  craving 

Pity  from  his  lady  dear, 

49-. 


Children  of  wild  Thule.  we. 
From  the  deep  caves  of  the  sea. 
As  the  lark  springs  from  the  lea. 
Hither  come,  to  share  your  glee. 


From  reining  of  the  water-horse. 

That  bounded  till  the  waves  were  foaming, 
Watching  the  infant  tempest's  course. 


Chasing  the  sea-snake  in  his  roaming  ; 
mi  winding  charge-notes  on  the  shell, 


Fro 


When  the  huge  whale  and  sword-fish  duel, 
Or  tolling  shroudless  seamen's  knell, 

When  the  winds  and  waves  are  cruel; 
Children  of  wild  Thule,  we 
Have  plough 'd  such  furrows  on  the  sea, 
As  the  steer  draws  on  the  lea, 
And  hither  we  come  to  share  your  glee. 

MERMAIDS  AND  MERMEX. 

We  heard  you  in  our  twilight  caves, 

A  hundred  fathom  deep  below, 
For  notes  of  joy  can  pierce  the  waves, 

That  drown  each  sound  of  war  and  woe. 
Those  who  dwell  beneath  the  sea, 

Love  the  sons  of  Thule  well ; 
Thus,  to  aid  your  mirth,  bring  we 

Dance,  and  song,  and  sounding  shell. 
Children  of  dark  Thule,  know, 
Those  who  dwell  by  haaf  and  voe, 
Where  your  daring  shallops  row, 
Come  to  share  the  festal  show. 

Chap.  ivi. 


(5.)  — NORNA'S  SONG. 

For  leagues  along  the  watery  way, 
Through  gulf  and  stream  my  course  has 
been  ; 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay. 
And  smooth  their  crests  to  silent  green. 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, — 
The  gulf  grows  smooth,  the  stream  is  still ; 

But  human  hearts,  more  wild  than  they, 
Know  but  the  rule  of  wayward  will. 

One  hour  is  mine,  in  all  the  year, 

To  tell  my  woes,  and  one  alone ; 
When  gleams  this  magic  lamp,  'tis  here, — 

When  dies  the  mystic  light,  'tis  gone. 

Daughters  of  northern  Magnus,  hail ! 

The  lamp  is  lit,  the  flame  is  clear, — 
To  you  I  come  to  tell  my  tale. 

Awake,  arise,  my  tale  to  hear  ! 

Chap.  lir. 


(6.)  — CLAUD  HALCRO  AND  NORNA. 

CLABD  HALCRO. 

Mother  darksome.  Mother  dread, 

Dweller  on  the  Fitful-head, 

Thou  canst  see  what  deeds  are  done 

tinder  the  never-setting  sun 

Look  through  sleet,  and  look  through  frost, 

Ixiok  to  Greenland's  caves  and  coast, — 

By  the  ice-berg  is  a  sail 

Chasing  of  the  swarthy  whale; 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread. 

Tell  us,  has  the  good  ship  sped  ? 


582 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


NORN  A. 

The  thought  of  the  aged  is  ever  on  gear, — 
On  liis  fishing,  his  furrow,  his  flock,  and  his 

."leer ; 
But  thrive  may  his  fishing,  flock,  furrow,  and 

herd. 
While  the  aged  for  anguish  shall  tear  his  grey 

l«ard. 

The  ship,  well-laden  as  bark  need  be. 
Lies  deep  in  the  furrow  of  the  Iceland  sea;  — 
The  breeze  for  Zetland  blows  fair  and  soft, 
And  triu ly  the  earlnnd  is  fluttering  aloft : 
Seven  good  fishes  have  spouted  their  last, 
And  their  jaw-bones  are  hanging  to  yard  and 

mast; 

Two  are  for  Lerwiok.  and  two  for  Kirkwall, — 
Three  for  Burgh  Westra,  the  choicest  of  alL 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Mother  doubtful.  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitfnl-head, 
Thou  hast  conn'd  full  many  a  rhyme, 
That  lives  upon  the  surge  of  time  : 
Tell  me,  shall  my  lays  be  sung. 
Like  Karon's  of  the  golden  tongue. 
I-ong  after  Halcro's  dead  and  gone  ? 
Or  shall  Hialtland's  minstrel  own 
One  note  to  rival  glorious  John  ? 

NORN  A. 

The  infant  loves  the  rattle's  noise : 
Age.  double  childhood,  hath  its  toys; 
But  different  far  the  descant  rings. 
As  strikes  a  different  hand  the  strings. 
The  pHgle  mounts  the  polar  sky — 
The  Imber-goose,  unskill'd  to  fly, 
Must  be  content  to  elide  along. 
Where  seal  and  sea-dog  list  his  song. 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Be  mine  the  Imber-goose  to  play, 
And  haunt  lone  cave  and  silent  bay; 
The  archer's  aim  so  shall  1  shun — 
So  shall  I  'scape  the  levell'd  gun — 
Content  my  verses'  tuneless  jingle. 
With  Thule's  sounding  tides  to  mingle, 
While,  to  the  ear  of  wondering  wight, 
Upon  the  distant  headland's  height, 
Soflen'd  by  murmur  of  the  sea. 
The  rude  sounds  seem  like  harmony ! 

Mother  doubtful.  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 
A  gallant  bark  from  far  abroad. 
Saint  Magnus  hath  her  in  his  road. 
With  guns  and  firelocks  not  a  few — 
A  silken  and  a  scarlet  crew. 
Deep  store*!  with  precious  merchandize. 
Of  gold,  and  goods  of  rare  device — 
What  interest  hath  our  comrade  bold 
In  bark  and  crew,  and  goods  and  gold  I 

NORN  A. 

Gold  is  ruddy,  fair,  and  free. 
Blood  is  crimson,  and  dark  to  see  ; — 
I  look'd  out  on  Saint  Magnus  bay. 
And  I  saw  a  falcon  that  struck  her  prey,— 
A  gobbet  of  flesh  in  her  beak  she  bore, 
And   talons  and    singles    are    dripping  with 

gore;— 

Let  he  that  asks  after  them  look  on  his  hand. 
And  if  there  is  blood  on't,  he's  one  of  their 

band. 


CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Mother  doubtful.  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head. 
Well  thou  know'st  it  is  ihy  task 
To  tell  what  Beauty  will  hot  ask  ;— 
Then  steep  thy  words  in  wine  and  milk, 
And  weave  a  doom  of  gold  and  silk. — 
For  we  would  know,  shall  Brenda  prove 
In  love,  and  happy  in  her  love  1 

NORNA. 

I'ntouch'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest, 
High  seated  in  the  middle  sky, 
In  bright  and  barren  purity  : 
But  by  the  sunbeam  gently  kiss'd. 
Scarce  by  the  gazing  eye  'tis  miss'd. 
Ere,  down  the  lonely  valley  stealing. 
Fresh  grass  and  growth  its  course  revealing, 
It  cheers  the  flock,  revives  the  flower. 
And  decks  some  happy  shepherd's  bower. 

MAGNUS  TROIL. 

Mother  speak,  and  do  not  tarry. 
Here's  a  maiden  fain  would  marry. 
Shall  she  marry,  ay  or  not  ? 
If  she  marry,  what's  her  lot  t 

NORNA. 

Untonch'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Ts  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest ; 
So  pure,  so  free  from  earthy  dye, 
It  seems,  whilst  leaning  on  the  sky, 
Fart  of  the  heaven  to  which  'tis  nigh; 
But  passion,  like  the  wild  March  rain. 
May  soil  the  wreath  with  many  a  stain. 
W'e  gaze — the  lovely  vision's  gone — 
A  torrent  fills  the  bed  of  stone, 
That  hurrying  to  destruction's  shock, 
Leaps  headlong  from  the  lofty  rock. 

Chap.  Eti. 


(7.)  — SONG  OF  THE  ZETLAND 
FISHERMAN. 

"  While  they  were  yet  within  hearing  of  the 
shore,  they  chanted  "an  ancient  Norse  ditty, 
appropriate  to  the  occasion,  of  which  Claud 
Hiilcro  had  executed  the  following  literal 
translation:" — 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song   and   to 

laugh. 
For  the  brave  lads  of  Westra  are  bound  to 

the  Haaf; 
And  we  must  have  labour,  and  hunger,  and 

pain. 
Ere  we  dance  with  the  maids  of  Dunrossness 

again. 

For  now,  in  our  trim  boats  of  Noroway  deal. 

We  must  dance  on  the  waves,  with  the  por- 
poise and  seal; 

The  breeze  it  shall  pipe,  so  it  pipe  not  too 
high. 

And  the  gull  be  our  songstress  whene'er  she 
flits  by. 

Sing  on,  my  brave  bird,  while  we  follow,  like 

thee. 
By  bank,  shoal,  and  quicksand,  the  swarms  of 

the  sea ; 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     683 


And  when   twenty-score  fishes  are  straining 

our  line. 
Sing  louder,  brave  bird,  for  their  spoils  shall 

be  thine. 

We'll  sing  while  we  bait,  and  we'll  sing  while 

we'haul. 
For  the  deeps  of  the  Haaf  have  enough  for  us 

all: 
There  is  torsk  for  the  gentle,  and  skate  for  the 

carle, 
And  there's  wealth  for  bold  Magnus,  the  son 

of  the  earl. 

Huzza !  my  brave  comrades,  give  way  for  the 

Haaf, 
We  shall  sooner  come  back  to  the  dance  and 

the  laugh; 

For  light  without  mirth  is  a  lamp  without  oil ; 
Then,  mirth  and  long  life  to  the  bold  Magnus 

Troil!  Chap.  xxii. 


(8.)  — CLEVELAND'S  SONGS. 


Love  wakes  and  weeps 
While  Beauty  sleeps ! 

O  for  Music's  softest  numbers, 
To  prompt  a  theme, 
For  Beauty's  dream. 

Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers ! 


Through  groves  of  palm 

Sigh  gales  of  balm, 
Fire-flies  on  the  air  are  wheeling; 

While  through  the  gloom 

Comes  soft  perfume, 
The  distant  beds  of  flowers  revealing;. 

3. 

O  wake  and  live ! 

No  dream  can  give 
A  shadow'd  Miss,  the  real  excelling ; 

No  longer  sleep. 

From  lattice  peep, 
And  list  the  tale  that  Love  is  telling. 


Farewell !  farewell !  the  voice  you  hear, 
Hast  left  its  last  soft  tone  with  you, — 

Its  next  must  join  the  seaward  cheer, 
And  shout  among  the  shouting  crew. 

The  accents  which  I  scarce  could  form 
Beneath  your  frown's  controlling  check, 

Must  give  the  word,  above  the  storm. 
To  cut  the  mast,  and  clear  the  wreck. 

The  timid  eye  I  dared  not  raise,— 

The  hand,  that  shook  when  press'd  to  thine, 
Must  point  the  guns  upon  the  chase — 

Must  bid  the  deadly  cutlass  shine. 

To  all  I  love,  or  hope,  or  fear, — 

Honour,  or  own,  a  long  adieu  ! 
To  all  that  life  has  soft  and  dear. 

Farewell!  save  memory  of  you  ! 

Chap,  xxiii 


(9.)  — CLAUD  IIALCRO'S  VERSES. 

And  you  shall  deal  the  funeral  dole  ; 

Ay.  deal  it.  mother  mine, 
To  weary  body,  and  to  heavy  soul. 

The  white  bread  and  the  wine. 

And  you  shall  deal  my  horses  of  pride ; 

Ay.  deal  them,  mother  mine  ; 
And  you  shall  deal  my  lands  so  wide, 

And  deal  my  castles  nine ; 

But  deal  not  vengeance  for  the  deed, 

And  deal  not  for  the  en  me  ; 
The  body  to  its  place,  and  the  soul  to  Heaven1! 
grace. 

And  the  rest  in  God's  own  time. 


Saint  Magnus  control  thee,  that  martyr  of 

treason  ; 
Saint  Roman  rebuke  thee,  with  rhyme  and 

with  reason ; 
By  the   mass  of  Saint  Martin,  the  might  of 

Saint  Mary, 
Be  thou  gone,  or  thy  weird  shall  be  worse  if 

thou  tarry ! 

If  of  gitod,  go  hence  and  hallow  thee ; — 
If  of  ill,  let  the  earth  swallow  thee : — 
If  thou'rt  of  air.  let  the  grey  mist  fold  thee ; — 
If  of  earth,  let  the  swart  mine  hold  thee ; — 
If  a  Pixie,  seek  thy  ring; — 
If  a  Nixie,  seek  thy  spring; — 
If  on  middle  earth  thou'st  been 
Slave  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  sin, 
Hast  eat  the  bread  of  toil  and  strife. 
And  dree'd  the  lot  which  men  nail  life; 
Begone  to  thy  stone !  for  thy  coffin  is  scant  of 

thee. 
The  worm,  thy  play-fellow,  wails  for  the  want 

of  thee : 

Hence,  houseless  ghost !  let  the  earth  hide  thee, 
Till  Michael  shall   blow  the   blast,  see  that 

there  thou  bide  thee  !— 
Phantom,  fly  hence!  take  the  Cross  for  a 

token. 
Hence  pass  till  Hallowmass !— my  spell  is 

spoken. 

Where  corpse-light 

Dances  bright. 

Be  it  by  day  or  night, 

Be  it  by  light  or  dark. 

There  shall  corpse  lie  stiff  and  stark. 


Menseful  maiden  ne'er  should  rise, 
Till  the  first  beam  tinge  the  skies; 
Silk-fringed  eyelids  still  should  close, 
Till  the  sun  has  kiss'd  the  rose  ; 
Maiden's  foot  we  should  not  view, 
Mark'd  with  tiny  print  on  dew, 
Till  the  opening  flowerets  spread 
Carpet  meet  for  beauty's  tread. 

Chap.  XDii 

(10.)  —  NORNA'S  INCANTATIONS. 

Champion,  famed  for  warlike  toil, 
Art  thou  silent,  Ribolt  Troil  T 
Sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbly  stones, 
Are  leaving  bare  thy  giant  bones. 


584 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Who  dared  touch  the  wild  bear's  skin 
Ye  slnmber'd  on,  while  life  was  in  t — 
A  woman  now,  or  babe,  may  come 
And  cast  the  covering  from  thy  tomb. 

Yet  be  not  wrathful,  Chief,  nor  b'ight 

Mine  eyes  or  ears  with  sound  or  sight! 

I  come  not  with  nnhallnw'd  tread. 

To  wake  the  slumbers  of  the  dead, 

Or  lay  thy  giant  reliques  bare  ; 

But  what  I  seek  thou  well  canst  spare. 

Be  it  to  my  hand  allow'd 

To    shear    a   merk's   weight   from   thy 

shroud ; 

Yet  leave  thee  sheeted  lead  enoagh 
To  shield  thy  bones  from  weather  rongh. 

See,  I  draw  my  magic  knife  — 

Never,  while  thou  wert.  in  life, 

Laidst  thou  still  for  sloth  or  fear. 

When  point  and  edge  were  slittering  near ; 

See,  the  cerements  now  I  sever — 

Waken  now,  or  sleep  for  ever! 

Thou  wilt  not  wake— the  deed  is  done  !— 

The  prize  I  sought  is  fairly  won. 

Thanks.  Ribolt,  thanks.— for  this  the  sea 
Shall  smooth  its  ruffled  crest  for  thee  — 
And  while  afar  its  billows  foam. 
Subside  to  peace  near  Kibolt's  tomb. 
Thanks.  Ribolt.  thanks— for  this  the  might 
Of  wild  winds  ratine  at  their  heisht, 
When  to  thy  place  of  slumber  nigh, 
Shall  soften  to  a  lullaby. 

She,  the  dame  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Norna  of  the  Fitful-head, 
Mighty  in  her  own  despite,— 
Miserable  in  her  mieht : 
In  despair  and  frenzy  erreat, 
In  her  greatness  desolate ; 
Wisest,  wickedest  who  lives, — 
Well  can  keep  the  word  she  gives. 

Chap-  nv. 

fAT  INTERVIEW  WITH  MINUA.J 

Thon,  so  needful,  yet  so  dread. 
With  cloudy  crest,  and  win?  of  red ; 
Thou,  without  whose  genial  breath 
The  North  would  sleep  the  sleep  of  death ; 
Who  deign *st  to  warm  the  cottage  hearth. 
Yet  hurls  proud  palaces  to  earth, — 
Brightest,  keenest  of  the  Powers, 
Which  form  and  rule  this  world  of  ours, 
With  thy  rhyme  of  Runic,  I 
Thank  thee  for  thy  agency. 


Old  Reimkennar,  to  thy  art 
Mother  Hertha  sends  her  part  ; 
She,  whose  gracious  bounty  gives 
Needful  food  for  all  that  lives. 
From  the  deep  mine  of  the  North 
Came  the  mystic  meial  forth, 
Doom'd  amidst  disjointed  stones. 
Long  to  cere  a  champion's  bones, 
Disinhumed  my  charms  to  aid  — 
Mother  Earth,  my  thanks  are  paid. 


Girdle  of  our  islands  dear, 
Element  of  Water,  hear ! 
Thou  whose  power  can  overwhelm 
Broken  mounds  and  rum'd  realm 


On  the  lowly  Belgian  strand ; 
All  thy  fiercest  rage  can  never 
Of  our  soil  a  furlong  sever 

From  our  rock-defended  land  ; 
Play  then  gently  thou  thy  part, 
To  assist  old  Norna's  art! 

Elements,  each  other  greetin?, 

Gifts  and  power  attend  your  meeting ! 


Thon,  that  over  billows  dark 
Safely  send'st  the  fisher's  bark,— 
Giving  him  a  path  and  motion 
Through  the  wilderness  of  ocean  ; 
Thou,  that  when  the  billows  brave  ye, 
O'er  the  shelves  canst  drive  'he  navy, 
Did'st  thon  chafe  as  one  neelected, 
While  thy  brethren  were  respected  1 
To  appease  thee.  see,  I  tear 
This  full  grasp  of  grizzled  hair  ; 
Oft  thy  breath  hath  through  it  sung, 
Softening  to  my  masi"  tongue,  — 
Now.  'tis  thine  to  bid  it  fly 
Through  the  wild  eTnatise  of  sky, 
'Mid  the  countless  swarms  to  sail 
Of  wild-fowl  wheeling  on  thy  gale  ; 
Take  thy  portion  and  rejoice,  — 
Spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  voice  ! 


She  who  sits  by  haunted  well, 

Is  subject  to  the  Nixies'  spell  ; 

She  who  walks  on  lonely  beach. 

To  the  Mermnid's  charmed  speech  ; 

She  who  walks  round  rins  of  green, 

Offends  the  peevish  Fairy  Queen  ; 

And  she  who  lakes  rest  in  the  Dwarfie's 

cave, 
A  weary  weird  of  woe  shall  have. 

Bv  rins.  by  spring,  by  nave,  by  shore, 
Minna  Troil  has  braved  all  this  and  more  : 
And  yet  hath  the  root  of  her  sorrow  and  ill 
A  source  that  's  more  deep  and  more  mys- 

tical still.— 

Thon  art  within  a  demon's  hold, 
More  wise  than  Helms,  more  strong  than 

Trolld  ; 

No  siren  sines  so  sweet  as  he.  — 
No  fay  springs  lighter  on  the  lea; 
No  elfin  power  hath  half  the  art 
To  soothe,  to  move,  to  wring  the  heart,— 
Life-blood  from  the  cheek  to  drain, 
Drench  the  eye,  and  dry  the  vein. 
Maiden,  ere  we  farther  go, 
Dost  thon  note  me,  ay  or  no  ? 

MINNA. 

I  mark  thee,  my  mother,  both  word,  look, 

and  sign  ; 
Speak  on  with  thy  riddle  —  to  read  it  be 

mine. 

KORNA. 

Mark  me  !  for  the  word  I  speak 

Shall  bring  the  colour  to  thy  cheek. 

This  leaden  heart,  so  light  of  cost, 

The  symbol  of  a  treasure  lost. 

Thou  "shall  wear  in  hope  and  in  peace, 

That  the  cause  of  your  sickness  and  sorrow 

may  cease, 

When  crimson  foot  meets  crimson  hand 
In  the  Martyr's  Aisle,  and  in  Orkney  land.  — 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     585 


Be  patient,  be  patient;  for  Patience  hath 
power 

To  ward  us  in  danger,  luce  mantle  in  shower ; 

A  fairy  gift  you  best  may  hold 

In  a  chain  of  fairy  gold  ; — 

The  chain  and  the  gift  are  each  a  true  token, 

That  not  without  warrant  old  Norna  has 
spoken ; 

But  thy  nearest  and  dearest  must  never  be- 
hold them. 

Till  time  shall  accomplish  the  truths  I  have 
told  them.  Chap.  xxviiL 


(11.)  — BRYCE  SNAILSFOOT'S  ADVER- 
TISEMENT. 

Poor  sinners  whom  the  snake  deceives, 
Are  fain  to  cover  them  with  leaves. 
Zetland  hath  no  leaves,  'tis  true. 
Because  that  trees  are  none,  or  few, 
But  we  have  flax  and  tails  of  woo', 
For  linen  cloth  and  wadmaal  blue ; 
And  we  have  many  of  foreign  knacks 
Of  finer  waft  than  woo'  or  flax. 
Ye  gallanty  Lambmas  lads  appear, 
And  bring  your  Lambmas  sisters  here 
Bryce  Snailsfoot  spares  not  cost  or  care. 
To  pleasure  every  gentle  pair. 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(12.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)  — CHAP.  H. 

'Tis  not  alone  the  scene— the  man,  Anselmo, 
The   man    finds   sympathies   in    these  wild 

wastes, 
And   roughly   tumbling    seas,   which    fairer 

views 
And  smoother  waves  deny  him. 

Ancient  Drama. 

<2.)—  CHAP.  VII. 

She  does   no  work   by   halves,  yon   raving 

ocean; 
Engulphing   those   she   strangles,   her  wild 

womb 

Affords  the  mariners  whom  she  hath  dealt  on, 
Their  death  at  once,  and  sepulchre, 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— CHAP.  IX. 

This  is  a  gentle  trader,  and  a  prudent—  ...    .. 

He's  no  Autolycus,  to  blear  your  eye. 

With  quips  of  worldly  gauds  and  gamesome- 
ness; 

But  seasons  all  his  glittering  merchandize 

With  wholesome  doctrine  suited  to  the  use. 

As  men  sauce  goose  with  sage  and  rosemary. 
Old  flay. 
(4)— CHAP.  H. 
All  your  ancient  customs, 

And  long-descended  usages,  I'll  change. 

Ye  shall  not  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  speak,  nor 
move, 

Think,  look,  or  walk,  as  ye  were  wout  to  do ; 

Even  your  marriage-beds  shall  know  muta- 
tion; 

The  bride  shall  have  the  stock,  the  groom  the 
wall; 

For  all  old  practice  will  I  turn  and  change, 

And  call  it  reformation — marry,  will  1 1 

'Tis  Even  that  we're  at  Odds. 


(5.)—  CHAP.  XIV. 

We'll  keep  our  customs— what  is  law  itself. 
But  old  establish'd  custom  ?    What  religion, 
(I  mean,  with  one-half  of  tiie  men  that  use  it,) 
Save  the  good  use  and  wont  that  carries  them 
To  worship  how  and  where  their  fathers  wor- 

shipp'd  7 
All  things  resolve  iu  custom— we'll  keep  ours. 

Old  Play. 
(«.)  —  CHAP.  XXV. 

]  do  love  these  ancient  ruins ! 

We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 

Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history. 

And  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court, 

(Which  now  lies  naked  to  the  injuries 

Of  stormy  weather,)  some  men  lie  interr'd, 

Loved  the  Church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely 

toil, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  their 

bones 

Till  doomsday;  — but  all  things   have  then- 
end — 
Churches  and  cities,  which  have  diseases  like 

to  men, 
Must  have  like  death  which  we  have. 

Duchess  of  Malfy. 

(7.)  — CHAP.  XXIX. 

See  yonder  woman,  whom  our  swains  revere, 
And  dread   in   secret,   while   they  take   her 

counsel 
When   sweetheart   shall  be  kind,  or  when 

cross  dame  shall  die ; 
Where  lurks  the  thief  who  stole  the  silver 

tankard. 
And    how    the    pestilent    murrain   may    be 

cared; — 
This   sage   adviser 's   mad,   stark    mad,  my 

friend ; 
Yet,    in    her    madness,    hath    the    art    and 

cunning 
To  wring   fools'  secrets  from  their  inmost 

bosoms. 

And  pay  inquirers  with  the  coin  they  gave  her. 
Old  Play. 

(8.)  —CHAP.  XXX. 

What  ho,  my  jovial  mates  !  come  on !  well 

frolic  it 

Like  fairies  frisking  in  the  merry  moonshine, 
Seen  by  the  curtal  friar,  who,  from   some 

christening, 

Or  some  blithe  bridal,  hies  belated  cell-ward — 
He    starts,    and   changes    his    bold    bottle 

swagger 

To  churchman's  pace  professional,— and,  ran- 
sacking 

His  treacherous  memory  for  some  holy  hymn, 
Finds  but  the  roundel  of  the  midnight  catch. 

Old  Play. 
(9.)— CHAP.  XXXII. 

I  strive  like  to  the  vessel  in  the  tide-way, 
Which,  lacking  favouring  breeze,  hath  not  the 

power 

To  stem  the  powerful  current. — Even  so, 
.Resolving  daily  to  forsake  my  vices, 
Habit,  strong  circumstance,  renew'd  tempta- 
tion. 

Sweep  me  to  sea  again.— O  heavenly  breath, 
Fill  thou  my  sails,  and  aid  the  feeble  vessel, 
Which   ne'er   can   reach   the    blessed    port 
without  thee ! 

'Tit  Odds  when  Evens  meet. 


586                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                           ! 

(10.)  —CHAP.  XXXIII. 
Parental    love,    my    friend,   has    power   o'er 
wisdom, 
And  is  the  charm,  which,  like  the  falconer's 
lure, 
Can  brins  from  heaven  the  highest  soaring 
spirits.  — 
!  So  when  famed  Prosper  dofFd  his  magic  robe. 
It  was  Miranda  pluck'd  it  from  his  shoulders. 
Old  flay. 

(11.)  —  CHAP.  XXXIV. 

Hark  to  the  insult  loud,  the  bitter  sneer. 
The  fierce  threat  answering  to  the  brutal 
jeer; 
Oaths  fly  like  pistol-shots,  and  vengeful  words 
Clash   with   each   other   like   conflicting 
swords  — 
The   rohber's   quarrel   by   such   sounds   is 
shown. 
And  true  men  have  some  chance  to  gain  their 
own.                            Captivity,  a  Poem. 

(IS.)  —  CHAP.  XXXVII. 
Over  the  mountains  and  under  the  waves. 
Over  the  fountains  and  under  the  graves, 
Over  floods  that  are  deepest, 
Which  Neptune  obey, 
O'er  rocks  that  are  steepest. 
Love  will  find  out  the  way. 
Old  Song. 

'Tis  blithe  nt  eve  to  tell  the  tale. 
How  we  succeed,  and  how  we  fail, 
Whether  at  Alwyn'sS  lordly  meal, 
Or  lowlier  board  of  Ashestiel  ;  •* 
While  the  gay  tapers  cheerly  sliine, 
Bickers  the  fire,  and  flows  the  wine- 
Days  free  from  thought,  and  nights  from  care, 
My  blessing  on  the  Forest  fair  '. 

JFarctoell  to  tjje  JKuse.* 

1822. 

Enchantress,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has  decoy'd 
me, 
At  the  close  of  the  evening  through  wood- 
lands to  roam. 
Where  the  forester,  lated,  with  wonder  espied 
me 
Explore  the  wild  scenes  he  was  quilting  for 
home. 
Farewell,  and  take  with  thee  thy  numbers 
wild  speaking, 
The  language  alternate  of  rapture  and  woe  : 
Oh  !  none  but.  some  lover,  whose  heart-strings 
are  breaking, 
The   pang  that  I  feel  at  our  parting  can 
know. 

Each  joy  thoa  couldst  double,  and  when  there 
came  sorrow. 
Or  pale  disappointment  to  darken  my  way. 
What  voice  was  like  thine,  that  could  sing  of 
to-morrow. 
Till  forgot  in  ths  strain  was  the  grief  of 
to-day  ! 
But  when  friends  drop  around  us  in  life's 
wearv  waning. 
The  grief,  Queen  of  Numbers,  thou  canst 
not  assuage  ; 
Nor  the  gradual  estrangement  of  those  yet 
remaining. 
The  languor  of  pain,  and  the  chillness  of 
age. 

Twas  thou  that  once  taught  me,  in  accents 
bewailing. 
To  sing  how  a  warrior  lay  stretch'd  on  the 
plain. 
And  a  maiden  hung  o'er  him  with  aid  un- 
availing. 
And  held  to  his  lips  the  cold  goblet  in  vain; 
As  vain  thy  enchantments.  0  Queen  of  wild 
Numbers. 
To  a  bard  when  the  reign  of  his  fancy  is 
o'er, 
And  the  quick   pulse  of  feeling  in  apathy 
slumbers  — 
Farewell,  then,  Enchantress!   I  meet  thee 
no  more  ! 

©n  lEttrfdt  JFotcst's  i-3ountafns 
Bun.1 

1822. 

On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun, 
Tis  blithe  to  hear  the  sportsman's  gnn, 
And  seek  the  heath-frequenting  brood 
Far  through  the  noonday  solitude  ; 
By  many  a  cairn  and  trenched  mound, 
Where  chiefs  of  yore  sleep  lone  and  sound, 
And  springs,  where  grey-hair'd  shepherds  tell. 
That  still  the  fairies  love  to  dwell. 

Along  the  silver  streams  of  Tweed, 
'  Tis  blithe  the  mimic  fly  to  lead, 
When  to  the  hook  the  salmon  springs, 
And  the  line  whistles  through  the  rings; 
The  boiling  eddy  see  him  try. 
Then  dashing  from  the  current  high. 
Till  watchful  eye  and  cautious  hand 
Have  led  his  wasted  strength  to  laud. 

'Tis  blithe  along  the  midnight  tide. 
With  stalwart  arm  the  boat  to  guide  ; 
On  high  the  dazzline  blaze  to  rear. 
And  heedful  plunge  the  barbed  spear; 
Rock,  wood,  and  scaur,  emerging  bright, 
Fling  on  the  stream  their  ruddy  light. 
And  from  the  hank  our  band  appears 
Like  Genii,  arm'd  with  fiery  spears.5 

1  Written  after  a  week's  shooting  and  fishing,  in  which 
the  poet  had  been  engaged  with  some  friends. 
2  See  the  famous  salmon-spearing  scene  in  Guy  Man* 

8  Alteyn,  the  seat  of  LoH  Somerrille  ;  now,  alas  '.  nn- 
trnanted,  by  the  lamented  death  of  that  kind  and  ho** 

pitable   nobleman,  the  author's  nearest   neighbour  and 
intimate  friend.      Lord  8.  died  February  1819. 
4  Athttlitl,  the  poet's  residence  at  that  time. 
6  Written,  during  illness,  for  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish 
Collection,  and  first  published   in  182Q.  united  to  an  air 
composed  by  George  Kinloch,  Esq.,  of  Kinloch. 

LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       587 

2TJ)e  JWaft  of  Ksla. 

Air—"  The  Maid  of  Isla." 
WBITTEN  FOR  MR.  GEORGE  THOMSON'S 
SCOTTISH  MELODIES. 

Auld  Keekie.  in  her  rokelay  grey, 
Thought  never  to  have  seen  the  day; 
He's  been  a  weary  time  away  — 
But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

She's  skirling  frae  the  Castle-hill  ; 
The  Carlme's  voice  is  grown  sae  shrill, 
Ye'll  hear  her  at  the  Canon-mill— 
Carle,  now  tiie  King's  come  ! 

"Up,  bairns  !"  she  cries,  "baith  grit  and  sma", 
And  busk  ye  for  the  weapon-shaw  ! 
Stand  by  me,  and  we'll  bang  them  a'  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Come  from  Newbattle's  ancient  spires, 
Bauld  Lothian,  with  your  knights  and  squires, 
And  match  the  mettle  of  your  sires  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  You're  welcome  hame,  my  Montagu  ! 
Bring  in  your  hand  the  young  Bile-clench  ; 
I'm  missing  some  that  I  may  rue  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !  2 

"  Come,  Haddington,  the  kind  and  gay. 
You've  graced  my  causeway  mony  a  day  ; 
I'll  weep  the  cause  if  you  should  stay  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !  3 

"  Come,  premier  Duke,4  and  carry  doun 
Frae  yonder  craie  *  his  ancient  croun  ; 
It's  had  a  lang  sleep  and  a  soun'  — 
But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Come,  Atliole.  from  the  hill  and  wood. 
Bring  down  your  clansmen  hKe  a  clud  ; 
Come,  Morton,  show  the  Douglas'  blood,— 
Curie,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Come.  Tweeddale.  true  as  sword  to  sheath  ; 
Come,  Hopetoun,  fear'd  on  fields  of  death  ; 
Come,  Clerk.  •  and  give  your  buzle  breath  ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Come,  Wemyss.  who  modest  merit  aids; 
Come,  Rosebery,  from  Dalmeny  shades  ; 
Breadalbane,  bring  your  belted  plaids  : 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Come,  stately  Niddrie,  auld  and  true, 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  Minden  knew; 
We  have  o'er  few  such  lairds  as  you  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Kins  Arthur's  grown  a  common  crier, 
He's  heiird  in  Fife  and  far  Cantire.  — 
'  Fie,  lads,  behold  my  crest  of  fire  !' 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  i 

"Saint  Abh  roars  out,  'I  see  him  pass, 
Between  Tantallon  and  the  Bass  !' 
Gallon,  get  out  your  keeking-glass  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come!" 

1822. 

Oh.  Maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff 
That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky, 
Dost  thoii  not  see  yon  little  skiff 
Contend  witli  ocean  gallantly? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge, 
And  steep'd  her  leeward  deck  in  foam, 
Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge  ?  — 
Oti,  Isla's  maid,  she  seeks  her  home. 

Oh,  Isla's  maid,  yon  sea-bird  mark. 
Her  white  wing  gleams  through  mist  and 
spray, 
Against  the  storm-cloud,  lowering  dark, 
As  to  the  rook  she  wheels  away  ;  — 
Where  clouds  are  dark  and  billows  rave, 
Why  to  the  shelter  should  she  come 
Of  cliff,  exposed  to  wind  and  wave  ?  — 
Oh,  maid  of  Isla,  'tis  her  home  ! 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff, 
Thou'rt  adverse  to  the  suit  I  bring, 
And  cold  as  is  yon  wintry  cliff, 
Where  sea-birds  close  their  wearied  wing. 
Yet  cold  as  rock,  unkind  as  wave, 
Still.  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come  ; 
For  in  thy  love,  or  in  his  grave. 
Must  Allan  Vourich  fhid  his  home. 

ffiarle,  note  t|)e  Itfitfl's  come.1 

BEING  NEW  WORDS  TO   AN  AULD  SPRING. 

1822. 

The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  month, 
;  The  North  for  ance  has  bang'd  the  South  ; 
The  deil  a  Scotsman's  die  o'  drouth. 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

CHORUS. 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
Thou  shalt  dunce,  and  I  will  sing, 
Carle,  now  tlie  King's  come  1 

Auld  England  held  him  lang  and  fast; 
And  Ireland  had  a  joyfu'  cast; 
But  Scotland's  turn  is  come  at  last- 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

1  This  imitation  of  an  oW  Jacobite  ditty  was  written  on 
the  appe.ir.inrp,  in  the  Frith  of  Forth,  of  the  fleet  which 
conveyed  his  Majesty  Kin?  George  the  Fourth  to  Scotland, 
in  August  182U  ;  aud  was  published  as  a  broadside. 
3  Lord  Montagu,  uncle  and  guardian  to  the  young  Doke 

ancient  royal  crown  of  Scotland  on  horseback  in  King 
George's  procession,  from  Holyrood  to  the  Castle, 
5  The  Castle. 
«  Sir  George  Clerk  of  Pennycmk,  Bart.    The  Baron  of 
Pennycuik   is  bound    by  hi*  tenure,  whenever  the   King 

his  Majetity's  d.sposal  during  his  visit  to  Scotland. 
1  Charles,  the  tenth  Earl  of  Haddington,  died  iu  1828. 
4  The  Duke  of  Hamilton,  as  Earl  of  Angus,  carried  the 

army  encamped  on  the  Boroughmuir,  before  hi*  fatal  expe. 
dilio'n  to  England,)  now  built  into  the  park-wall  at  the  end 
of  Tipperlin  Lone,  near  the  Boroughmuir-head;  and,  stand. 

588 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  Carline  stopp'd:  and,  sure  I  am, 
For  very  glee  had  ta'en  a  dwani. 
But  Oman  1  help'd  her  to  a  dram. — 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come! 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Cogie,  low  the  King's  come ! 
I'se  be  fou'  and  ye's  he  loom,2 
Cogie,  nuw  ins  King's  come ! 


CARLE,  NOW  THE  KING'S  COME. 


PART   SECOND. 


A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew, 
Heised  up  Auld  Reekie's  heart,  I  trow, 
It  minded  her  of  Waterloo- 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
Again  I  heard  her  summons  swell, 
For,  sic  a  dirdum  and  a  yell, 
It  drown'd  Saint  Giles's  jowing  bell- 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
"  My  trusty  Provost,  tried  and  tight, 
Stand  forward  for  the  Good  Town's  right, 
There's  waar  than  yon  been  made  a  knight  —  ' 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
"  My  reverend  Clergy,  look  ye  say 
The  best  of  thanksgivings  y'e  hae, 
And  warstle  for  a  sunny  day  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
"  My  Doctors,  look  that  you  aziee, 
Cure  a'  the  town  without  a  fee  ; 
My  Lawyers,  dinna  pike  a  plea- 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
"  Come  forth  each  sturdy  Burgher's  bairn, 
That  dints  on  wood  or  clanks  on  airn, 
That  fires  the  o'en,  or  winds  the  pirn  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
"  Come  forward  with  the  Blanket  Blue,* 
Your  sires  were  loyal  men  and  true, 
As  Scotland's  foemen  oft  might  rue  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 


"  Sir  Thomas,^  thunder  from  your  rock,* 
Till  Pentland  (Jinnies  wi'  the  shock, 
And  lace  wi'  fire  my  snood  o'  smoke  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Melville,  bring  out  your  bands  of  blue, 
A'  Louden  lads,  baith  stout  and  true, 
With  Elcho.  Hope,  and  Cockbuni.  too  —  1 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  And  yon,  who  on  yon  bloidy  braes 
Compell'd  the  vanquish'd  Despot's  praise, 
Rank  out  —  rank  out  —  my  gallant  Greys  —  9 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Cock  o"  the  North,  my  Huntly  bra', 
Where  are  you  with  the  Forty-twa  ?  9 
Ah  !  wae's  my  heart  that  ye're  awa'— 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  But  yonder  come  my  canty  Celts, 
With  durk  and  pistols  at  their  belts, 
Thank    God,    we've    still    some    plaids    and 
kilts- 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

Lord,  how  the  pibrochs  groan  and  yell! 
Macdonnell's  i"  ta'en  the  field  liimsell, 
Macleod  comes  hranking  o'er  the  fell  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Bend  up  your  bow  each  Archer  spark, 
For  you're  to  guard  him  light  and  dark  ; 
Faith,  lads,  for  ance  you've  hit  the  mark  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
"  Young  Errol.il  take  the  sword  of  state, 
The  sceptre,  Panie-Morarr-.hate;  12 
Knight  Maresnlial.'s  see  ye  clear  the  gate  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Kind  cummer,  Leith,  ye've  been  mis-set, 
But  dinna  be  upon  the  fret  — 
Ye'se  hae  the  handsel  of  him  yet, 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 


1  Mr.  Oman,  landlord  of  the  Waterloo  Hotel. 

8  Kmptr. 

3  The  Lord  Provost  had  the  agreeable  surprise  to  hea 


his  health  proposed, 

IV.  m  the  Parliament-House,  as  "  Sir  Wiiliam  Arbuthnot, 

Bart." 

4  The  Bine  Blanket  a  the  standard  of  the  incorporated 
trades  of  Edinburgh,  and  is  kept   by  their  convener,  "at 
whose  appearance  therewith,"  observe*  Maitland,  "  tis 
said,  that  not  only  the  artificers  of  Edinburgh  are  obliged 
to  repair  to  it,  but  all  the  artificers  or  craftsmen  within 
Scotland  are  bound  to  follow  it,  and  fight  under  the  con- 

tradition,  this  standard  was  used  in  the  Holy  Wars  by  a 
body  of  crusading  citizens  of  Edinburgh,  and  was  the  first 

city  was  stormed  by  the  Christian  army  under  the  famous 
Godfrey.  But  the  real  history  of  it  seems  to  be  this  :— 

in  which  he  lived  could  not  appreciate,  having  been  tie* 
tained  for  nine  months  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh  by  his 
factions  nobles,  was  relieved  by  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh, 
who  assaulted  the  castle  and  tooR  it  by  surprise  ;  on  which 
occasion  James  presented  the  citizens  with  this  banner, 
**  with  a  power  to  display  the  same  in  defence  of  their 
king,  country,  and  their  own  rights."  —  Kate  to  thin  tlanta 
ixthf"  Account  qf  If  e  Kinf'i  Vwi«,"  ic.  Svo  lb2J. 

5  Sir  Thomas  Bradford,  then  commander  of  the  forces 
in  Scotland. 

6  Edinburgh  Castle. 

7  Lord    Melville  was  colonel  of  the  Mid-Lothian   Yeo- 

mnd  Robert  Cockburo,  Esq.,  and  Lord  Elcho,  were  captains 


in  the  same  corps,  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  formerly 
belonged. 
8  The  Scots  Greys,  headed  by  their  gallant  colonel,  Ge- 

at  Edinburgh  during  the  King's  visit.    Bonaparte's  excla- 


ell  known  :  "  Ces  beau 


1836. 

10  Colonel  Ronaldson  Macdonell  of  Glengarry— who  died 

11  The  Earl  of  Errol  is  hereditary  Lord  High-Constable 
of  Scotland. 

12  In  more  correct  Gaelic  orthography,  Btnam^orar.Cftatt 
or  the  Great  Lady,  (literally  Female  Lard  of  the  Clialte  ;) 
the  Celtic  title  of  the  Count™  of  Sutherland.     "  Evin 
unto  this  day,  the  country  of  Sutherland  is  yet  called 
Cattey,  :he  inhabitants  Catteigfc,  and  the  Earl  of  Suther- 
land   Morweir  Oattey,  in    old    Scottish    or  Irish ;    which 
language  the  inhabitant  of  thi»  country  doe  still  use."— 
Gorrfon'j  GentaloFical  Htftvry  oj  (lie  Earls  of  Sutherland, 
p.  18.    It  was  determined  by  his  Majesty,  that  the  right 
of  carrying  the  sceptre  lay  with  this  noble  family;  and 
Lord  Francis  Leveson  Gower,  (now  Egertoa.)  second  son 
of  the  Countess  (afterwards  Duchess)  of  Sutherland,  was 

able  office.  After  obtaining  his  Majesty's  permission  to 
depart  for  Dunrobin  Castle,  his  place  was  supplied  by  the 
Honourable  John  M.  Stuart,  second  son  of  the  Earl  of 

ander  Keith,  of  Dnnnottar  and  Ravelstone. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.     689 

"  My  daughters,  come  with  een  sae  blue, 

Your  garlands  weave,  your  blossoms  strew  ; 

(3.)—  CHAP.  IV. 

He  ne'er  saw  fairer  flowers  than  you  — 
Carle,  jiow  the  King's  come  ! 

Ay,  sir,  the  clouted  shoe  hath  ofttimes  craft 
in't. 

As  says  the  rustic  proverb,  and  your  citizen. 

"  What  shall  we  do  for  the  propiue  
We  used  to  offer  something  fine, 

In's  grogram  suit,  gold  chain,  and  well-black'd 
shoes. 

But  ne'er  a  groat's  in  pouch  of  mine  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

Bears  under  his  flat  cap  oft.times  a  brain 
Wiser   than   burns   beneath   the  cap    and 

feather, 

"  Deil  care—  for  that  I'se  never  start, 

Or   seethes   within   the   statesman's   velvet 

We'll  welcome  him  with  Highland  heart  ; 

nightcap.                 Read  me  my  Riddle. 

Whate'er  we  have  he's  get  a  part  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

(4.)—  CHAP.  V. 

"  I'll  show  him  mason-work  this  day  — 
Nane  of  your  bricks  of  Babel  clay, 
Bui  towers  shall  stand  till  Time's  away  — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  f 

Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court  7 
Certain  'tis  the  rarest  sport  ; 
There  are  silks  and  jewels  glistening. 
Prattling  fools  and  wise  men  listening, 
Bullies  among  brave  men  justling, 

"  I'll  show  him  wit,  I'll  show  him  lair, 

Beggars  amongst  nobles  bustling  ; 
Low-breathed  talkers,  minion  lispers, 

And  gallant  lads  and  lasses  fair, 
And  what  wad  kind  heart  wish  for  mair? 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

Cutting  honest  throats  by  whispers  ; 
Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court  ? 
Skelton  swears  'tis  glorious  sport. 

Skelton  Skeltonizeth. 

"Step  out,  Sir  John,1  of  projects  rife. 

Come  win  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife, 

(6.)—  CHAP.  VI. 

And  bring  him  health  and  length  of  life- 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !" 

0,  1  do  know  him  —  'tis  the  mouldy  lemon 
Which    our  court  wits   will   wet  their    lips 

withal. 

When  they  would  sauce  their  honied  conver- 

**s**s^^s*r^j**r^*r* 

sation 

With  somewhat  sharper  flavour.  —  Marry,  sir, 

jFrom  3Tfve  jFortunes 

That  virtue's  wpllmgh  left  him  —  all  the  juice 
That  was  so  sharp  and  poignant,  is  squeezed 
out, 

nf  4H  f  rr  rf 

While  the  poor  rind,  although  as  sour  as  ever, 

U*.     iilljvl. 

Must   season    soon    the    draff  we   give  our 

grunters. 

1822. 

The  Chamberlain—  A  Comedy. 

(«.)—  CHAP.  VII. 

MOTTOES. 

Things  needful  we  have  thought  on  ;  but  the 

(I.)  —  CHAP.  I. 

thing 
Of  all  most  needful  —  that  which  Scripture 

Now  Scot  and  English  are  agreed. 
And  Saunders  hastes  to  cross  the  Tweed. 
Where,   such    the   splendours   that   attend 
him, 

terms. 
As  if  alone  it  merited  regard. 
The  one   thing   needful  —  that's  yet  uncon- 
sider'd.                      The  Chamberlain. 

His  very  mother  scarce  had  ken'd  him. 

His  metamorphosis  behold. 

(7.;  —  CHAP.  VIII. 

From  Glasgow  fneze  to  cloth  of  gold  ; 
His  back  sword,  with  the  iron-hilt, 

Ah!  mark  the  matron  well  —  and  laugh  not, 

To  rapier,  fairly  hatch'd  and  gilt; 
Was  ever  seen  a  gallant  braver  ! 
His  very  bonnet's  grown  a  beaver. 
The  Reformation. 

At  her  old  steeple-hat  and  velvet  guard— 
I've  called  her  like  the  ear  of  Dionysms: 
I  mean  that  ear-form'd  vault,  built  o'er  the 
dungeon, 

(I)  —  CHAP.  H. 

To  catch  the  groans  and  discontented  mur- 

murs 

This,  sir,  is  one  among  the  Seignory, 

Of  his  poor  bondsmen.—  Even  so  doth  Martha 

Has    wealth    at    will,  and   will    to    use    his 

Drink  up.  for  her  own  purpose,  all  that  passes, 

wealth. 

Or  is  supposed  to  pass,  in  this  wide  city  — 

And  wit  to  increase  it.    Marry,  his  worst  folly 

She  can  retail  it,  too.  if  that  her  profit 

Lies  in  a  thriftless  sort  of  charity. 

Shall  call  on  her  to  do  no  ;  and  retail  it 

That  goes-  a-gadd  ing  sometimes  after  objects 

For  your  advantage,  so  that  you  can  make 

Which  wise  men  will  not  see  when  thrust 

Your  profit  jump  with  hers. 

upon  them.                    The  Old  Couple 

The  Conspiracy. 

1  The  Right  Honourable  SirJohn  Sinclair,  Bart.,  author 

plane  and  improvements  innumerable,  died  21>t  December 

of  «  The  Code  of  Health  and  Longevity."  Ice.  tec.,  —  the 

ISSo,  in  but  eighty-Kcond  year.—  Ed. 

well-known  patron  and  projector  of  national  and  patriotic 

590 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(8.)— CHAP.  X. 

Bid  not  thy  fortune  troll  upon  the  wheels 

Of  yonder  dancing  cubs  of  mottled  bone ; 

An'!  drown  it  not.  like  Egypt's  royal  liarlot. 

Dissolving  her  rich  pearl  in  the  brimm'd  wine- 
cap. 

These   are  the   arts,  Lothario,  which  shrink 
acres 

Into  brief  yards  — bring  sterling  pounds   to 
farthines. 

Credit  to  infamy ;  and  the  poor  eull, 

Who  might  have  lived  an  honour'd,  easy  life, 

To  ruin,  and  an  unregarded  grave. 

The  Changes. 
(».)  — CHAP,  xil. 

This  is  the  very  barn-yard, 

Where  muster  daily  the  prime  cocks  o'  the 
game. 

Ruffle  their  pinions,  crow  till  they  are  hoarse. 

And    spar    about  a  barleycorn.      Here,  too, 
chickens. 

The  callow,  unfledged  brood  of  forward  folly. 

Learn  first  to  rear  the  crest,  and  aim  the  spur. 

And  tune  their  note  like  full-plumed  Chanti- 
cleer. The  Bear  Garden. 
(10.)  —  CHAP.  XIII. 

Let  the  proud  salmon  gorge  the   feather'd 

hook. 
Then  strike,  and  then  you  have  him. — He  will 

wince; 
Spin  out  your  line  that  it  shall  whistle  from 

you 
Some  twenty  yards  or  so,  yet  you  shall  have 

him — 
Marry!  you  must  have  patience  —  the  stout 

rock 
Which  is  his  trust,  hath    edges   something 

sharp; 
And   the  deep  pool    hath  ooze    and    sludge 

enough 
To  mar  your  fishing  — 'less  you  are   more 

careful. 

Albion,  or  the  Double  Kings. 

(11.)  —  CHAP.  XVI. 
Give  way  —  give  way  —  I  must  and  will  have 

justice. 

And  tell  me  not  of  privilege  and  place ; 
Where  I  am  injured,  there  I'll  sue  redress. 
Look  to  it,  every  one  who  bars  my  access ; 
I  have  a  heart  to  feel  the  injury, 
A  hand  to  right  myself,  and,  by  my  honour, 
That  hand  shall  grasp  what  grey-beard  Law 

denies  me.  The  Chamberlain. 

(U.)  —  CHAP.  xvii. 
Come  hither,  young  one  —  Mark  me!    Thou 

art  now 

'Mongst  men  o'  the  sword,  that  live  by  reputa- 
tion 

More  than  by  constant  income — Single-suited 
They  are.  I  grant  you  :  yet  each  single  suit 
Maintains,  on   the   rough  guess,  a   thousand 

followers— 

And  they  he  men,  who,  hazarding  their  all, 
Needful  apparel,  necessary  income. 
And  nu man  body,  and  immortal  soul. 
Do  in  the  very  deed  but  hazard  nothing — 
So  strictly  is  that  all  bound  in  reversion  ; 
Clothes  to  the  broker,  income  to  the  usurer, — 
And   body  to  disease,  and   soul  to  the  foul 
fiend; 


W'ho  laughs  to  see  Soldadoes  and  fooladoes. 

Play  better  than  himself  his  game  on  earth. 

The  Mohocks. 

(13.)  — CHAP.  XVIII. 

Mother.  What !  dazzled  by  a  flash  of  Cupid's 

mirror. 

With  which  the  boy.  as  mortal  urchins  wont. 
Flings  back  the  sunbeam  in  the  eye  of  passen- 
gers- 
Then  lauahs  to  see  them  stumble! 

Daughter.     Mother!  no— 
It  was  a  lightning-flash  which  dazzled  me. 
And  never  shall  these  eyes  see  true  a?ain. 
Beef  and  1'udding — An  Old  English  Comedy. 

(M)— CHAP,  xix. 
By  this  good  light,  a  wench  of  matchless 

mettle ! 

This  were  a  leaguer-lass  to  love  a  soldier. 
To  bind  his  wounds,  and  kiss  his  bloody  brow, 
And  sing  a  roundel  as  she  help'd  to  arm  him. 
Though  the  rough  foeman's  drums  were  beat 

so  nigh, 
They  seem'd  to  bear  the  burden. 

Old  Play. 

(IS.)  —  CHAP.  XX. 

Credit  me,  friend,  it  hath  been  ever  thus, 
Since  the  ark  rested  on  Mount  Ararat. 
False  man   hath   sworn,   and   woman    hath 

believed  — 

Repented  and   reproach'd,  and  then  believed 
once  more.  The  Ntto  World. 

(16.)— CHAP.  XXI. 

Rove  not  from  pole  to  pole  —  the  man  lives 

here 

Whose  razor's  only  equall'd  by  his  beer ; 
And  where,  in  either  sense,  the  cockney-put 
May.  if  he  pleases,  get  confounded  cut 

On  the  Sign  of  an  Alehouse  kepi  by  a  Barber. 

(17.)  — CHAP.  XXII. 

Chance  will  not  do  the  work  —  Chance  sends 

the  breeze ; 

But  if  the  pilot  slumber  at  the  helm. 
The  very  wind  that  wafts  us  towards  the  port 
May  dash  us  on  the  shelves. — The  steersman's 

part  is  vigilance. 
Blow  it  or  rough  or  smooth.  Old  Play. 

(18)— CHAP.  XXIV. 

This  is  the  time  —  Heaven's  maiden-sentinel 
Hath  quitted  her  high  watch  — the    lesser 

spangles 

Are  paling  one  by  one  ;  give  me  the  ladder 
And  the  short  lever  —  bid  Anthony 
Keep  with  his  carabine  the  wicket-gate ; 
And  do  thou  bare  thy  knife  and  follow  me. 
For  we  will  in  and  do  it  —darkness  like  this 
Is  dawning  of  our  fortunes.  Old  Play. 

(19)— CHAP.  XXV. 

Death  finds  us  'mid  our  playthings  — snatches 

us. 

As  a  cross  nurse  mizht  do  a  wayward  child, 
From  all  our  toys  and  baubles.    His  rough  call 
Unlooses  all  our  favourite  ties  on  earth  ; 
And  well  if  they  are  such  as  may  be  answer'd 
In  yonder  world,  where  all  is  judged  of  truly. 

Old  Play. 

(20)— CHAP.  XXVI. 
Give  us  good  voyage,  gentle  stream  — we  stun 

not 
Thy  sober  ear  with  sounds  of  revelry ; 


LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.      591 


Wake  not  the  slumbering  echoes  of  thy  banks 
With  voice  of  flute  and  horn — we  do  but  seek 
On  the  broad  pathway  of  thy  swelling  bosom 
To  glide  m  silent  safety. 

The  Double  Bridal. 

(21.)— CHAP.  XXVII. 

This  way  lie  safety  and  a  sore  retreat ; 
Yonder  lie  danger,  shame,  and  punishment. 
Most  welcome  danger  then— Nay,  let  me  say, 
Though  spoke  with  swelling  heart  —  welcome 

e'en  shame ; 

And  welcome  punishment— for.  call  me  guilty, 
I  do  but  pay  the  tax  that  's  due  to  justice ; 
And  call  me  guiltless,  then  that  punishment 
Is  shame  to  those  alone  who  do  inflict  it. 

The  Tribunal 

(M.)  — CHAP.  XXIX. 

How  fares  the  man  on  whom  good  men  would 

look 

With  eyes  where  scorn  and  censure  combated. 
But  that  kind  Christian  love  hath  taught  the 

lesson  — 

That  they  who  merit  most  contempt  and  hate. 
Do  most  deserve  our  pity Old  Play. 

(33.)— CHAP.  XXXI. 

Marry,  come  up,  sir,  with  your  gentle  blood  ! 
Here's  a  red  stream  beneath  this  coarse  blue 

doublet. 

That  warms  the  heart  as  kindly  as  if  drawn 
From  the  far  source  of  old  Assyrian  kings. 
Who  first  made  mankind  subject  to  their  sway. 

Old  Play. 
(W.)— CHAP.  XXXV. 

We  are  not  worse  at  once — the  course  of  evil 
Begins  so  slowly,  and  from  such  slight  source. 
An  infant's  hand  might  stem  its  breach  with 

clay; 

But  let  the  stream  get  deeper,  and  philoso- 
phy- 
Ay,  and  religion  too,— shall  strive  in  vain 
To  turn  the  headlong  torrent.         Old  Play. 


Jfront 
of  the 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 
(i.)—  CHAP.  n. 

Why  then,  we  will  have  bellowing  of  beeves, 
Broaching  of  barrels,  brandishing  of  spigots  ; 
Blood  shall  flow  freely,  but  it  shall  be  gore 
Of  herds  and  flocks,  and  venison  and  poultry, 
Joiu'd  to  the  brave  heart's-blood  of  John-a- 
Barleycom  1  Old  Play. 

(l)  —  CHAP.  iv. 

No,  sir,—  I  will  not  pledge  —  I'm  one  of  those 
Who  thinks  good  wine  needs  neither  bush 

nor  preface 

To  make  it  welcome.    If  you  doubt  my  word. 
Fill  the  quart-cap,  and  see  if  I  will  choke  on't. 
Old  Play. 


(3.)  —  CHAP.  VI. 

You   shall  have  no  worse  prison  than  my 

chamber, 
Nor  jailer  than  myself.  The  Captain. 

(4 )  —  CHAP.  xvi. 
Ascasto.  Can  she  not  speak  ? 
Oswald.  If  speech  be  only  in  accented 

sounds. 
Framed  by  the  tongue  and  lips,  the  maiden 's 

dumb ; 

But  if  by  quick  and  apprehensive  look. 
By   motion,  sign,  and  glance,  to  give    each 

meaning, 
Express  as  clothed  in   language,  be   term'd 

speech. 

She  hath  that  wondrous  faculty ;  for  her  eyes. 
Like  the  bright  stars  of  heaven,  can  hold  dis- 
course. 
Though  it  be  mute  and  soundless. 

Old  Play. 
(6.)— CHAP.  XVII. 

This  is  a  love  meeting?    See   the    maiden 

mourns. 

And  the  sad  suitor  bends  his  looks  on  earth. 
There's  more  hath  pass'd  between  them  than 

belongs 
To  Loves  sweet  sorrows.  Old  Play. 

(7.)  — CHAP.  xix. 
Now,  hoist  the  anchor,  mates  —  and  let  the 

sails 

Give  their  broad  bosom  to  the  buxom  wind. 
Like  lass  that  wooes  a  lover.  Anonymous. 

(7.)  —  CHAP.  XXII. 

He  was  a  fellow  in  a  peasant's  garb; 
Yet    one  could  censure  you  a  woodcock's 

carving, 
Like  any  courtier  at  the  ordinary. 

The  Ordinary. 

(8.)— CHAP.  XXIV. 

We  meet,  as  men  see  phantoms  in  a  dream, 
Which  glide  and  sigh,  and  sign,  and  move 

their  lips. 

But  make  no  sound  ;  or,  if  they  utter  voice, 
Tis  but  a  low  and  undistinguish'd  moaning. 
Which  has  nor  word  nor  sense  of  utter'd 

sound.  The  Chieftain. 

(9.)— CHAP.  XXV. 

The  course  of  human  life  is  changeful  still, 
As  is  the  fickle  wind  and  wandering  rill ; 
Or,  like  the  light  dance  which  the  wild-breeze 

weaves 

Amidst  the  faded  race  of  fallen  leaves; 
Which  now  its  breath  bears  down,  now  tosses 

high. 

Beats  to  the  earth,  or  wafts  to  middle  sky. 
Such,  and  so  varied,  the  precarious  play 
Of  fate  with  man,  frail  tenant  of  a  day  ! 

Anonymous. 

(10.)— CHAP.  XXVI. 

Necessity— tliou  best  of  peacemakers, 
As  well  as  surest  prompter  of  invention — 
Help  us  to  composition !  Anonymous. 

(11.)— CHAP.  XXVII. 

—This  is  some  creature  of  the  elements 
Most  like  your  sea-gull.    He  can  wheel  and 
whistle 


592 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


His  screaming  song,  e'en  when  the  storm  is 

loudest  — 

Take  for  his  sheeted  couch  the  restless  foam 
Of   the   wild   wave-crest  —  slumber   in   the 

calm, 

And  dally  with  the  storm.    Yet  'tis  a  gull, 
An  arrant  gull,  with  all  this. 

The  Chieftain. 

(11)— CHAP.  XIII. 

I  fear  the  devil  most  when  gown  and  cassock, 
Or,  in  the  lack  of  them,  old  Calvin's  cloak, 
Conceals  his  cloven  hoof. 

Anonymous. 

(1».)  —CHAP.  XXXTIL 

Tis  the  black  ban-dog  of  our  jail  —  Pray  look 

on  him, 

But  at  a  wary  distance—rouse  him  not — 
He  bays  not  till  he  worries. 

The  Black  Dog  of  Newgate. 

(M.)  —CHAP,  xxxvni. 

"  Speak  not  of  niceness,  when  there's  chance 

of  wreck." 

The  captain  said,  as  ladies  writhed  their  neck 
To  see  the  dying  dolphin  flap  the  deck  ; 
"  If  we  go  down,  on  us  these  gentry  sop; 
We  dine  upon  them,  if  we  hanl  them  up. 
Wise    men    applaud   us   when  we  eat   the 

eaters. 
As  the  devil  laughs  when  keen  folks  cheat  the 

cheaters." 

The  Sea  Voyage. 

(15.) -CHAP.  XL. 

Contentions  fierce, 

Ardent,  and  dire,  spring  from  no  petty  cause. 
Albion. 
(16.)  — CHAP.  XLIII. 

He  came  amongst  them  like  a  new-raised 

spirit. 

To  speak  of  dreadful  judgments  that  impend, 
And  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

The  Reformer. 

(17.)  —  CHAP.  XLIY. 

And  somfi  for  safety  took  the  dreadful  leap; 
Some  for  the  voice  of  Heaven  seem'd  calling 

on  them; 

Some  for  advancement,  or  for  lucre's  sake— 
I  leap'd  in  frolic.  The  Dream. 

(18.)  — CHAP.  XLV. 

High  feasting  was  there  there  — the  gilded 
roofs 

Rung   to   the  wassail-health  —  the  dancer's 
step  « 

Sprung  to  the  chord  responsive— the  gay  game- 
ster 

To  fate's  disposal  flung  his  heap  of  gold. 

And  laugh 'd  alike  when  it  increased  or  less- 
en'd: 

Such  virtue  hath  court-air  to  teach  us  pa- 
tience 

Which  schoolmen  preach  in  vain. 

Why  come  ye  not  to  Court  t 

(».)  —  CHAP.  XLVL 

Here  stand  I  tight  and  trim, 
Quick  of  eye,  though  little  of  limb; 
He  who  denieth  the  word  I  have  spoken. 
Betwixt  him  and  me  shall  lances  be  broken. 
Lay  of  the  Little  John  de  Scdntre. 


jFrom 
<aunttiu  Burtoartr. 


1823. 


(l.)-SOXG  — COUNTY  GUY. 

Ah !  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea. 
The  orange-flower  perfumes  the  bower, 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  thrill'd  all  day, 

Sits  hush'd  his  partner  nigh  ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower,  confess  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy  1 

The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade, 
Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear; 

To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 
-Sings  high-born  Cavalier. 

The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above, 
Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky ; 

And  high  and  low  the  influence  know- 
But  where  is  County  Guy  ! 

Chap.  iv. 


(2.)  ^MOTTOES. 

(1.)  — CHAP.  XI. 

Painters   show  Cupid   blind — Hath   Hymen 

eyes? 

Or  is  his  sight  warp'd  by  those  spectacles 
Which  parents,  guardians,  and  advisers,  lend 

him, 
That  he  may  look  through  them  on  lands  and 

mansions, 

On  jewels,  gold,  and  all  such  rich  donations, 
And  see  their  value  ten  times  magnified  ! — 
Methmks  'twill  brook  a  question. 

The  Miseries  of  Enforced  Marriage. 

(2.)— CHAP.  XII. 

This  is  a  lecturer  so  skill'd  in  policy, 
That  (no  disparagement  to  Satan's  cunning) 
He  well  might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 
And  teach  the  old  seducer  new  temptations. 
Old  Play. 
(3) —  CHAP.  XIV. 

I  see  thee  j-et,  fair  France— them  favour'd  land 
Of  art  and  nature — thoti  art  still  before  me; 
Thy  sons,  to  whom  their  labour  is  a  sport, 
So  well  thy  grateful  soil  returns  its  tribute  ; 
Thy  sun  burnt  daughters,  with  their  laughing 

eyes 

And  glossy  raven-locks.    But,  favour'd  France, 
Thou  hast  had  many  a  tale  of  woe  to  tell, 
In  ancient  times  as  now.  Anonymous. 

(4.)  — CHAP.  XV. 

He  was  a  son  of  Eaypt,  as  he  told  me, 
And  one  descended  from  those  dread  magi- 
cians. 
Who  waged  rash  war,  when  Israel  dwelt  in 

Goshen. 

With  Israel  and  her  Prophet— matching  rod 
With  his  the  sons  of  l-evi's— and  encountering 
Jehovah's  miracles  with  incantations, 
Till  upon  Egypt  came  the  avenging  Angel, 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     593 


Arid  those  proud  sages  wept  for  their  first- 
born, 

As  wept  the  unletter'd  peasant. 

Anonymous. 
(6)— CHAP.  XXIV. 

Rescue  or  none.  Sir  Knight,  I  am  your  captive  ; 

Deal  with  me  what  your  nobleness  suggests — 

Thinking  the  chance  of  war  may  one  day  place 
you 

Where  I  must  now  be  reckon'd — i'  the  roll 

Of  melancholy  prisoners. 

Anonymous. 
(«.)— CHAP,  xxv. 

No  human  quality  is  so  well  wovo 

In  warp  and  woof,  but  there's  some  flaw  in  it ; 

I've  known  a  brave  man  fly  a  shepherd's  cur, 

A  wise  man  so  demean  him,  drivelling  idiocy 

Had  well  nigh  been  ashamed  ou't.    For  your 
crafty, 

Your  worldly-wise  man.  he,  above  the  rest, 

Weaves   his  own  snares  so   fine,  he's  often 
caught  in  them.  Old  Play. 

(7)  — CHAP.  XXVI. 

When  Princes  meet,  astrologers  may  mark  it 
An  ominous  conjunction,  full  of  boding, 
Like  that  of  .Mars  with  Saturn. 

Old  Play. 

(8.)  —CHAP.  XXIX. 

Thy  time  is  not  yet  out — the  devil  thou  servest 

Has  not  as  yet  deserted  thee.     He  aiils 

The  friends  who  drudge  for  him,  as  the  blind 

man 

Was  aided  by  the  guide,  who  lent  his  shoulder 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  until  he  reach'd  the 

brink 

Of  the  tell  precipice  —  then  hurl'd  him  down- 
wards. Old  Play. 

(9.)— CHAP.  XXX. 

Our  counsels  waver  like  the  unsteady  bark, 
That  reels  amid  the  strife  of  meeting  currents. 

Old  Play. 
(10.)  —  CHAP.  XXXI. 

Hold  fast  thy  truth,  young  soldier.  —  Gentle 

maiden. 
Keep  you  your  promise  plight  —  leave  age  its 

subtleties. 

And  grey-hair'd  policy  its  maze  of  falsehood; 
But  be  you  candid  as  the  morning  sky, 
Kre  the  high  sun  sucks  vapours  up  to  stain  it. 
The  Trial. 


St. 


jFrom 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —  CHAP.  II.  —  THE  GCEST. 
Quis  novus  hie  liospes  1 

Dido  apud  Virgitium. 

Ch'm-maid  !  —  The  Gemman  in,  the  front  par- 
lour! 

Boots's  free  Translation  of  the  Eneid. 


(2.)  —  CHAP.  in. 

There  must  be  government  in  all  society — 
Bees  have  their  Queeu,  and  stag  herds  have 

their  leader; 
j  Rome  had  her  Consuls,  Athens  had  her  Ar- 

chons, 

And  we,  sir,  have  our  Managing  Committee. 
T/te  Album  of  St.  Ronaat. 

(3.)  — CHAP.  X. 

Come,  let  me  have  thy  counsel,  for  I  need  it; 
Thou  art  of  those,  who  better  help  their 

friends 

With  sage  advice,  than  usurers  with  gold. 
Or  brawlers  with  their  swords  —  I'll  trust  to 

thee. 

For  I  ask  only  from  thee  words,  not  deeds. 
The  Devil  hath  met  his  Match. 
(I.)— CHAP.  XI. 

Nearest  of  blood  should  still  be  next  in  love ; 
And  when  I  see  these  happy  children  playing. 
While  William  gathers  flowers  for  Ellen's 

ringlets, 

And  Ellen  dresses  flies  for  William's  angle, 
I  scarce  can  think,  that  in  advancing  life. 
Coldness,  unkiudness,  interest,  or  suspicion, 
Will  e'er  divide  that  unity  so  sacred. 
Which  Nature  bound  at  birth. 

Anonymous. 
(5.)  —  CHAP.  xxni. 

Oh  !  you  would  be  a  vestal  maid,  I  warrant. 
The  bride  of  Heaven — Come — we  may  shake 

your  purpose : 

For  here  1  bring  in  hand  a  jolly  suitor 
Hath  ta'en  degrees  in  the  seven  sciences 
'I  hat  ladies  love  best — He  is  young  and  noble. 
Handsome   and  valiant,  gay  and    rich,  and 

liberal.  The  Nun. 

(6)  — CHAP.  XXXII. 

It  comes — it  wrings  me  in  my  parting  hour, 
The  long-hid  crime — the  well-disguised  guilt. 
Bring  me  some  holy  priest  to  lay  the  spectre ! 

Old  Play. 
C7.)— CHAP.  XXXV. 

Sedet  post  equilem  atra  cura 

Still  though  the  headlong  cavalier, 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  in  wild  career, 

Seems  racing  with  the  wind ; 

His  sad  companion — ghastly  pale, 

And  darksome  as  a  widow's  veil, 

Care — keeps  her  seat  behind. 

Horace. 
(8.)  —  CHAP,  xxxviu. 

What  sheeted  ghost  is  wandering  through  the 
storm  ? 

For  never  did  a  maid  of  middle  earth 

Choose  such  a  time  or  spot  to  vent  her  sor- 
rows. Old  Play. 
(o.)— CHAP,  xxxix. 

Here  come  we  to  our  close  —  for  that  which 
follows 

Is  but  the  tale  of  dull,  unvaried  misery. 

Steep  crags  and  headlong  lins  may  court  the 
pencil 

Like  sudden  haps,  dark  plots,  and  strange  ad- 
ventures ; 

But  who  would  paint  the  dull  and  fog-wrapt 
moor, 

In  its  long  tract  of  sterile  desolation  ? 

Old  Play. 


594 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


STfje 


i. 

Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  Old  Books  and  Old 

Wine, 

To  sing  in  the  praises  of  sage  Bannatyne, 
Who  left  such  a  treasure  of  old  Scottish  lore 
As  enables  each  age  to  print  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more. 

We'll  ransack  old  Banny  for  one  volume 
more. 

II. 

And  first.  Allan  Ramsay  was  eager  to  glean 
From  Bitnnatyne's  Hortus  his  bright  Ever- 
green; 

Two  light  little  volumes  (intended  for  four) 
Still   leave  us  the   task  to  pnnt  one  volume 

more. 
One  volume  more,  <tc. 


His  ways  were  not  ours,  for  he  cared  not  a  pin 
How  much  he  left  out,  or  how  much  he  put 

in; 
The  truth  of  the  reading  he  thought  was  a 

bore, 
So  this  accurate  age  calls  for  one  volume 

more. 
One  volume  more,  Sue. 

IV. 
Correct  and  sagacious,  then  came  my  Lord 

Hailes, 

And  weigh'd  every  letter  in  critical  scales, 
But  left  out  some  brief  words,  which  the 

pn;dish  abhor. 

And  castrated  Banny  in  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more; 

We'll  restore  Banny's  manhood  in  one 
volume  more. 

V. 

John  Pinkerton  next,  and  I'm  truly  concern'd 
I  can't  call  that  worthy  so  candid  as  learn 'd  ; 
He  rail'd  at  the  plaid  and  blasphemed  the 

claymore. 
And  set  Scots  by  the  ears  in  his  one  volume 

more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more. 

Celt  and  Goth  shall  be  pleased  with  one 
volume  more. 

As  bitter  as  gall,  and  as  sharp  as  a  razor. 
And  feeding  on  herbs  as  a  Nebuchadnezzar, 
His  diet  too  acid,  his  temper  too  sour, 
Little  Ritson  came  out  with  his  two  volumes 
more.  2 


But  one  volume,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more. 

We'll  dine   on  roast-beef  and  print  one 
volume  more. 3 

VII. 

The  stout  Gothic  yeditur.  next  on  the  roll.* 
With  his  beard  like  a  brush  and  as  black  as  a 

coal; 
And  honest  Greysteel »  that  was  true  to  the 

core. 
Lent  their  hearts  and  their  hands  each  to  one 

rolume  more. 
One  volume  more,  &c. 

VIII. 
Since  by  these  single  champions  what  wonders 

were  done, 
What  may  not  be  achieved  by  our  Thirty  and 

One' 
Law,  Gospel,  and  Commerce,  we  count  in  our 

corps. 
And  the  Trade  and  the  Press  join  for  one 

volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  <tc. 


Ancient  libels  and  contraband  books.  I  as-sore 

ye. 

We'll  print  as  secure  from  Exchequer  or  Jury; 
Then   hear  your  Committee,  and    let  them 

count  o'er 
The  Chiels  they  intend  in  their  three  volumes 

more. 
Three  volumes  more,  &c. 


They'll  produce  you  King  Jamie,  the  sapient 

and  Sext, 
And  the  Kob  of  Durnblane  and  her  Bishops 

come  next ; 
One  tome   miscellaneous  they'll  add  to  your 

store, 
Resolving  next  year  to  print  four  volumes 

more. 
Four   volumes   more,   my   Mentis,   four 

volumes  more; 
Pay   down   your   subscriptions   for  four 

volumes  more. 

This  club  was  instituted  in  the  year  1822,  6>r 
the  publication  or  reprint  of  rare  and  curious 
works  connected  with  the  history  and  antiqui- 
ties of  Scotland.  It  consisted,  at  first,  of  a 
very  few  members. — gradually  extended  to 
one  hundred,  at  which  number  it  lias  now 
in.itle  a  final  pause.  They  assume  the  name 
of  the  Bannatyne  Club  from  Geuree  Banna- 
tyne,  of  whom  little  is  known  beyond  that 
prodigious  effort  which  produced  his  present 
honours,  and  is,  perhaps,  one  of  ifae  must 
singular  instances  of  its  kind  which  the 
literature  of  any  country  exhibits.  His  labours 
as  an  amanuensis  were  undertaken  during 
the  time  of  pestilence,  in  1.T63.  The  dread 


1  Sir  Waller  Scott  wan  the  firm  President  of  the  Club, )      4  Jame*  Sibbald,  editor  of  *-olti«h  Poetry.  <tc      "  Th 
•ti,  "-23.  I  F.Miii,  QMS  Mr.  John  Clerk,  advocate.    The  dexcriplio 


;  with  bi« 


tin 

tithed  a  volume  entitled  "An  K» 

Animal  Food  an  a  Mora]  Duty.     1 

3  See  an  account  of  the  Metrical 

of  Pinkertou,  Rituon,  and  Herd,  & 


n,  Mr.  Ritpon  pub- 


Gtiquarian  Researches 


I  Popular  Poetry,  ante,  p.  416, 


i  the  Introductory 


having  been  long  in  unsurcewfal  quest  ot  the 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     595 


of  infection  had  induced  him  to  retire  into 
solitude,  and  under  such  circumstances  he 
had  the  energy  to  form  and  execute  the  plan 
of  savins;  the  literature  of  the  whole  nation; 
and.  midisturhed  by  the  general  mourning  for 
I  he  dead,  and  general  fears  of  the  living,  to 
dcvo:e  himself  to  the  task  of  collecting  and 
recording  the  triumphs  of  human  genius  in 
the  poetry  of  his  age  and  country;  — thus, 
amid  the  wreck  of  all  that  was  mortal,  em- 
ploying himself  in  preserving  the  lays  by 
which  immortality  is  at  once  given  to  others, 
and  obtained  for  the  writer  himself.  He 
informs  usof  some  of  the  numerous  difficulties 
be  had  to  contend  with  in  this  self-imposed 
task.  The  volume  containing  his  labours, 
deposited  in  the  Library  of  the  Faculty  of 
Advocates  at  Edinburgh,  is  no  less  than  eight 
hundred  pages  in  length,  and  very  neatly  and 
closely  written,  containing  nearly  all  the 
ancient  poetry  of  Scotland  now  known  to 
exist. 

This  Caledonian  association,  which  boasts 
several  names  of  distinction,  both  from  rank 
and  talent,  has  assumed  rather  a  broader 
foundation  than  the  parent  society,  the  Kox- 
burghe  Cluli  in  London,  which,  in  its  plan, 
being  restricted  to  the  reprinting  of  single 
tracts,  each  executed  at  the  expense  of  an 
individual  member,  it  follows  as  almost  a 
necessary  consequence,  that  no  volume  of 
considerable  size  has  emanated  from  it,  and 
its  range  has  b«en  thus  far  limited  in  point  of 
utility.  The  Bannatyne,  holding  the  same 
system  with  respect  to  the  ordinary  species  of 
club  reprints,  levies,  moreover,  a  fund  among 
its  members  of  about  L.300  a-year,  expressly 
to  he  applied  for  the  editing  and  printing  of 
works  of  acknowledged  importance,  and  likely 
to  be  attended  with  expense  beyond  the 
reasonable  bounds  of  an  individual's  contribu- 
tion. In  this  way  either  a  member  of  the 
Club,  or  a  competent  person  under  its  patron- 
age, superintends  a  particular  volume,  or  set 
of  volumes.  Upon  these  occasions,  a  very 
moderate  number  of  copies  are  thrown  off 
for  general  sale;  and  those  belonging  to  the 
Club  are  only  distinguished  from  the  others 
by  being  printed  on  the  paper,  and  orna- 
mented with  the  decorations,  peculiar  to 
the  Society.  In  this  way  several  useful  and 
eminently  valuable  works  have  recently  been 
given  to  the  public  for  the  first  time,  or  at  least 
with  a  degree  of  accuracy  and  authenticity 
which  they  had  never  before  attained.  — 
Abridged  from  the  Quarterly  Review  — Art. 
Pitcairn's  Ancient  Criminal  Trials.  February, 
1831. 


Eo  $.  12.  Hocfctart,  Esq. 

ON  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MAIDA'8  EPITAPH. 
1824. 


Ail  januam  tlomini  Bit  tibt  terra  levin." 

See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vii.,  pp.  175-281. 

"  Dear  John, — I  some  time  ago  wrote  to  inform 

his 
Fat  worship  of  jaces,  misprinted  for  dormis ; 


But  that  several  Southrons  assured  me  the 

januam 
Was  a  twitch  to  both  ears  of  Ass  Priscian's 

cranium. 
You,  perhaps,  may  observe  that  one  Lionel 

Berguer. 
In  defence  of  our  blunder   appears  a  stout 

arguer ; 
But  at  length  I  have  settled,  I  hope,  all  these 

clatters, 
By  a  rowt  in  the  papers,  fine  place  for  such 

matters. 
I  have,  therefore,  to  make  it  for  once  my 

command,  sir. 
That  my  gudeson  shall  leave  the  whole  thing 

in  my  hand,  sir. 
And  by  no  means  accomplish  what  James 

says  you  threaten, 

Some  banter  in  Blackwood  to  claim  your  dog- 
Latin 
I  have  various  reasons  of  weight,  on  my  word, 

sir. 
For  pronouncing  a  step  of  Ibis   sort  were 

absurd,  sir. — 

Firstly,  erudite  sir,  'twas    against  your  ad- 
vising 

I  adopted  the  lines  this  monstrosity  lies  in ; 
For  yon  modestly  hinted  my  English  transla- 
tion 
Would  become  better  far  such  a  dignified 

station. 
Second — how.  in  God's  name,  would  my  bacon 

he  saved. 

By  not  having  writ  what  I  clearly  engraved  ? 
Ou  the  contrary,  I,  on  the  whole,  think  it 

better 
To  be  whipped  as  a  thief,  than  his  lousy 

reseller. 
Thirdly  —  don't  you  perceive  I  don't  care  a 

Doddle 
Although  fifty  false  metres  were  flung  at  my 

noddle, 
For  my  back  is  as  broad  and  as  hard  as  Ben- 

iomon's. 
And  1  treat  as  I  please  both  the  Greeks  and 

the  Romans ; 
Whereas  the  said  heathens  might  rather  look 

serious, 
At  a  kick  on  their  drum  from  the  scribe  of 

Valerius. 
And,    fourthly    and    lastly— it    is    my  good 

pleasure 
To  remain  the  sole  source  of  that  murderous 

measure. 

So  stet  pro  rations  voluntas — be  tractile. 
Invade    not,    I    say,    my    own   dear   little 

dactyl; 
If  you  do,  you'll  occasion  a  breach  in  our 

intercourse : 
To-morrow  you  will  see  me  in  town  for  the 

winter-course, 
But  not  at  your  door,  at  the   usual   hour, 

sir. 
My  own  pye-house  daughter's  good  prog  to 

devour,  sir. 

Ergo — peace  !— on  your  duty,  your  squeamish- 
ness  throttle, 
And   we'll  soothe   Priscian's  spleen  with   a 

canny  third  bottle. 

A    fig    for    all    dactyls,   a  fig  for   all    spon- 
dees, 

A  fig  for  all  dunces  and  dominie  Grundys ; 
A  fig  for  dry  thrapules,  south,  north,  east,  and 

west,  sir, 


596 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Speals  and   raxes  i  ere   five  for  a   famishing 

guest,  sir ; 
And  as  Fatsman2  and  I  have  some  topics  for] 

haver,  he'll 
Be  invited.  I   hope,  to  meet  me  and  Dame  ,    TO  THE  DRAM*.  FOUNDED  ON  -ST.BONAS* 

Peveiil, 
Upon   whom,  to  fay  nothing   of  Oury  and 

Anne,  you  a 
Dog   shall  be   deemed    if  you   fasten   your 

Joitua. 


^Lines' 


ADDRESSED  TO  MONSIEUR  ALEXASDRE,  THE 
CELEBRATED  VENTRILOQUIST. 


1824. 

Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought 
good 

To  carry  two  visages  under  one  hood : 

What  should  folk  say  to  you  1  who  have  faces 
such  plenty, 

That  from   under  one  hood,  you  last  night 
show'd  us  twenty! 

Stand  forth,  arch  deceiver,  and  tell  us  in  truth. 

Are  you  handsome  or  ugly,  in  age  or  in  youth  ? 

Man.  woman,  or  child — a  dog  or  a  mouse  ? 

Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  thing  in  the 
house  ? 

Each  live  thing,  did  I  ask  ? — each  dead  imple- 
ment, too, 

A  work-shop  in  your  person,— saw,  chisel,  and 
screw! 

Above  all.  are  you  one  individual  t  I  know 

You  must  be  at  least  Alexandre  and  Co. 

But  I  think  you're  a  troop — an  assemblage— a 
mob, 

And  that  1,  as  Sheriff,  should  take  up  the  job; 

And  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in 
verse. 

Must  read  you  the  Riot-Act,  and  bid  you  dis- 
perse". 
Abbotsford,  23d  April.* 


1  There  it  an  excellent  story  (but  too  long  for  quota- 
tion) in  the  Memoirs  of  (JU  Siaurtilla  (vol.  i.,  p.  »lO) 
about  an  old  Lord  of  that  family,  who,  when  hi!  wished 
preparations  to  be  made  Tor  high  feasting  at  hia  Castle  of 
Cowlhally,  used  to  rend  on  a  billet  inscribed  with  this 
laconic  phrase,  "  Kpeata  and  rtxet,"  i.  e.  tpiti  and  range*. 
Upon  one  occasion.  Lady  Somerrille  (being  newly  married, 
and  not  yet  skilled  in  her  husband's  hieroglyphics)  read 
the  mandate  as  tpeart  and  jaeltt,  aud  ntut  forth  300  armed 
horsemen,  whose  appearance  on  the  moors  greatly  alarmed 
Lord  Somerville  and  his  guest,  who  happened  to  be  no  leas 
a  person  than  King  James  111.— See  Scotl'i  Mucdlmeatu 
Prate.  to),  xxii  ,  p.  311. 

2  Foams*  was  one  of  Mr.  James  Ballintyne'*  many 
aluuet.     Another  (to  which  Constable   mostly   adhered) 
was   Mr.  "  Basketlill "  —  an  allusion   to   the    celebrated 
printer  Baskemlle, 

3  -  When  Monsieur  Alexandre,  the  celebrated  ventrilo- 
qoiHt,  wa«  in  Scotland,  in  1824,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Abbots- 
ford,  where  he  entertained  bis  distincui-hed  bos',  and  the 

ing,  when  he  was  about  to  depart.  Sir  Walter  felt  a  good 
dral  embarrassed  as  to  the  sort  of  acknowledgment  he 
should  oflVr;  but  at  length,  resolving  that  it  would  prob- 

professional  coin,  if  in  any,  he  stepped  aside  for  a  few 
minutes,  and,  on  reluroW,  presented  him  with  this  epi- 
gram. The  reader  need  hardly  be  reminded  that  S,r 
Walter  Scott  held  the  office  of  Sheriff  of  the  county  of 
Selkirk."— Scott*  neatpaper,  1630. 


"  After  the  play,  the  following  humorous 
address,  (ascribed  to  an  eminent  literary  char- 
acter.) was  spoken  with  infinite  effect  by  Mr. 
Mackay  in  the  character  of  Meg  Dodds."  — 
Edinburgh  Weekly  Journal,  9th  June,  1624. 

Enter  Meg?  Dodds.  encircled  by  a  crowd  of 
unruly  bays,  whom  a  touni's-officer  is  driving  off. 

That's   right,   friend  —  drive   the   gaitlings 

back. 

And  lend  yon  muckle  ane  a  whack; 
Your  Embro'  bairns  are  grown  a  pack, 

Sae  proud  and  saucy. 
They  scarce  will  let  an  auld  wife  walk 

Upon  your  causey. 

I've  seen  the  day  they  would  have    been 

scaur'd. 

Wi*  the  Tolbooth,  or  wi'  the  Guard, 
Or  maybe  wud  hae  some  regard 

For  Jamie  lains  — » 
The  Water-hole  6  was  right  weel  wared 

On  sic  a  gang. 

But  whar's  the  gude  Tolbooth  1  gane  now  ? 
W  liar's  the  old  Claught.e  wi'  red  and  blue? 
Whar's    Jamie    Laing?    and    whar's   John 
Doo?» 

And  whar's  the  Weigh-house  ?  i" 
Deil  hae't  I  see  but  what  is  new, 

Except  the  Playhouse  ! 

Yoursells  are  changed  frae  head  to  heel. 
There's  some  that  gar  the  causeway  reel 
What  clashing  hufe  and  rattling  wheel, 

And  horses  canterin', 
Wha's  fathers  daiimler'd  hame  as  weel 

Wi'  lass  and  lantern. 

Mysell  being  in  the  public  line, 

I  look  for  howfs  I  kenn'd  lang  syne, 

Whar  gentles  used  to  drink  gud'e  wine, 

And  eat  cheap  dinners  ; 
Bat  deil  a  soul  gangs  there  to  dine, 

Of  saints  or  sinners ! 


4  The  lines,  with  this  date,  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh 
Annual  Register  of  1WM. 

6  James  Laing  war  one  of  the  Depnle-Clerks  of  the  city 
>f  Kdinbnreh.  and  in  his  official  connexion  with  the  Police 

•vil-doer..     He  died  in  February,  1806. 

6  The  Watrh-hoie. 

7  The   Tolbooth    of    Blinrrnn-h,  The   Heart   of   Mid- 
Lothian,  was  pulled  down  in  1817. 

5  The  ancient  Town  Guard.    The  reduced   remnant  of 
this  body  of  police  was  finally  disbanded  in  1617. 

9  John  Doo,  or  Dhii— a  terrific-looking  and  nigh-spirited 
_iember  of  the  Town-Guard,  and  of  whom  there  is  a  print 
by  Kay,  etched  in  17S4 

10  the  Weigh  house,  situated  at  the  head  of  the  West 
Bow,  Lawnmarket,  aud  which  had  long  been  looked  upon  as 

e  way  for  the  royal    profession 

took  place  on  the  Md  of  August,  1821. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       597 


Fortune's  1  anil  Hunter's  J  gane,  alas  ! 
Ami  Bayle's3  is  lost  in  empty  space; 
And  nuw  if  folk  would  spline  a  brace, 

Or  crack  a  bottle. 
They  gang  to  a  new-fangled  place 

They  ca'  a  Hottle. 

The  deevil  hottle  them  for  Meg ! 
They  are  sae  greedy  and  sae  gleg. 
That  if  ye're  served  but  wi'  an  egg, 

(And  that's  puir  pickm'.) 
In  comes  a  chiel  and  makes  a  leg. 

And  charges  chicken ! 

And  wha  may  ye  be."  gin  ye  speer, 
'•  That  brings  your  auld- warld  clavers  here  ?" 
Troth,  if  there's  onybody  near 

That  kens  the  roads, 
I'll  haud  ye  Burgundy  to  beer, 

He  kens  Meg  Dodds. 

I  came  a  piece  frae  west  o'  Currie; 
And,  sinre  1  see  you're  in  a  hurry. 
Your  patience  I'll  nue  lanaer  worry, 

But  be  sae  cronse 
As  speak  a  word  for  ane  Will  Murray,* 

That  keeps  this  house. 

Plays  are  au'd-fashion'd  things,  in  truth. 
And  ye've  seen  wonders  mair  uncouth; 
Yet  actors  shou!dna  suffer  drouth, 

Or  want  of  dramock. 
Although  they  speak  but  wi'  their  mouth, 

.Not  with  their  slamock. 

But  ye  tak  care  of  a'  folk's  pantry; 

And  surely  to  hae  stooden  sentry 

Ower  this  bis  house,  (that's  far  frae  rent-free,) 

For  a  lone  sister, 
Is  claims  as  glide's  to  be  a  ventri  — 

How'sl  ca'd — loquister. 

Weel,  sirs,  gude'en,  and  have  a  care 
The  bairns  mak  fun  o'  MHR  nae  mair; 
For  gin  they  do.  she  tells  you  fair, 

And  without  falzie, 
As  sure  as  ever  ye  sit  there, 

She'll  tell  the  Bailie. 


1824. 


The  sages  —  for  authority,  pray  look 
Seneca's  morals,  or  the  copy  -book  — 
The  sages,  to  disparage  woman's  power, 
Say,  beauty  is  a  fair,  but  fading  flower;  — 
I  Rannr.t  tel!  —  I've  small  philosophy  — 
Yet.  if  it  fades,  it  does  not  surely  die, 

Stamp  OftVe  Clnce,  High  Street,  and  which  was,  in  th 

Eelintoun.—  The  Lord  High  Commissioner  to  the  Genera 
A-«embly  of  the  day  held  his    levee*  and  dinners  ill  thi 


nted    tav 

avern    and   f;oOVehon«-,  originally 
cast  side,  afterward,  in  Shakupore 


n,  h 


But,  like  the  violet,  when  decay'd  in  bloom. 
Survives  through  many  a  year  in  rich  perfume. 
Witness  our  theme  to-night,  two  ages  gone, 
A   third    wanes  fast,  since  Mary   fill'd  the 

throne. 
Brief  was  her  bloom,  with  scarce  one  sunny 

day, 

'Twin  Pinkie's  field  and  fatal  Fotheringay : 
But  when,  while  Scottish  hearts  and  blood 

you  boast, 

Shall  sympathy  with  Mary's  woes  be  lost? 
O'er  Mary's  mem'ry  the  leam'd  quarrel. 
By  Mary's  grave  the  poet  plants  his  laurel. 
Time's  echo,  old  tradition,  makes  her  name 
The  constant  burden  of  his  falt'ring  theme; 
In  each  old  hall  his  grey-hair'd  heralds  tell 
Of  Mary's  picture,  and  of  Mary's  cell, 
And  show — rny  fingers  tingle  at  the  thought — 
The  loads  of  tapestry  which  that  poor  Queen 

wrousrht. 

In  vain  did  fate  bestow  a  double  dower 
Of  ev'ry  ill  that  waits  on  rank  and  pow'r, 
Of  ev'ry  ill  on  beauty  that  attends  — 
False  ministers,  false  lovers,  and  false  friends. 
Spite  of  three  wedlocks  so  completely  curst, 
They  rose  in  ill  from  bad  to  worse,  and  worst, 
In  spite  of  errors — I  dare  not  say  more. 
For  Duncan  Targe  lays  hand  on  his  claymore. 
In  spite  of  all,  however,  humours  vary. 
There  is  a  talisman  in  that  word  Mary, 
1'hat  unto  Scottish  bosoms  all  and  some 
Is  found  the  genuine  ojien  sesamum! 
In  history,  bal  lad .  poetry,  or  novel. 
It  charms  alike  the  castle  and  the  hovel. 
Even  you — forgive  me — who,  demure  and  shy, 
Gorge  not  each  bait,  nor  stir  at  every  fly. 
Must  rise  to  this,  else  in  her  ancient  reign 
The  Rose  of  Scotland  has  survived  in  vain. 


JiVeB gauntlet 


1824. 

"It  was  hut  three  nights  ago,  that,  worn 

out  by  the  uniformity  of  my  confinement,  I  had 
manifested  more  symptoms  of  despondence 
than  I  had  before  exhibited,  which  I  conceive 
may  have  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
domestics,  through  whom  the  circumstance 
might  transpire.  On  the  next  morning,  the 
following  lines  lay  on  my  table  ;  but  how  con- 
veyed there,  I  cannot  tell.  The  hand  in 
which  they  are  written  is  a  beautiful  Ita- 
lian manuscript."  —  Darsie  Lalimer't  Journal, 
Chap  x. 
As  lords  their  labourers'  hire  delay. 

Fate  quits  our  toil  with  hopes  to  come, 
Which,  if  far  short  of  present  pay, 

Still  owns  a  debt  and  names  a  sum. 


waiter  always  appeared 
mitted  who  had  not  a  w 
indispensable  insignium  of  a  gentleman. 

4  Mr.  William  Murray  oceans  manager  of  the  Edin- 
burgh Theatre  in  1815. 

6  •'  I  recovered  the  above  with  some  difficulty.  I 
believe  it  was  never  spoken,  but  written  for  some  play, 
afterwards  withdrawn,  in  which  Mrs  H.  Siddons  wa»  to 
have  «poken  it  in  the  characier  of  Queen  Mary."— Kilraa 
from  a  LrlUr  of  Sir  Waltfr  Scut  lo  Mr.  CoaMable,  tU 
OexAtr,  1894. 


598 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Quit  not  the  pledge,  frail  sufferer,  then, 
Althoueh  a  distant,  date  be  given; 

Despair  is  treason  towards  man. 
And  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 


jFrom 


Asnin  her  word  and  trnth  she  plieht, 
And  I  believed  them  azain  ere  nisht. 

Chap.  xx. 


(1.)  — SONG  — SOLDIER  WAKE. 

I. 

Soldier,  wake— the  day  is  peeping, 
Honour  ne'er  was  won  in  sleeping, 
Never  when  the  sunbeams  still 
Lay  nnreflected  on  the  hill : 
'Tis  when  they  are  glinted  back 
From  axe  and  armour,  spear  and  jack, 
That  they  promise  future  story 
Manv  a  page  of  deathless  glory. 
Shields  that  are  the  foeman's  terror, 
Ever  are  the  morning's  mirror. 

II. 

Arm  and  np,  the  morning  beam 
Hath  call'd  the  rustic  to  his  team. 
Hath  call'd  the  falc'ner  to  the  lake. 
Hath  call'd  the  huntsman  to  the  brake; 
The  early  student  ponders  o'er 
His  dusty  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Soldier,  wake— thy  harvest,  fame ; 
Thy  study,  conquest ;  war.  thy  game. 
Shield,  that  would  be  foeman's  terror, 
Still  should  gleam  the  morning's  mirror. 

III. 

Poor  hire  repays  the  rustic  pain ; 
More  paltry  still  the  sportsman's  gain: 
Vainest  of  all  the  student's  theme 
Ends  in  some  metaphysic  dream : 
Yet  each  is  up,  and  each  has  toil'd 
Since  first  the  peep  of  dawn  has  smil'd ; 
And  each  is  eagerer  in  his  aim 
Than  he  who  barters  life  for  fame. 
Up,  np,  and  arm  thee.  son  of  terror ! 
Be  thy  bright  shield  the  morning's  mirror. 
Chap.  xix. 


(2.)— SONG— THE  TRUTH  OF  WOMAN. 

I. 

Woman's  faith,  and  woman's  trust — 
Write  the  characters  in  dust: 
Stamp  them  on  the  running  stream. 
Print  them  on  the  moon's  pale  beam. 
And  each  evanescent  letter 
Shall  be  clearer,  firmer,  better, 
And  more  permanent.  I  ween, 
Than  the  things  those  letters  mean. 

II. 

I  have  strain'd  the  spider's  thread 
'Gainst  the  promise  of  a  maid  ; 
I  have  weigh'ii  a  grain  of  sand 
'Gainst  her  plisht  of  heart  and  hand ; 
1  told  my  true  love  of  the  token. 
How  her  faith  proved  light,  and  her  word 
was  broken : 


(3.)— SONG— I  ASKED  OF  MT  HARP. 

"The  niinstrel  took  from  his  siile  a  rntt. 

and  striking,  from  time  to  time,  a  Welsh 
I  descant,  snnsr  at  others  a  lay.  of  which  we  ran 
offer  only  a  few  fragments,  literally  translated 
from  the  ancient  language  in  which  they  were 
chanted,  premisin?  that  they  are  in  that  ex- 
cursive symbolical  style  of  poetry,  which 
Taliessin.  I  lewarch.  Hen,  and  other  hards, 
had  derived  perhaps  from  the  time  of  the 
Druids." 

I  ask'd  of  my  harp,  "Who  hath  injured  thy 

chords?" 
And  she  replied. "  The  crooked  ringer,  which  I 

mocked  in  my  tune." 
A  blade  of  silver  may  be  bended  —  a  blade  of 

steel  abide! h — 
Kindness    fadeth  away,  but   vengeance   en- 

dureth 

The  sweet  taste  of  mead  passeth  from  the 

lips. 
But  they  are  long  corroded  by  the  juice  of 

wormwood ; 
The  lamb  is  brought  to  the  shambles,  but  the 

wolf  raneeth  the  mountain: 
Kindness   fadelh    away,   but  vengeance    en- 

dureth. 

I  ask'd  the  red-hot  iron,  when  it  glimmer'd  on 

the  anvil, 
"  Wherefore  glowest  thou   longer  than  the 

firebrand   " 
"  I  was  born  in  the  dark  mine,  and  the  brand 

in  the  pleasant  greenwood." 
Kindness  fadeth    away,   bat  vengeance    en- 

dureth. 

I  ask'd  the  green  oak  of  the  assemblv,  where- 
fore its  boughs  were  dry  and  seared  like 
the  horns  of  the  stag ; 

And  it  show'd  me  that  a  small  worm  had 
gnaw'd  its  roots. 

The  boy  who  remembered  the  scouree,  undid 
the  wicket  of  the  castle  at  midnight. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  en- 
dureth. 

Lightnin?  destroyeth   temples,  though  their 

spires  pierce  the  clouds ; 
Storms  destroy  armadas,  though   their  sails 

intercept  the  gale. 
He  that  is  in  his  glory  falleth,  and  that  by  a 

contemptible  enemy. 
Kindness  fudeth    away,   but  vengeance    en- 

duretli.  Chap.  xxxi. 


(4.)  — MOTTOES. 

(i.)— CHAP.  ir. 

In  Madoc's  tent  the  clarion  sounds, 
With  rapid  clangour  hurried  far; 
Each  hill  and  dale  the  note  rebounds, 

But  when  rfturn  the  sons  of  war! 
Thou,  born  of  stern  Necessity. 
Dull  Peace  !  the  valley  yields  to  thee, 
And  owns  thy  melancholy  sway. 

Wem  Poem. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     599 


(2.)  — CHAP.  VII. 
0,  sadly  shines  the  morning  sun 

On  leaguer'd  castle  wall. 
When  bastion,  tower,  and  battlement, 
Seem  nodding  to  their  fall. 

Old  Ballad. 
(3.)— CHAP.  XII. 

Now  all  ye  ladies  of  fair  Scotland, 
And   ladies  of  England   that  happy  would 

prove. 

Marry  never  for  houses,  nor  marry  for  land. 
Nor  marry  for  nothing  but  only  love. 

Family  Quarrels. 
(•I)— CHAP.  xni. 
Too  much  rest  is  rust,  • 

There's  ever  cheer  in  changing; 
We  tyne  by  too  much  trust, 
So  we'll  be  up  and  ranging. 

Old  Song. 

(5.)— CHAP.  XVII. 

Ring   out    the    merry    bells,   the    bride    ap- 
proaches. 
The  blush  upon  her  cheek  has  shamed  the 

morning. 
For    that    is    dawning    palely.    Grant,    good 

saints, 

These  clouds  betoken  nought  of  evil  omen  ! 
Old  flay. 
(6)— CHAP.  XXVII. 


•  Gentle  sir. 


Julia. 

You  are  our  captive — but  we'll  use  you  so. 
That  you   shall   think  your  prison  joys  may 

match 
Whate'er    your    liberty    hath    known  of 

pleasure. 
Roderick    No,  fairest,  we  have  trifled  here 

too  long ; 

And.  Imperil!?  to  see  your  roses  blossom. 
I've  let  my  laurels  wither.  Old  Play. 


jFrom 


JCaUsmatr. 


(1.)  —  AHRIMAN. 

"So  savins,  the  Saracen  proceeded  to 

chant  verses,  very  ancient  in  the  language  and 
structure,  which  some  have  thought  derive 
their  source  from  the  worship  of  Arimanes, 
the  Evil  Principle." 

Dark  Ahriman.  whom  Irak  still 
Holds  origin  of  woe  and  ill! 

When,  tending  at  thy  shrine. 
We  view  tlie  world  with  troubled  eye, 
Where  see  we,  'neath  the  extended  sky, 

An  empire  matching  thine ! 

If  the  Benigner  Power  can  yield 
A  fountain  in  the  desert  field, 

Where  weary  pilgrims  drink; 
Thine  are  the  waves  that  lash  the  rock, 
Thine  the  tornado's  deadly  shock, 

Where  countless  navies  sink  ! 


Or  if  He  hid  the  soil  dispense 
Balsams  to  cheer  the  sinking  sense. 

How  few  can  they  deliver 
From  lingering  pains,  or  pang  intense, 
Ked  Fever,  spotted  Pestilence, 

The  arrows  of  thy  quiver ! 

Chief  in  Man's  bosom  sits  thy  sway. 
Ami  frequent,  while  in  words  we  pray 

Before  another  throne, 
Whate'er  of  specious  form  be  there, 
The  secret  meaning  of  the  prayer 

Is,  Ahriman,  thine  own. 

Say,  hast  thoii  feeling,  sense,  and  form. 
Thunder  thy  voice,  thy  garments  storm, 

As  Eastern  Magi  say ; 
With  sentient  soul  of  hate  and  wrath, 
And  wings  to  sweep  thy  deadly  path, 

And  fangs  to  tear  thy  prey? 

Or  art  thou  mix'd  in  Nature's  source, 
An  ever-operating  force, 

Converting  good  to  ill ; 
An  evil  principle  innate. 
Contending  with  our  better  fate, 

And  oli !  victorious  still  ? 

Howe'er  it  be,  dispute  is  vain. 

On  all  without  thou  hold'st  thy  reign, 

Nor  less  on  ail  within  ; 
Each  mortal  passion's  fierce  career. 
Love,  hate,  ambition,  joy,  and  fear, 

Thou  goadest  into  sin. 

Whene'er  a  sunny  gleam  appears. 
To  brighten  up  our  vale  of  tears, 

Thou  art  not  distant  far; 
'Mill  such  brief  solace  of  our  lives, 
Thou  whett'st  our  very  banquet-knives 

To  tools  of  death  and  war. 

Thus,  from  the  moment  of  our  birth, 
Lou?  as  we  linser  on  the  earth, 

Thou  rul'st  the  fate  of  men  : 
Thine  are  the  pangs  of  life's  last  hour. 
And  —  who  dare  answer  ?  —  is  thy  power, 

Dark  Spirit. !  ended  Then  ? 

Chap.  iii. 


(2.)  — SONG  OF  BLONDEL.  — THE 
BLOODY  VEST. 

"  The  sons  of  Blondel  was,  of  course,  in  the 

Norman  language ;  but  the  verses  which  fol- 

express  its  meaning  and  its  manner." 

'Twas  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent, 

When  the  sun  was  setting  on  bough  and  bent, 

And   knights  were   preparing  in   bower  and 

tent, 

Dn  the  eve  of  the  Baptist's  tournament ; 
When  in  Lincoln  green  a  stripling  gent. 
Well  seeming  a  page  by  a  princess  sent, 
WanderM  the  camp,  and,  still  as  he  went. 
Enquired  for  the  Englishman,  Thomas  a  Kent. 

Far  hath  he  fared,  and  farther  must  fare. 
Till  he  finds  his  pavilion  nor  stately  nor  rare, — 
"  ttle  save  iron  and  steel  was  there ; 
And,  as  lacking  the  coin  to  pay  armourer's 

care, 
tVith  his  sinewy  arms  to  the  shoulders  bare, 


600 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  good   knight  with  hammer  and   file  did 

repair 

The  mail  that  to-morrow  must  see  him  wear. 
For  the  honour  of  Saint  John  and   his  lady 

fair. 

"  Thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  page  said  he. 
And   the   knight  bent  lowly  both  head   and 

knee, 

"  She  is  Benevent's  Princess  so  high  in  degree, 
And  thou  art  as  lowly  as  knight  may  well  be — 
He  that  would  climh  so  lofty  a  tree, 
Or  spring  such  a  gulf  as  divides  her  from  thee. 
Must  dare  some  high  deed,  by  which  all  men 


"  Therefore   thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  fair 

page  he  said, 
And  the  knight  lowly  louted  with  hand  and 

with  head, 
"  Fling  aside  the  good  armour  in  which  thou 

art  clad. 
And  don  thou  this  weed  of  her  night-gear 

instead. 

For  a  hauberk  of  steel,  a  kirtle  of  thread  ; 
And  charge,  thus  attired,  in  the  tournament 

dread. 
And  fight,  as  thou  wont,  where  most  blood  is 

shed, 
And  brine  honour  away,  or  remain  with  the 

dead." 

Untroubled  in  his  look,  and  untroubled  in  his 

breast, 

The  knight  the  weed  hath  taken,  and  rever- 
ently hath  kiss'd  : 
"  Now  bless'd  be  the  moment,  the  messenger 

be  blest ! 
Much  honour'd  do  I  hold  me  in  my   lady's 

high  behest ; 
And  say  unto  my  lady,  in  this  dear  night-weed 

dress'd. 
To  the  best  arm'd  champion  I  will  not  veil  my 

crest ; 
But  if  1  live  and  bear  me  well,  'tis  her  turn  to 

take  the  test." 
Here,  gentles,  ends  the  foremost  fytte  of  the 

Lay  of  the  Bloody  Vest. 


THE  BLOODY  VEST. 

FYTTE  SECOND. 

The  Baptist's   fair  morrow  beheld   gallant 

feats  — 
There  was  winning  of  honour,  and  losing  of 

seats  — 

There  was  hewing  with  falchions,  and  splinter- 
ins  of  staves, 
The  victors  won  glory,  the  vanquish'd  won 

graves. 
O,  many  a  knight  there  fought  bravely  and 

well. 

Yet  one  was  accounted  his  peers  to  excel, 
And  'twas  he  whose  sole  armour  on  body  and 

breast, 
Seem'd  the  weed  of  a  damsel  when  boune  for 

her  rest. 

There  were  some  dealt  him  wounds  that  were 

bloody  and  sore. 
But  others  respected  his  plight  and  forebore. 


"  It  is  some  oath  of  honour,"  they  said.  "  and 
1  trow, 

Twere  unknightly  to  slay  him  achieving  his 
vow." 

Then  the  Prince,  for  his  sake,  bade  the  tourna- 
ment cease. 

He  flung  down  his  warder,  the  trumpets  sung 
peace ; 

And  the  jndges  declare, and  competitors  yield, 

That  the  Knight  of  the  Night-gear  was"  first 
in  the  field. 

The  feast  it  was  nigh,  and  the  mass  it  was 

nigher, 
When  before  the  fair  Princess  low  louted  a 

squire. 

And  deliver'd  a  garment  unseemly  to  view. 
With  sword-cut  and  spear-thrust,  all  hack'd 

and  pierced  through  ; 
All  rent  and    all    tatter'd,  all   clotted  with 

blood, 
With  foam  of  the  horses,  with  dust,  and  with 

mud. 
Not  the  point  of  that  lady's  small  finger,  I 

ween, 
Could  have  rested  on  spot  was  nnsullied  and 

clean. 

"This  token  my  master,  Sir  Thomas  a  Kent, 
Restores  to  the  Princess  of  fair  Benevent ; 
He  that  climbs  the  tall  tree  has  won  right  to 

the  fruit, 
He  that  leaps  the  wide  gulf  should  prevail  in 

his  suit: 
Through  life's  utmost  peril  the  prize  I  have 

won, 
And  now  must  the  faith  of  my  mistress  be 

shown ; 
For  she  who  prompts  knights  on  such  danger 

to  run. 
Must  avouch  his  true  service  in  front  of  the 

sun. 
" '  I  restore.'  says  my  master, '  the  garment  I've 

worn. 

And  I  claim  of  the  Princess  to  don  it  in  turn ; 
For  its  stains  and  its  rents  she  should  prize  it 

the  more. 
Since  by  shame  'tis  unsullied,  though  crimson'd 

with  gore.'" 
Then  deep  blush'd  the  Princess  — yet  kiss'd 

she  and  press'd 
The  blood-spotted  robes  to  her  lips  and  her 

breast. 
"  Go  tell  my  true  knight,  church  and  chamber 

shall  show, 
If  I  value  the  blood  on  this  garment  or  no." 

And  when  it  was  time  for  the  nobles  to  pass, 
In  solemn  procession  to  minster  and  mass, 
The  first  walk'd  the  Princess  in  purple  and 

pall, 
But  the  blood-besmear'd  night-robe  she  wore 

over  all ; 
And  eke.  in  the  hall,  where  they  all  sat  at 

dine. 
When  she  knelt  to  her  father  and  proffer'd  the 

wine, 
Over  all  her  rich  robes  and  state  jewels,  she 

wore 

That  wimple  unseemly  bedabbled  with  gore. 
Then  lords  whisper'd  ladies,  as  well  you  may 

think, 
And   ladies   replied,  with   nod,   titter,   and 

wink; 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.      601 


And  the  Prince,  who  in  anger  and  shame  had 
look'U  down, 

Turn'd  at  length  to  his  daughter,  and  spoke 
with  a  frown : 

"  Now  since  them  hast  publish'd  thy  folly  and 
guilt. 

E'en  atone  with  thy  hand  for  the  blood  thou 
hast  spilt; 

Yet  sore  for  your  boldness  you  both  will  re- 
pent. 

When  you  wander  as  exiles  from  fair  Bene- 
vent." 

Then  out  spoke  stout  Thomas,  in  hall  where 

he  stood. 

Exhausted  and  feeble,  but  dauntless  of  mood ; 
"The  blood  that  I  lost  for  this  daughter  of 

thine, 

1  pour'd  forth  as  freely  as  flask  gives  its  wine : 
And  if  fur  my  sake  she  brooks  penance  and 

blame, 
Do  not,  doubt  I  will  save  her  from  suffering 

and  shame ; 
And  light  will  she  reck  of  thy  princedom  and 

rent, 
When  I  hail  her,  in  England,  the  Countess  of 

Kent."  Chap.  xxvi. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP.  IX. 

This  is  the  Prince  of  Leeches ;  fever,  plague, 
Cold  rheum,  and   hot   podagra,  do  but  look 

on  him, 
And  quit  their  grasp  upon  the  tortured  sinews. 

Anonymous. 
(2.)— CHAP.  XI. 

One  thing  is  certain  in  our  Northern  land, 
Allow  that  birth,  or  valour,  wealth,  or  wit, 
Give  each  precedence  to  their  possessor. 
Envy,  that  follows  on  such  eminence, 
As  comes   the  lyme-hound  on  the  roebuck's 

trace, 
Shall  pull  them  down  each  one. 

Sir  David  Lindsay. 
(3.)— CHAP.  XIII. 

You  talk  of  Gaiety  and  Innocence ! 
The  moment  when  the  fatal  fruit  was  eaten. 
They  parted  ne'er  to  meet  again  ;  and  Malice 
Has  ever  since  beeu  playmate  to  light  Gaiety. 
From  the   first    moment   when   the    smiling 

infant 

Destroys  the  flower  or  butterfly  he  toys  with. 
To  the  last  chuckle  of  the  dying  miser. 
Who  on  his  deathbed  laughs  his  last  to  hear 
His  wealthy  neighbour  has  become  a  bankrupt. 

Old  Flay. 
(4.)—  CHAP.  XVI. 

'Tis  not  her  sense  —  for  sure,  in  that 
There 's  nothing  more  than  common ; 

And  all  her  wit  is  only  chat, 
Like  any  other  woman.  Song. 

(5.)— CHAP.  XVII. 

Were  every  hair  upon  his  head  a  life. 
And  every  life  were  to  be  supplicated 
By  numbers  equal  to  those  hairs  quadrupled, 
Life  after  life  should  out  like  waning  stars 
Before  the  daybreak  —  or  as  festive  lamps, 
Which  have  lent  Instre  to  the  midnight  revel. 
Each  after  each   are  quench'd  when  guests 
depart !  Old  Play. 

51 


(6.)— CHAP.  XIX. 

Must  we   then   sheath   our  still   victorious 

sword ; 

Turn  back  our  forward  step,  which  ever  trode 
O'er  foemen's  necks  the  onward  path  of  glory  ; 
Unclasp  the  mail,  which,  with  a  solemn  vow. 
In  God's  own  house  we  hung  upon  our 

shoulders : 

That  vow.  as  unaccomplish'd  as  the  promise 
Which  village  nurses  make  to  still  their  chil- 
dren, 

And  after  think  no  more  of? 

The  Crusade,  a  Tragedy. 

(7.)  — CHAP.  XX. 

When  beauty  leads  the  lion  in  her  toils. 
Such  are  her  charms  he  dare  not  raise  his 

mane, 

Far  less  expand  the  terror  of  his  fangs. 
So  great  Alcitles  made  his  club  a  distaff. 
And  spun  to  please  fair  Omphale. 

Anonymous. 

(8.)  — CHAP.  XXIII. 

'Mid  these  wild   scenes  Enchantment  waves 

her  hand, 

To  change  the  face  of  the  mysterious  land  ; 
Till  the  bewildering  scenes  around  us  seem 
The  vain  productions  of  a  feverish  dream. 
Astolpho,  a  Romancn. 

(9.) -CHAP.  XXIV. 

A  grain  of  dust 

Soiling  our  cup,  will  make  our  sense  reject 
Fastidiously  the  draught  which  we  did  thirst 

for; 

A  rusted  nail,  placed  near  the  faithful  com- 
pass, 
Will  sway  it  from  the  truth,  and  wreck  the 

argosy. 

Even  this  small  cause  of  anger  and  disgust 
Will  break  the  bonds  of  amity  'mongst  princes, 
And  wreck  their  noblest  purposes. 

The  Crusade. 

(10.)  — CHAP.  XXVI. 
The  tears  I  shed  must  ever  fall ! 

I  weep  not  for  an  absent  swain. 
For  time  may  happier  hours  recall, 

And  parteii  lovers  meet  again. 

I  weep  not  for  the  silent  dead. 
Their  pains  are  past,  their  sorrows  o'er. 

And  those  that  loved  their  steps  must  tread. 
When  death  shall  join  to  part  no  more. 

But  worse  than  absence,  worse  than  death. 
She  wept  her  lover's  sullied  fame. 

And,  fired  with  all  the  pride  of  birth. 
She  wept  a  soldier's  injured  name. 

Ballad. 


3LHc  of  ^ 


JUNE.  1S25. 

While  Scott  was  engaged  in  writing  the  Life 
of  Napoleon,  Mr.  Lockhart  rays, — "The  rapid 
accumulation  of  books  and  MSS.  was  at  once 
flattering  and  alarming;  and  one  of  his  notes 
to  me,  about  the  middle  of  June,  had  these 
rhymes  by  way  of  postscript : — 


602 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  with  Poetry  dealing, 
Room  euoueli  in  a  ihieliag: 
Neither  cabin  nor  h  ivel 
Too  small  for  a  novel : 
Though  my  back  I  should  rub 
On  Diogenes'  tub, 
How  my  fancy  could  prance 
In  a  dance  of  romance ! 
But.  my  house  1  must  swap 
Wrh  some  Brohdignag  chap. 
Ere  1  grapple.  God  bless  me !  with  Em- 
peror Nap." 

life,  vol.  vii.  p.  391. 


jFrom 


1826. 


(1.)  — AN  HOUR  WITH  THEE. 

An  hour  with  thee !— When  earliest  day 
Dapples  with  gold  the  eastern  grey. 
Oh,  what  can  frame  my  mind  to  bear 
The  toil  and  turmoil,  cark  and  care. 
New  griefs,  which  coming  hours  unfold, 
And  sad  remembrance  of  the  old  ? 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee ! — When  burning  June 
Waves  his  red  flag  at  pitch  of  noon ; 
What  shall  repay  the  faithful  swain, 
His  labour  on  the  sultry  plain  ; 
And  more  than  cave  or  sheltering  bough. 
Cool  feverish  blood,  and  throbbing  brow  ? — 
One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee  ! — When  sun  is  set, 
O,  what  can  teach  me  to  forget 
The  thankless  labours  of  the  day; 
The  hopes,  the  wishes  flung  away ; 
The  increasing  wants,  and  lessening  gains. 
The  master's  pride,  who  scorns  my  pains? — 
One  hour  with  thee. 
Chap.  xxvi. 


(2.)  — MOTTOES. 

(i.)  — CHAP.  n. 
Come  forth,  old  man— Thy  daughter's  side 

Is  now  the  fittins  place  for  thee  : 
When  Time  hath  qnell'd  the  oak's  bold  pride, 
The  youthful  tendril  yet  may  hide 
The  ruins  of  the  parent  tree. 

(».)  —  CHAP.  in. 
Now,  ye  wild  blades,  that  make  loose  in 

your  stage. 

To  vapour  forth  the  acts  of  this  sad  age. 
Stout  Edgehill  fight,  the  Newbernes  and  the 

West, 
And  northern  clashes,  where  you  still  fought 

best; 
Your  strange  escapes,  your  dangers  void  of 

fear, 

When  bullets  flew  between  the  head  and  ear, 
Whether  you  fought  by  Damme  or  thu  Spirit, 
Of  you  I  speak. 

Legend  of  Captain  Jonts. 


(3.)— CHAP.  IV. 
Yon  path  of  greensward 


Winds  round  hy  sparry  grot  and  gay  pavilion ; 
There  is  no  flint  to  gall  thy  tender  toot, 
There's  ready  shelter  from  each  breeze,  or 

shower. — 

But  Duty  guides  not  that  way— see  her  stand. 
With  wand  entwined  with  amaranth,  near  yon 

cliffs. 
Oft  where  she  leads  thy  blood  must  mark  thy 

footsteps. 
Oft  where  she  leads  thy  head  must  bear  the 

storm. 
And  thy  shrunk  form  endure  heat,  cold,  and 

hunzer ; 

But  she  will  guide  thee  up  to  noble  heights. 
Which  he  who  gains  seems  native  of  the  sky. 
While  earthly  things  lie  stretch'd  beneath  his 

feet. 

Diminish 'd,  shrunk,  and  valueless 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— CHAP.  V. 

My  tongue  pads  slowly  under  this  new  Ian- 


phrases. 
They  may  be  great  in  worth  and  weight,  but 

hang 

Upon  the  native  glibness  of  my  language 
Like   Saul's  plate-armour  on    the   shepherd 

boy. 
Encumbering  and  not  arming  him. 

(5.)  —  CHAP.  X. 

Here  we  have  one  head 

I'pon  two  bodies— your  two-headed  bullock 

Is  but  an  ass  to  such  a  prodigy. 

These  two   have  but  one  meaning,  thought, 

and  counsel ; 

And  when  the  single  noddle  has  spoke  out, 
The  four  legs  scrape  assent  to  it. 

Old  Play. 

(6.)  — CHAP.  xrv. 

Deeds  are  done  on  earth. 

Which  have  their  punishment  ere  the  earth 

closes 

Upon  the  perpetrators.     Be  it  the  working 
Of  the  remorse-stirr'd  fancy,  or  the  vision, 
Distinct  and  real,  of  unearthly  being. 
All  ag<s  witness,  that  beside  the  couch 
Of  the  fell  homicide  oft  stalks  the  ghost 
Of   him   he  slew,  and  shows    the  shadowy 

wound.  Old  flay. 

(7.)  — CHAP.  xvn. 
We  do  that  in  our  zeal, 
Our  calmer  moments  are  afraid  to  answer. 
Anonymous. 

(8)  — CHAP.  xxiv. 
The  deadliest  snakes  are  those  which,  twined 

'mongst  flowers. 
Blend  their  bright  colouring  with  the  varied 

blossoms. 
Their  fierce  eyes  glittering  like  the  spa:>gled 

dew-drop ; 

In  all  so  like  what  nature  has  most  harmless. 
That   sportive  innocence,   which    dreads  no 

danger. 
Is  poison'd  unawares.  Old  Play. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.       COS 

Hints  to  <Sfr  (£ut])t)ert  Sljarp. 

2.)—  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

There  are  times 
Vhen  Fancy  plays  her  gambols,  in  despite 
Sven  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance 
seems. 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  marked  parti- 
tion, 
Twixt  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dis- 
solved, 
is  if  the  mental  eye  gained  power  to  gaze 
ieyond  the  limits  of  the  existins  world. 
5iich  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  I  better  love 
['ban  all  the  gross  realities  of  life. 
Anonymous. 

Jfrom  £fte  jFatfr  ^aft 
of  Jlerth. 

1827. 

"  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp,  who  had  been  parti- 
cularly kind   and  attentive  to  Scott  when  at 
Snnderland,  happened,  in  writing  to  him  on 
some  mailer  ut°  business,  l»  say  he  hoped  he 
had  not  forgotten  his  friends  in  that  quarter. 
Sir  Waller's  answer  to  Sir  Cuthbert  (who  had 
been  introduced  to  him  by  his  old  and  dear 
friend.    Mr.    Surtees    of    Mamsfortli)    begins 
thus:— 

Forget  thee  !    No  !  my  worthy  fere  ! 
Forget  blithe  mirth  and  gallant  cheer! 
Death  sooner  stretch  me  on  my  bier  ! 
Forget  thee  ?  No. 

Forget  the  universal  shout  l 
When  "canny  Sunderland'1  spoke  oat  — 
A  truth  winch  knaves  affect  to  doubt  — 
forget  thee  ?  No. 

Forget  you  ?    No—  though  now-a-day 
I've  heard  your  knowing  people  say, 
Disown  the  debt  you  cannot  pay, 
You'll  find  it  far  the  thriftiest  way  — 
But  1  ?—  O  no. 

Forget  your  kindness  found  for  all  room. 
In  what,  though  large,  seem'd  still  a  small 
room. 
Forget  my  Surtees  in  a  ball-room  — 
Forget  you  !  No. 

Forget  your  sprightly  dumpty-diddles, 
And  beauty  tripping  to  the  fiddles. 
Forget  niy  lovely  friends  the  LiddrUs  — 
Forget  you?  No. 

"  So  much  for  oblivion,  my  dear  Sir  C.  ;  ami 
now,  having  dismounted  from   my  Pegasus 
who  is  rather  spavined,  1  charge  a-foot,  like 
an  old  dragoon  as  1  am,"  <tc.  <tc.  —  Life  of 
Scott,  vol.  ix.,  p.  165. 

jFrom  tiHinmfclos  of  the 
Ctettottflate. 

1838. 

(1.)  —  THE  LAY  OF  POOR  LOUISE.* 
Ah,  poor  Louise  !  the  livelong  day 
She  roams  from  cot  to  caslle  gay; 
And  still  her  voice  and  viol  say. 
Ah,  maids,  beware  the  woodland  way. 
Think  on  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !    The  sun  was  high. 
It  smirch  'd  her  cheek,  it  dimm'd  her  eye. 
The  woodland  walk  was  cool  and  nigh. 
Where  birds  with  chiming  streamlets  vie 
To  cheer  Louise. 

Ah.  poor  Louise  !    The  savage  bear 
Made  ne'er  that  lovely  grove  his  lair  ; 
The  wolves  molest  not  paths  so  fair  — 
But  better  far  had  such  been  there 
For  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise!    In  woody  wold 
She  met  a  huntsman  fair  and  bold; 
His  baldric  was  of  silk  and  gold, 
And  many  a  witching  tale  lie  told 
To  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !    Small  cause  to  pine 
Hadst  thou  for  treasures  of  the  mine  ; 
For  peace  of  mind,  that  silt  divine. 
And  spotless  innocence,  wereithine. 
Ah,  poor  Louise  ! 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !    Thy  treasure's  reft  ! 
I  know  not  if  by  force  or  theft. 
Or  part  by  violence,  part  by  gift; 
But  misery  is  all  that's  left 
To  poor  Louise. 

Let  poor  Louise  some  succour  have  ! 
She  will  not  long  your  bounty  crave, 
Or  tire  the  gay  with  warning  stave  — 
Kor  Heaven  has  grace,  and  earth  a  grave.  — 
Poor  poor  Louise. 
Chap.  X. 

1827. 

MOTTOES. 
(1.)  —  THE  TWO  DROTERS. 

CHAP.  II. 

Were  ever  such  two  loving  friends  .  — 
How  could  they  disagree  ? 
O  thus  it  was  he  loved  him  dear. 
And  thought  how  to  requite  him, 
:  And  having  no  friend  left  but  he, 
He  did  resolve  to  fight  him. 
DuJce  upon  Duke. 

1  An  illusion  In  the  enthu«i»«tie  reception  of  the  Duk 
of  vv.li.iiatnn  at  Stinderliuid.—  Ed. 
2  This  lay  ha<  beta  net  to  beautiful   music  by  a  lad 

born  Mi»  Kemble. 

604 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(2.)  — DEATH  CHANT. 

"  Ere  he  guessed  where  he  was  going, 

the  leech  was  hurried  into  the  house  of  the 
late  Oliver  Proiidfute.  from  which  he  heard 
the  chant  of  the  women,  as  they  swathed  and 
dressed  the  corpse  of  the  umquhile  Bonnet- 
maker,  for  the  ceremony  of  next  morning;  of 
which  chant,  the  following  verses  may  be 
received  as  a  modern  imitation  :" — 

1. 

Viewless  Essence,  thin  and  bare, 
Well  nigh  melted  into  air; 
Still  with  fondness  hovering  hear 
The  earthly  form  thou  once  did  wear ; 


Pause  upon  thy  pinion's  flight, 
Be  thy  course  to  left  or  right ; 
Be  thou  doom'd  to  soar  or  sink, 
Pause  upon  the  awful  brink. 

3. 

To  avenge  the  deed  expelling 
Thee  untimely  from  thy  dwelling, 
Mystic  force  thou  shalt  retain 
O'er  the  blood  and  o'er  the  brain. 


When  the  form  thou  shalt  espy 
That  darken'd  on  thy  closing  eye ; 
When  the  footstep  thou  shalt  hear, 
That  thrill'd  upon  thy  dying  ear; 

5. 

Then  strange  sympathies  shall  wake. 
The   flesh   shall  thrill,  the   nerves  shall 

quake ; 

The  wounds  renew  their  clotter'd  flood, 
And  every  drop  cry  blood  for  hlood. 

Chap.  xxii. 


(3.)  — SONG  OF  THE  GLEE-MAIDEN. 

"She  sung  a  melancholy  dirge  in  Norman 
French  ;  the  words,  of  which  the  following  is 
an  imitation,  were  united  to  a  tune  as  doleful 
as  they  are  themselves." 

1. 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh, 
And  look  once  more  at  all  around. 
At  stream  and  bank,  and  sky  and  ground. 
Thy  life  its  final  course  has  found, 

And  thou  must  die. 


Yes,  lay  thee  down. 
And  while  thy  struggling  pulses  flutter. 
Bid  the  grey  monk  his  soul-mass  mutter. 
And  the  deep  bell  its  death-tone  utter — 

Thy  life  is  gone. 

Cooper's  subject,  "  The  Heath  of  Ki-eldar,"  appeared  In  1 

Hood  «ay«,  "  To  Sir  Walter  Scott  —  not  merely  a  lilert 
featber  in  my  cap,  but  a  whole  plume  of  them— I  owe,  a 


3. 

Be  not  afraid. 

Tis  but  a  pane,  and  then  a  thrill, 
A  fever  fit,  and  then  a  chill; 
And  then  an  end  of  human  ill, 

For  thou  art  dead.  Chop.  xxx. 


(4.) —  MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —  INTRODUCTORY. 
The  ashes  here  of  murder'd  Kings 

Beneath  my  footsteps  sleep : 
And  yonder  lies  the  scene  of  death, 
Where  Mary  learn'd  to  weep. 

Captain  Marjoribanfa. 

(2)— CHAP.  I. 

"Behold  the  Tiber!"  the  vain  Roman  cried, 
Viewing  the  ample  Tay  from  Baiglie's  side  ; 
But  where's  the  Scot  that  would  the  vaunt 

repay. 
And  hail  the  puny  Tiber  for  the  Tay  ? 

Anonymous. 
(a.)— CHAP.  XI. 
Fair  is  the  damsel,  passing  fair — 

Sunny  at  distance  gleams  her  smile  ! 
Approach— the  cloud  of  woeful  care 
Hangs  trembling  in  her  eye  the  while. 

Lucinia,  a  Ballad. 
(4.)  — CHAP.  XV. 

O  for  a  draught  of  power  to  steep 
The  soul  of  agony  in  sleep !         Bertha. 

(5.)  —  CHAP.  xxni. 
Lo !  where  he  lies  embalm'd  in  gore, 

His  wound  to  Henven  cries; 
The  floodgates  of  his  hlood  implore 
For  vengeance  from  the  skies. 

Uranus  and  Psyche. 


IDcatl)  of  Iteelfcar. 


1828. 

Percy  or  Peroival  Rede  of  Trorr.end.  in 
Redesdale.  Northumberland,  is  celebrated  in 
tradition  as  a  huntsman  and  a  soldier  He 
was,  upon  two  occasions,  singularly  unfortu- 
nate; once,  when  an  arrow,  which  he  had 
discharged  at  a  deer,  killed  his  celebrated 
dog  Keeldar;  and  affain.  when,  being  on  a 
hunting  party,  he  was  be'rayed  into  the  hands 
of  a  clan  called  Crossar,  bv  whom  he  was 
murdered.  Mr.  Cooper's  painting  of  the  first 
of  these  incidents,  suggested  the  following 
stanzas.1 

Up  rose  the  sun,  o'er  moor  and  mead  ; 
Up  with  the  sun  rose  Percy  Rede  ; 
Brave  Keeldar,  from  his  couples  freed, 
Career'd  along  the  lea; 


is  likely  to  confer  on  the  ho 
iriginal  painting  by  Cooper,  i 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS  'PIECES.     605 


The  Pal  trey  sprung  with  sprightly  bound, 
As  if  to  rnaich  the  gamesome  hound  ; 
His  tiuni  the  gallant  huntsman  wound  : 
'1  hty  were  a  jovial  three ! 

Man.  hound,  or  horse,  of  higher  fame, 
To  wake  th  •  wi.tl  deer  never  came, 
Sinre  Al  wick's  Ear!  pursued  the  game, 

On  Cuevml's  rueful  day ; 
Keeldar  was  matchless  in  his  speed, 
I  ban  Tarras,  ne'er  was  stauncher  steed, 
A  peerless  archer,  Percy  Rede  : 

And  right  dear  friends  were  they. 

The  chase  engross'd  their  joys  and  woes, 
Together  at  the  dawn  they  rose, 
Together  shared  the  noon's  repose, 

By  fun  tain  or  by  stream ; 
And  of.  when  evening  skies  were  red, 
The  heather  v\as  their  common  bed, 
Where  each,  as  wildering  fancy  led, 

Still  hunted  in  his  dream. 

Now  is  the  thrilling  moment  near, 

Of  sylvan  hope  and  sylvan  fear, 

You  thicket  holds  the  harbour 'd  deer. 

The  signs  the  hunters  know; — 
With  eyes  of  flame,  and  quivering  ears, 
The  brake  sagacious  Keeldar  nears; 
The  restless  palfrey  paws  and  rears  ; 

The  archer  strings  his  bow. 

The  game's  afoot !— Halloo !  Halloo ! 
Hunter,  and  horse,  and  hound  pursue; — 
15ut  woe  the  shaft  that  erring  flew — 

That  e'er  it  left  the  string  ! 
And  ill  betide  the  faithless  yew  ! 
The  stag  bounds  scatheless  o'er  the  dew, 
And  gallant  Keeldar's  life-blood  true 

Has  drench'd  the  grey-goose  wing. 

The  noble  hound — he  dies,  he  dies, 
Death,  death  has  glazed  his  fixed  eyes, 
Stiff  on  the  bloody  heath  he  lies, 

Without  a  groan  or  quiver. 
Now  day  may  break  and  bugle  sound, 
And  whoop  and  hollow  ring  around, 
And  o'er  his  coucli  the  stag  may  bound, 

But  Keeldar  sleeps  for  ever. 

Dilated  nostrils,  staring  eyes, 

Mark  the  poor  palfrey's  mute  surprise, 

He  knows  not  that  his  comrade  dies, 

Nor  what  is  death— but  still 
His  aspect  hath  expression  drear 
Of  grief  and  wonder,  nnx'd  with  fear. 
Like  startled  children  when  they  hear 

Some  mystic  tale  of  ill. 

But  he  that  bent  the  fatal  bow. 
Can  well  the  sum  of  evil  know, 
And  o'er  his  favourite,  bending  low, 

In  speechless  grief  recline  ; 
Can  think  he  hears  the  senseless  clay, 
In  unreproachful  accents  say, 
"  The  hand  that  took  my  life  away, 

Dear  master,  was  it  thine  ? 

"  And  if  it  be,  the  shaft  be  bless'd. 
Which  sure  some  erring  aim  address'd, 
Since  in  your  service  prized,  caress'd 

I  in  your  service  die  ; 
And  you  may  have  a  fleeter  hound, 
To  match  the  dun-deer's  merry  bound, 
But  by  your  couch  will  ne'er  be  found 

So  true  a  guard  as  I." 


And  to  his  last  stout  Percy  rued 
The  fatal  chance,  for  whe'n  he  stood 
'Gainst  fearful  odds  in  deadly  feud. 

And  fell  amid  the  fray, 
E'en  with  his  dying  voice  he  cried, 
"  Had  Keeldar  but  been  at  my  side. 
Your  treacherous  ambush  had  been  spied— 

I  had  not  died  to-day  !" 

Remembrance  of  the  erring  bow 

Long  since  had  join'd  the  tides  which  flow, 

Conveying  human  bliss  and  woe 

Down  dark  oblivion's  river; 
But  Art  can  Time's  stern  doom  arrest, 
And  snatch  his  spoil  from  Lethe's  breast, 
And,  in  her  Cooper's  colours  drest. 

The  scene  shall  live  for  ever. 


jFrom 
Stone  of 


'(!.)  — THE  SECRET  TRIBUNAL. 

"Philipson  could  perceive  that  the 

lights  proceeded  from  many  torches,  borne  by 
men  muffled  in  black  cloaks,  like  mourners  at 
a  funeral,  or  the  Black  Friars  of  Saint  Francis's 
Order,  wearing  their  cowls  drawn  over  their 
heads,  so  as  to  conceal  their  features.  They 
appeared  anxiously  engaged  in  measuring  off 
a  portion  of  the  apartment;  and,  while  occu- 
pied in  that  employment,  they  sung,  in  the 
ancient  German  language,  rhymes  more  rude 
than  Philipson  could  well  understand,  but 
which  may  be  imitated  thus:" — 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil. 

Bring  the  square,  the  line,  the  level, — 

K ear  the  altar,  dig  the  trench, 

Blood  both  stone  and  ditch  shall  drench. 

Cubits  six.  from  end  to  end, 

Must  the  fatal  bench  extend, — 

Cubits  six,  from  side  to  side. 

Judge  and  culprit  must  divide. 

On  the  east  the  Court  assembles, 

On  the  west  the  Accused  trembles — 

Answer,  brethren,  all  and  one, 

Is  the  ritual  rightly  done  1 

On  life  and  soul,  on  blood  and  bone, 
One  for  all.  and  all  for  one. 
We  warrant  this  is  rightly  done. 

How  wears  the  night  ? — Doth  morning  shine 
In  early  radiance  on  the  Rhine  ? 
What  music  floats  upon  his  tide  ? 
Do  birds  the  lardy  morning  chide  ? 
Brethren,  look  out  from  hill  and  height. 
And  answer  true,  how  wears  the  night  ? 

The  night  is  old :  on  Rhine's  broad  breast 
Glance  drowsy  stars  which  long  to  rest. 

No  beams  are  twinkling  in  the  east. 
There  is  a  voice  upon  the  flood, 
The  stern  still  call  of  blood  for  blood  ; 

"Tis  time  we  listen  the  behest. 


606                    SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Up.  then,  up!    When  day's  at  rest.                   "  Pray,  seat  yourself,  my  lord."  With  cringing 

"1'is  lime  that  such  as  we  are  watchers  ;                 hams 

Rise  to  judgment,  brethren,  n^e  !                     ]  The  speech  is  spoken,  and  with  bended  knee, 

Vengeance  knows  not  sleepy  eves,                  :  Heard  by  the  smiling  courtier.  —  "  Before  you, 

He  and  night  are  matchers.                                       sir? 

Chap.  xx. 

It  must  be  on  the  earth  then  "    Hang  it  all  ! 

The  pride  which  cloaks  itself  in  such  poor  ! 

fashion 

Is  scarcely  fit  to  swell  a  beggar's  bosom. 

MOTTOES. 

Old  Play. 

(1.)  —  CHAP.  III. 

(8.)—  CHAP.  IXVIII. 

Cursed  be  the  gold  and  silver,  which  persuade 
Weak  man  to  follow  far  fatiguing  trade. 
The  lily,  peace,  outshines  the  silver  store, 

A  mirthful  man  he  was—  the  snows  of  age 
Fell,  but  they  did  not  chill  him.     Gaiety, 
Even  in   life's  closing,  touch  'd   his   teeming 

And  life  is  dearer  than  the  golden  ore. 
Yet  money  tempts  us  o'er  the  desert  brown, 
To  every  distant  mart  and  wealthy  town. 
Hassan,  or  the  Camel-driver. 

With  such  wild  visions  as  the  setting  sun 
Raises  in  front  of  some  hoar  glacier. 
Painting  the  bleak  ice  with  a  thousand  hues. 
Old  Play. 

(3.)—  CHAP.  V. 

(».)—  CHAP.  XXX. 

I  was  one 
Who  loved  the  greenwood  bank  and  lowing 

Ay,  this  is  he  who  wears  the  wreath  of  bays 
Wove  by  Apollo  and  the  Sisters  Nine, 

herd, 
The  russet  prize,  the  lowly  peasant's  life, 

Which  Jove's  dread  lightning  scathes  not.    He 
hath  doft 

Season'd  with  sweet  content,  more  than  the 

The  cumbrous  helm  of  steel,  and  flung  aside 

halls 
Where   revellers  feast  to  fever-height.    Be- 

The yet  more  galling  diadem  of  gold  ; 
While,  with  a  leafy  circlet  round  his  brows, 

lieve  me. 
There  ne'er  was  poison  inix'd  in  maple  bowl. 

He  reigns  the  King  of  Lovers  and  of  Poets. 

Anonymous. 

(10.)  —  CHAP.  XXXI. 

(3.)  —  CHAP.  VI. 

Want  you  a  man 

When  we  two  meet,  we  meet  like  rushing 

Experienced  in  the  world  and  its  affairs? 

torrents  ; 

Here  he  is  for  your  purpose.—  He's  a  monk. 

Like  warring  winds,  like  flames  from  various 

He  hath  forsworn  the  world  and  all  its  work— 

points. 

The  rather  that  he  knows  it  passing  well, 

That  mate  each  other's  furv—  there  is  nought 

'Special  the  worst  of  it,  for  he's  a  monk. 

Of  elemental  strife,  were  fiends  to  guide  it, 

Old  Play. 

Can  match  the  wrath  of  man. 

(11.)—  CHAP.  XXXIII. 

(«.)—  CHAP.  X. 

Toll,  toll  the  bell  ! 

We  know  not  when  we  sleep  nor  when  we 

Greatness  is  o'er. 
The  heart  has  broke, 

wake. 
Visions  distinct  and  perfect  cross  onr  eye, 
Which  to  the  slumberer  seem  realities  ; 
And  while  they  waked,  some  men  have  seen 
such  sights 

To  ache  no  more  ; 
An  unsubstantial  pageant  all  — 
Drop  o'er  the  scene  the  funeral  pall. 
Old  Poem. 

As  set  at  nought  the  evidence  of  sense, 

(13.)  —  CHAP.  XXXV. 

And  left  them  well   persuaded   they  were 

Here  's  a  weapon  now, 

dreaming. 

Shall  shake  a  conquering  general  in  his  tent. 

Anonymous. 

A  monarch  on  his  throne,  or  reach  a  prelate, 

(5.)—  CHAP.  XI. 

However  holy  be  his  offices, 

These  be  the  adept's  doctrines—  every  element 

E'en  while  he  serves  the  altar.       Old  Play. 

Is  peopled  with  its  separate  race  of  spirits. 

Deep  in  the  earthy  cavern  skulks  the  Gnome  ; 
The  sea-green  Naiad  skims  the  ocean-billow, 

j£j)g   jfotilV. 

And  the  fierce  fire  is  yet  a  friendly  home 

To  its  peculiar  sprite—  the  Salamander. 

SET  TO  MUSIC  BY  JOHN  WHITEFIELD,  MBS. 

Anonymous. 
(6  )      CHAP  XVIII. 

DOC.  CAM. 

Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

1830. 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine. 

Which  make  the  soldier's  jovial  courage  mus- 
ter. 

The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  ! 

0,  blessed  be  the  Rhine  ! 

spread. 

Drinking  Song.i 

And  the  last  flask  of  wine  inonrgoblet  is  red  ; 

Up  !  up,  my  brave  kinsmen  !  bell  swords  and 

(7.)—  CHAP.  XXII. 

begone, 

Tell  me  not  of  it—  I  could  ne'er  abide 

There  are  dangers  to  dare,  and  there's  spoil  to 

The  mummery  of  all  that  forced  civility. 

he  won. 

1  Thin  i»  one  of  the  bt*t  and  most  popular  of  the  German 

"  Am  Rheiti,  am  Rliein,  da  wachsen  unsere  Beben, 

ditties  :— 

Ooegnet  gei  drr  Rhtm,"  dec. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.     607 

The  eyes,  that  so  lately  mix'd  glances  with 
ours. 
For  a  space  must  he  dim,  as  they  gaze  from 
the  lowers, 
And  strive  to  distinguish  through  tempest  and 
gloom, 
The  prance  of  the  steed  and  the  toss  of  the 
plume. 

The  rain  is  descending  ;  the  wind  rises  loud  ; 
And  the  moon  her  red  beacon  has  veil'd  with 
a  cloud  ; 
Tis  the  better,  my  mates!  for  the  warder's 
dull  eye 
Shall  in  confidence  slumber,  nor  dream  we  are 
nigh. 

Our  steeds  are  impatient  !    I  hear  my  blithe 
Grey  ! 
There  is  lite  in  his  hoof-clang,  and  hope  in  his 
neigh  ; 
Like  the  flash  of  a  meteor,  the  glance  of  his 
mane 
Shall  marshal  your  march  through  the  dark- 
ness and  ram. 

The  drawbridge  has  dropp'd,  the  bugle  has 
blown; 
One  pledge  is  to  quaff  yet  —  then  mount  and 
begone  !  — 
To  their   honour  and   peace,  that  shall  rest 
with  the  slain  ; 
To  their  health  and  their  glee,  tliat  see  Teviot 
agam! 

given  him  much  pain,  as  well  as  inconvenience 
Mr.  Fortune  produced  a  clever  piece  of  handi- 
work, and  Sir  Walter  felt  at  first  great  relief 
from  the  use  of  it  :  inasmuch  that  his  spirits 
rose  to  quite  the  old  pitch,  and  his  letter  to 
me  upon  the  occasion  overflows  with  merry 
applications   of  sundry   maxims    and    verses 
about  Fortune     "  Fortes  Fortuna  adjuvat  "  — 
he  says  —  ••  never  more  sing  1  !" 

Fortune,  my  Foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on 
me? 
And  will  my  Fortune  never  better  be? 
Wilt  thou.  I  say,  for  ever  breed  my  pain  ? 
And  wilt  thou  ne'er  return  my  joys  again  ?  * 

No  —  let  my  ditty  be  henceforth— 

Fortune,  my  friend,  how  well  thou  favourest 
me! 
A  kinder  Fortune  man  did  never  see  ! 
Thou  propp'st  rny  thigh,  thou  ndd'st  my  knee 
of  pain, 
I'll  walk,  I'll  mount—  I'll  be  a  man  again.  — 
Life,  vol.  x.,  p.  38. 

jTront  Count  JXofcert 
of  parts. 

1831. 

Enscrfptfon 

FOR  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE  REV.  GEORGE 
SCOTT.  1 

MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —  CHAP.  H. 
Othus.  This  superb  successor 
Of   the    earth's    mistress,    as    thou    vainly 
speakest. 
Stands  'midst  these   ages   as,  on  the  wide 
ocean, 
The  last  spared  fragment  of  a  spacious  land, 
That  in  some  grand  and  awful  ministration 
Of  mighty  nature  had  engulfed  been. 
Doth  lift  aloft  its  dark  and  rocky  cliffs 
O'er  the  wild  waste  around,  and  sadly  frowns 
in  lonely  majestv. 
Cuhstantine  Paleologus,  Scene  I. 

(2.)—  CHAP.  IH. 

Here,  youth,  thy  foot  unbrace, 
Here,  youth,  thy  brow  uubraid, 
Each  tribute  that  may  grace 
The  threshold  here  be  paid. 
Walk  with  the  stealthy  pace 
Which  Nature  teaches  deer, 
When,  echoing  in  the  chase, 
The  hunter's  horn  they  hear. 
The  Court. 

(«.)—  CHAP.  V. 
The  storm  increases  —  'tis  no  sunny  shower, 
Foster'd   in  the   moist    breast  of   March    or 
April, 
Or  such  as   parched  Summer  cools  his  lip 
with; 

1830. 

To  youth,  to  age,  alike,  this  tablet  pale 
Tells  the  brief  moral  of  its  tragic  tale. 
Art  thou  a  parent  ?    Reverence  this  bier, 
The  parents'  fondest  hopes  lie  buried  here. 
Art  thou  a  youth,  prepared  on  life  to  start. 
With  opening  talents  and  a  generous  heart, 
Fair  hopes  and  flattering  prospects  all  thine 
own? 
Lo  !  here  their  end  —  a  monumental  stone. 
But    let    submission    tame    each    sorrowing 
thought. 
Heaven  crown'd  its   champion  ere  the  fight 
was  foughl. 

3Lims  on  JFortune. 

1831. 

"  By  the  advice  of  Dr.  Ebenezer  ClarKson, 
Sir  Walter  consulled  a  skilful  mechanist,  by 
name   Fortune,  about  a  contrivance   for  the 
support  of  the  lame  limb,  which  had  of  late 

relation,  Hugh  Scott,  Esq..  of  Harden,  (now  Lord  Pol- 
warth,)  became  Rector  of  K^iitinbeare,  to  Deronftbire,  in 
162$,  and  died  there  the  9th  Jnue,  1830.    Thii   epitaph 
appears  on  hit  tomb  in  the  chancel  there. 

alluded  to  by  Shaaapeare  and  hia  contemporariea)  that  baa 
aa  yet  been  recovered."  —  LodAart,  Life,  vol.  x.,  p.  38. 

608 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Heaven's  windows  are  flung  wide  ;  the  inmost 

deeps 

Call  in  hoarse  greeting  one  upon  another ; 
On  comes  the  flood  in  all  its  foaming  horrors, 
And  Where's  the  dike  shall  stop  it ! 

The  Deluue.  a  Poem. 
See  Life,  vol.  z. ,  p.  37. 

(4.)  — CHAP.  VI. 

Vain  man !  thou  mayst  esteem  thy  love  as 

fair 

As  fond  hyperboles  suffice  to  raise. 
She    may    be   all   that's   matchless   in   her 

person. 

And  all-divine  in  soul  to  match  her  body ; 
But  take  this  from  me  —  thou  shalt  never  call 

her 

Superior  to  her  sex,  while  one  survives, 
And  1  am  her  true  votary.  Old  Play. 

(6.)  — CHAP.  VIII. 

Through  the  vain  webs  which  puzzle  sophists' 

skill. 
Plain  sense  and  honest  meaning  work  their 

way  ; 

So  sink  the  varying  clouds  upon  the  hill, 
When  the  clear  dawning  brightens  into  day. 
Dr.  Watts. 

(«.)— CHAP.  IX. 

Between   the   foaming  jaws   ot    the   white 

torrent. 

The  skilful  artist  draws  a  sudden  mound ; 
By  level  long  he  subdivides  their  strength, 
Stealing  the  waters  from  their  rocky  bed. 
First  to  diminish  what  he  means  to  conquer; 
Then,  for  the  residue  he  forms  a  road. 
Easy  to  keep,  and  painful  to  desert, 
And'  guiding  to  the  end  the  planner  aim'd  at. 
The  Engineer. 

(7.)— CHAP.  X. 
These   were  wild   times — the  antipodes   of 

ours  : 

Ladies  were  there,  who  oftener  saw  them- 
selves 

In  the  broad  lustre  of  a  foeman's  shield 
Than  in  a  mirror,  and  who  rather  sought 
To    match    themselves    in    battle,    than    in 

dalliance 

To  meet  a  lover's  onset.— But  though  Nature 
Was  outraged  thus,  she  was  not  overcome. 
Feudal  Times. 

(8.)— CHAP.  XI. 

Without  a  ruin,  broken,  tangled,  cumbrous, 
Within  it  was  a  little  paradise. 
Where   Taste    had   made   her   dwelling.  — 

Statuary, 

First-born  of  human  art.  moulded  her  images, 
And  bade  men  mark  and  worship. 

Anonymous. 

(».)  — CHAP.  XII. 

The  parties  met.    The  wily,  wordy  Greek, 
Weighing  each  word,  and  canvassing  each 

syllable; 

Evading,  arguing,  equivocating. 
And  the  stem  Frank  came  wilh  his  two-hand 

sword, 
Watching   to   see  which   way  the   balance 

sways, 

That  he  may  throw  it  in,  and  turn  the  scales. 
Palatine. 


(10.)  — CHAP.  xvr. 
Strange  ape  of  man,  who  loathes  thee  while 

he  scorns  thee ; 

Half  a  reproach  to  us  and  half  a  jest. 
What    fancies    can    be    ours    ere    we    have 

pleasure 
In   viewing  our    own    form,  our   pride    and 

passions, 
Reflected  in  a  shape  grotesque  as  thine ! 

Anonymous. 

(11.)  —CHAP.  XVII. 

Tis  strange   that,  in  the  dark  sulphureous 

mine. 

Where  wild  ambition  piles  its  ripening  stores 
Of  slumbering  thunder.  Love  will  interpose 
His  tiny  lorch.  and  cause  the  stem  explosion 
To  burst,  when  the  deviser's  least  aware. 

Anonymous. 
(12.)— CHAP.  XHV. 

All  is  prepared — the  chambers  of  the  mine 
Are  cramm'd  with   the  combustible,  which, 

harmless 

While  yet  unkindled.  as  the  sable  sand. 
Needs  but  a  spark  to  change  its  nature  so. 
That  he   who  wakes  it  from  its  slumbrous 

mood, 
Dreads  scarce  the  explosion  less  than  he  who 

knows 
That  'tis  his  towers  which  meet  its  fury. 

Anonymous. 

(13.)  — CHAP.  XXV. 

Heaven  knows  its  time ;  the  bullet  has  its 

billet. 

Arrow  and  javelin  each  its  destined  purpose  ; 
The  fated  beasts  of  Nature's  lower  strain 
Have  eacli  their  separate  task.        Old  Play. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)  —CHAP.  V. 

A  tale  of  sorrow,  for  your  eyes  may  weep ; 
A  tale  of  horror,  for  your  flesh  may  tingle ; 
A  tale  of  wonder,  for  the  eyebrows  arch. 
And  the  flesh  curdles  if  you  read  it  rightly. 

p.)  — CHAP.  XI. 
Where  is  he?    Has  the  deep  earth  swallow'd 

him? 

Or  hath  he  melted  like  some  airy  phantom 
That  shnns  the  approach  of  morn  and  the 

young  sun? 

Or  hath  he  wrapt  him  in  Cimmerian  darkness, 
And  pass'd  beyond  the  circuit  of  the  sight 
With  things  of  the  night's  shadows? 

Anonymous. 
(3.)  -  CHAP.  xrv. 

The  way  is  long,  my  children,  long  and  rough— 
The  moors  are  dreary,  and  the  woods  are  dark ; 


HALIDON  HILL. 


609 


But  he  that  creeps  from  cradle  on  to  srave, 
I'nskill'd  save  in  the  velvet  course  (if  fortune, 
Hatli  rniss'd  the  discipline  of  noble  hearts. 
Old  Play. 

(4  )  —  CHAP.  XVIII. 

His  talk  was  of  another  world — his  hodements 
Strange,  doubtful,  and  mysterious ;  those  who 

beard  him 

Listen'd  as  to  a  man  in  feverish  dreams, 
Who  speaks  of  other  objects  than  the  present. 
And  mutters  like  to  him  who  sees  a  vision. 
Old  Play. 


(5.)— CHAP.  XX. 

Cry  the  wild  war-note,  let  the  champions  pass, 
Da  bravely  each,  and  God  defend  the  right; 
Upon  Saint  Andrew  thrice  can  they  thus  cry. 
And  thrice  they  shout  on  heinht. 
And  then  marked  them  on  the  Englishmen. 
As  I  have  told  you  right. 
Saint  George  the  bright,  our  ladies'  knight, 
To  name  they  were  full  fain  ; 
Our  Englishmen  they  cried  on  height, 
And  thrice  they  shout  again. 

Old  Ballad. 


DRAMATIC   PIECES. 


lill; 

A  DRAMATIC  SKETCH  FROM  SCOTTISH  HISTORY. 


PREFACE. 

Though  the  Public  seldom  feel  much  in- 
terest in  such  communications,  (nor  is  there 
any  reason  why  they  should.)  the  Author  takes 
the  liberty  of  statins,  that  these  scenes  were 
commenced  with  the  purpose  of  contributing 
to  a  miscellany  projected  by  a  much-esteemed 
friend. i  But  instead  of  being  confined  to  a 
scene  or  two.  as  intended,  the  work  gradually 
swelled  to  the  size  of  an  independent  publica- 
tion. It  is  designed  to  illustrate  military  an- 
tiquities, and  the  manners  of  chivalry.  The 
drama  (if  it  can  he  termed  one)  is.  in  no  par- 
ticular, either  designed  or  calculated  for  the 
stage? 

The  subject  is  to  be  found  in  Scottish  his- 
tory ;  but  not  to  overload  so  slight  a  publica- 
tion with  antiquarian  research,  or  quotations 
from  obscure  chronicles,  may  be  sufficiently 
illustrated  by  the  following  passage  from  Pin- 
ker ton's  History  of  Scotland,  vol.  i.,  p.  72. 

"The  Governor  (anno  1402)  dispatched  a 
considerable  force  under  Murdac.  his  eldest 
son  :  the  Earls  of  Angus  and  Moray  also  joined 
Douglas,  who  entered  England  with  an  army 
of  ten  thousand  men,  carrying  terror  and  de- 
vastation to  the  walls  of  Newcastle. 

"Henry  IV.  was  now  engaged  in  the  Welsh 
war  against  Owen  Glendour;  hut  the  Earl  of 


1  The  author  allude*  to  a  co 
Terse,  edited,  for  a  charilaM 
BaUlie  .—  See  lift  o/  Scott,  .ol 

2  In  the  fin.1  edition,  the  I 
tempt  shall  be  made  to  prods 
pencd  in  similar  cases,) 


purpoi 
lit.,  pp.  7,  1 
It  added, " 


all  pie. 


by   Mn 


porti 

who  make  i 

age,  the  -Vei 


•  taken   the  present  op- 


ate.  that  it  (hall  be  at  the  peril  of 
nrfk  Rait*  (July.  l&M)  said,-"  We, 


Northumberland,  and  his  son,  the  Hotspur 
Percy,  with  the  Earl  of  March,  collected  a 
numerous  array,  and  awaited  the  return  of 
the  Scuts,  impeded  with  spoil,  near  Milfield, 
in  the  north  part  of  Northumberland.  Doug- 
las had  reached  Wooler.  in  his  return;  and, 
perceiving  the  enemy,  seized  a  strons  post  be- 
tween the  two  armies,  called  Homildon-hill. 
In  this  method  he  rivalled  his  predecessor  at 
the  battle  of  Otterburn.  but  not  with  like 
succt- ss.  The  English  advanced  to  the  assault, 
and  Henry  Percy  was  about  to  lead  them  up 
the  hill,  when  March  caught  his  bridle,  and 
advised  him  to  advance  no  farther,  but  to  pour 
the  dreadful  shower  of  English  arrows  into 
the  enemy.  This  advice  was  followed  by  the 
usual  fortune ;  for  in  all  ages  the  bow  was  the 
English  instrument  of  victory  ;  and  though 
the  Scots,  and  perhaps  the  French,  were  su- 
perior in  the  use  of  the  spear,  yet  this  weapon 
was  useless  after  the  distant  bow  had  decided 
the  combat.  Robert  the  Great,  sensible  of 
this  at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  ordered  a 
prepared  detachment  of  cavalry  to  rush  among 
the  English  archers  at  the  commencement, 
totally  to  disperse  them,  and  stop  the  deadly 
effusion  But  Douglas  now  used  no  such  pre- 
caution; and  the  consequence  was,  that  his 
people,  drawn  up  on  the  face  of  the  hill,  pre- 
sented one  general  mark  to  the  enemy,  none 
of  whose  arrows  descended  in  vain.  The 

neyertheiess.  do  not  believe  that  any  thing  more  essen- 
tially dramatic,  in  so  far  as  it  goe*,  more  capable  of  stage 
effect,  has  appeared  in  Kngland  since  the  days  of  her 
greatest  genius ;  and  |iring  Sir  Walter,  therefore,  f»H 
credit  for  hii  coynenxon  the  present  occasion,  we  ard-ntly 
hope  that  he  i*  but  trying  bis  strength  in  the  most  arduous 
of  all  literary  enterprise*,  and  that,  ere  long,  he  will  de- 
monstrate his  njht  to  the  hijhest  honours  of  the  tragic 


610 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Scots  fell  without  fight,  and  unrevenged,  till  a 
spirited  knight,  Swmton,  exclaimed  aloud,  •  0 
my  brave  countrymen  !  what  fascination  has 
seized  you  to-day,  that  you  stand  like  deer  to 
be  shot,  instead  of  indulging  your  ancient 
courage,  and  meeting  your  enemies  hand  to 
hand  ?  Let  those  who  will,  descend  with  me, 
that  we  may  pain  victory,  or  life,  or  fiill  like 
men.'  This  being  beard  by  Adam  Gordon, 
between  whom  and  Swinton  there  remained 
an  ancient  deadly  feud,  attended  with  the 
mutual  slaughter  of  many  followers,  he  in- 
stantly fell  on  his  knees  before  Swinton, 
beeged  Ins  pardon,  and  desired  to  be  dubbed 
a  knight  by  him  whom  he  must  now  regard  as 
the  wisest  and  the  boldest  of  that  order  in 
Britain  The  ceremony  performed,  Swinton 
and  Gordon  descended  the  hill,  accompanied 
only  by  one  hundred  men;  and  a  desperate 
valour  led  the  whole  body  to  death.  Had  a 
similar  spirit  been  shown  by  the  Scottish  army, 
it  is  probable  that  the  event  of  the  day  would 
have  been  different.  Douglas,  who  was  cer- 
tainly deficient  in  the  most  important  qualities 
of  a  general,  seeing  his  army  begin  to  dis- 
perse, at  length  attempted  to  descend  the  hill ; 
but  the  English  archers,  retiring  a  little,  sent 
a  Sight  of  arrows  so  sharp  and  strong,  that  no 
armour  could  withstand ;  and  the  Scottish 
leader  himself,  whose  panoply  was  of  remark- 
able temper,  fell  under  five  wounds,  tluiugh 
not  mortal.  The  English  men-of-arms,  knights. 
or  squires,  did  not  strike  one  blow,  but  re- 
mained spectators  of  the  rout,  which  was  now 
complete.  Great  numbers  of  the  Scots  were 
slam,  and  near  five  hundred  perished  in  the 
river  Tweed  upon  their  flight.  Among  the 
illustrious  captives  was  Douglas,  whose  chief 
wound  deprived  him  of  an  eye;  M undue,  son 
of  Albany;  the  Earls  of  Moray  and  Angus: 
and  about  twenty-four  gentlemen  of  eminent 
rank  and  power.  The  chief  slam  were,  Swin- 
ton,  Gordon,  Livingston  of  Calendar.  Ramsay 
of  Dalhousie,  Walter  Sinclair,  Roser  Gordon, 
Walter  Scott,  and  others.  Such  was  the  issue 
of  the  unfortunate  b;ttile  of  Homildon." 

It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that  the  scene 
of  action  has,  in  the  following  pages,  been 
transferred  from  Homildon  to  Halidou  Hill. 
For  this  there  was  an  obvious  reason  ;  —  for 
who  would  again  venture  to  introduce  upon 
the  scene  the  celebrated  Hotspur,  who  com- 
manded the  English  at  the  former  battle? 
There  are,  however,  several  coincidences 
which  may  reconcile  even  the  severer  anti- 
quary to  the  substitution  of  Halidon  Hill  for 
Homildon.  A  Scottish  army  was  defeated  by 
the  English  on  both  occasions,  and  under 
nearly  the  same  circumstances  of  address  on 
the  part  of  the  victors,  and  mismanagement 
on  that  of  the  vanquished ;  for  the  English 
long-bow  decided  the  day  in  both  cases  In 
both  cases,  also,  a  Gordon  was  left  on  the 
field  of  battle ;  and  at  Halidon.  as  at  Homil- 
don, the  Scots  were  commanded  by  an  ill-fated 
representative  of  the  great  house  of  Douglas. 
He  of  Homildon  was  surnamed  Tineman,  i.  e. 
Lostman,  from  his  repeated  defeats  and  mis- 
carriages; and.  with  all  the  personal  valour 
of  his  race,  seems  to  have  enjoyed  so  small  a 
portion  of  their  sagacity,  as  to  be  unable  to 
learn  military  experience  from  reiterated  cala- 
mity. 1  am  far,  however,  from  intimating, 
that  the  traits  of  imbecility  and  envy  attri- 


buted to  the  Regent  in  the  following  sketch, 
are  to  be  historically  ascribed  either  to  the 
elder  Douglas  of  Halidon  Hill,  or  to  him  called 
Tineman.  who  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the  re- 
spect of  his  countrymen,  notwithstanding 
that,  like  the  celebrated  Anne  de  Muntiiio- 
rency,  he  was  either  defeated,  or  wounded,  or 
made  prisoner,  in  every  battle  which  he 
fought.  The  Regent  of  the  sketch  is  a  cha- 
racter purely  imaginary. 

The  tradition  of  the  Swinton  family,  which 
still  survives  in  a  lineal  descent,  mid  to  which 
the  author  has  the  honour  to  be  related,  avers, 
that  the  Swinton  who  fell  at  Homildon  in  the 
manner  related  in  the  preceding  extract,  had 
slain  Gordon's  father  ;  which  seems  sufficient 
ground  for  adopting  that  circumstance  into 
the  following  dramatic  sketch,  though  it  is 
rendered  improbable  by  other  authorities. 

If  any  reader  will  take  the  trouble  of  look- 
ing at  Froissart,  Fordnn,  or  other  historians 
of  the  period,  he  will  find,  that  the  character 
of  the  Lord  of  Swinton,  for  strength,  courage, 
and  conduct,  is  by  no  means  exaggerated. 
W.  S. 

Abbotsford,  1822. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

SCOTTISH. 

The  Regent  of  Scotland. 
Gordon,          ] 
Swinton, 
Lennox, 
Sutherland, 
Ross. 
Maxwell, 
Johnstone, 
Lindesay, 


Scottish  Chiefs  and  Noble*. 


Adam  de  Vipont.  a  Knight  Templar. 

The  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Reynald.  Surintan's  Squire. 

Ho'b  H.ittely.  a  Border  Most-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King  Edward  III. 
Chandos,      ) 

Percy,  C  English  and  fiorman  Kobles. 

Kihaumont, } 
The  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 


ACT  I.  —  SCENE  I. 

The  northern  side  of  the  eminence  of  Halidon. 
The  back  Scene  represents  the  summit  of  the 
ascent,  occupied  b</  the  Rear-yuard  of  the  Scot- 
tish army.  Bodies  of  armed  men  apt/ear  as 
advancing  from  diffmnt  points,  to  joi-i  the 
main  body. 

Enter  De  Vipont  and  the  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu 
Yip.  No  farther,  Father  — here  I  need  no 

guidance  — 

I  have  already  brought  your  peaceful  step 
Too  near  the  verge  of  battle. 


HALIDON    HILL. 


611 


Pri.  Fain  would  I  see  yon  join  some  Baron's 

banner. 

Before  I  say  farewell.    The  honour'd  sword 
That  folia  lit  so  well  in  Syria,  should  not  wave 
Amid  the  ignoble  crowd. 

Vip  Each  spot  is  nohle  in  a  pitched  field. 
So  that  a  man  has  room  to  right  and  fall  on't. 
But  1  shall  find  out  friends.  'Tis  scarce 

IwelVH  years 

Since  I  left  Scotland  for  the  wars  of  Palestine, 
And  then  the  flower  of  all  the  Scottish  nobles 
Were  known  to  me  ;  and  I,  in  my  degree, 
Not  all  unknown  to  them. 
Pri.   Alas!  there  have  been  changes  since 

that  time! 
The   Royal   Bruce,  with   Randolph,  Douglas, 

Grahame, 
Then  shook  m  field  the  banners  which  now 

moulder 
Over  their  graves  i'  the  chancel. 

Vip    And  thence  comes  if, 
That  wliile  I  look'd  on  many  a  well-known 

cresr 

And  bhizon'd  shield,  as  hitherward  we  came. 
The  faces  of  the  Barons  who  di.splay'd  them 
Were  all  unknown  to  me.  Brave  youths  they 

Yet,  surely,  fitter  to  adorn  the  tilt-yard, 
Than  to  he  leaders  of  a  war.   Their  followers, 
Young  like  themselves,  seem  like  themselves 

unpractised — 
Look  at  tlieir  battle-rank. 

Pri.  I  cannot  gazt  on't  with  undazzled  eye, 
So  thick  the  rays  dart  back  from  shield  and 

helmet, 
And  sword   and  battle-axe,   and    spear  and 

pennon 

Snre  'tis  a  gallant  show !    The  Bruce  himself 
Hath  often  conquer'd  at  the  head  of  fewer 
Aud  worse  appointed  followers. 

Vip.  Ay.  but   'twas  Bruce  that  led  them. 

Reverend  Father, 

'Tis  not  the  falchion's  weight  decides  a  combat ; 
It  is  the  strong  and  skilful  band  that  wields  it 
III  fate,  that  we  should  lack  I  he  noble  King. 
And  all   his  champions    now!     Time  cau'd 

them  not. 

For  when  I  parted  hence  for  Palestine, 
The  brows  of  most  were  free  from  grizzled 

hair. 
Pri  Too  true,  alas !    But  well  you  know, 

in  Scotland 

Few  hairs  are  sitver'd  underneath  the  helmet ; 
'Tis   cowls    like    mine    which    hide     them. 

'Mongst  the  laity. 
War's  the   rash   reaper,  who  thrusts  in  his 

sickle 
Before    the   grain   is  white.    In   threescore 

years 

And  ten.  which  I  have  seen,  I  have  outlived 
WelliiiKh  two  generations  of  our  nobles. 
The   race   which    holds  you  summit  is  the 

third. 

Vip.  Tliou  mayst  outlive  them  also. 
Pri.  Heaven  forfend ! 

My  prayer  shall  be,  that  Heaveu  will  close  my 

eyes, 

Btfore  they  look  upon  the  wrath  to  come. 
Vip    Retire,  retire,  good  Father !  —  Pray  for 

Scotland— 


Think   not  on   me.    Here  comes  an  ancient 
friend. 

Brother  in  arms,  with  whom  to-day  I'll  join 
me. 

Back  to  your  choir,  assemble  all  your  brother- 
hood. 

And  weary  Heaven  with  prayers  for  victory. 
Pri.  Heaven's  blessing  rest  with  then. 

Champion   of  Heaven,  and   of  thy   suffering 
counirv ! 

[Exit  Prior      Vipont  draws  a  little  aside 
and  lets  down  tfie  beaver  of  his  helmet. 

Enter  Swinton.  followed  tiy  Reynald  and  others, 
to  whom  he  speaks  as  he  enters. 

Sun.  Halt    here,  and  plant  my  pennon,  till 

the  Regent 

Assisn  our  band  its  station  in  the  host. 
Key.  That  must  be  by  the  Standard.    We 

have  had 
That  right  since  good  Saint  David's  reign  at 

least 

Fain  would  I  see  the  Marcher  would  dispute  it. 
Swt.  Peace.  Keynald  !     Where  the  general 

plants  the  soldier. 

There  is  his  place  of  honour,  and  there  only 
His  valour  can  win  worship.   Thou'rt  of  those. 
Who  would  have  war's  deep  art  bear  the  wild 

semblance 

Of  some  disorder'd  huiitins,  where,  pell-mell. 
Each  trusting  to  the  swiftness  of  Ins  horse, 
Gallants  press  on  to  see  the  quarry  fall. 
You  steel  clad   Southrons,   Keynald,  are   no 

deer; 

And  England's  Edward  is  no  stag  at  bay. 
Vip.    (ailvanriny.)    There    needed    not,    to 

blazon  forth  the  Swmton, 
His  ancient  bureonet,  the  sable  Boar 
Chain'd  to  the  gnarl'd  oak,  1  —  nor  his  proud 

step. 

Nor  giant  stature,  nor  the  ponderous  mace. 
Which   only    he,  of   Scotland's    realm,    can 

wield: 

His  discipline  and  wisdom  mark  the  leader. 
As  doth  his  frame  the  champion.     Hail,  brave 

Swinton ! 
Siai.  Brave  Templar,  thanks!    Such  your 

cross'd  shoulder  speaks  you : 
But  the  clos'd   visor,   which   conceals   your 

features, 

Forbids  more    knowledge.     Umfraville,  per- 
haps— 
Vip    (unclosing  his  helmet. )    No ;   one  less 

worthy  of  our  sacred  Order. 
Yet,  unless  Syrian  suns   have  scorch'd  my 

features 

Swart  as  my  sable  visor,  Alan  Swinton 
Will  welcome  ^yiiion  Vipont. 

Swt.  (embratiiu)  him  )  As  the  blithe  reaper 
Welcomes  a  practised   mute,  when  the  ripe 

harvest 

Lies  deep  before  him,  and  the  sun  is  high ! 
Thou'lt  follow  yon  old  pennon,  wilt  thou  not? 
'Tis   latter'd  since   thou  saw'st  it,  and   the 

Boar-heads 
Look  as  if  brought  from  off  some  Christmas 

hoard, 

Where  knives  had  notch'd  them  deeply. 
Vip.  Have   with   them,  ne'ertheless.     The 

Stuart's  Chequer, 


l"Thr  armorial  bearing,  of    the    ancient   famil 
gwintou   an  ltb!e,  a  chert-run,  or,  betwn-n  three  b 


612 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The    Bloody    Heart    of   Douglas,    Ross's 

I  ymphads, 

Sutherland's  Wild-cats,  nor  the  rnyal  Lion. 
Rampant   in  golden  treasure,  wins  me  from  | 

them. 
We'll   hack  the    Boar-heads  bravely.     I  see 

round  them 
A  chosen  band  of  lances  — some  well  known 

to  me. 

Where's  the  main  body  of  thy  followers? 
Swi.    Symon  de  V  ipont,  thou  dost  see  them 

all 

That  Swintim's  bugle-horn  can  call  to  battle,    ] 
However  loud  it  rings.    There's  not  a  boy 
Left   in   my   halls,   whose   arm   has  strength 

enough 

To  hear  a  sword — there's  not  a  man  behind, 
However  old.  who  moves  without  a  staff 
Striplings  and  greybeards,  every  one  is  here, 
And   here  all    should    be  —  Scotland     needs 

them  all: 
And    more   and   better   men,  were   each   a 

Hercules. 
And  yonder  handful  centuplied. 

Vtp.    A    thousand    followers  —  such,   with 

friends  and  kinsmen. 

Allies  and  vassals,  thou  wert  wont  to  lead— 
A  thousand  followers  shrunk  to  sixty  lances 
In  twelve  years'  space  1 — And  thy  brave  sons, 

Sir  Alan? 
Alas !  I  fear  to  ask. 

Swi.     All  slain,  De  Vipont.    In  my  empty 

home 

A  puny  babe  lisps  to  a  widow'd  mother, 
"  Where  is  my  grandsire !   wherefore  do  you 

weep  ?" 

But  for  that  prattler,  Lyulph's  house  is  heir- 
less. 

I'm  an  old  oak,  from  which  the  foresters 
Have   hew'd    four    goodly   boughs,   and    left 

beside  me 

Only  a  sapling,  which  the  fawn  may  crush 
As  he  springs  over  it. 
Vip.  All  slain?— alas! 

Swi.  Ay,  all,  De  Vipont.    And  their  attri- 
butes. 
John  with  the  Long  Spear — Archibald  with  the 

Axe — 

Richard  the  Ready — and  my  youngest  darling, 
My  Fair-hair'd  William — do  but  now  survive 
In  measures  which  the  grey-hair'd  minstrels 

sing. 
When  they  make  maidens  weep. 

Vtp.  These  wars  with  England,  they  have 

rooted  out 
The  flowers  of  Christendom.    Knights,  who 

might  win 

The  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  the  rude  hea- 
then. 

Fall  in  unholy  warfare! 
Swi.   Unholy  warfare?  ay,  well  hast  thou 

named  it; 
But  not  with  England— would  her  cloth-yard 

shafts 
Had  bored  their  cuirasses!    Their  lives  had 

been 

Ix»t  like  their  grandsire 's.  in  the  bold  defence 
Of  their  dear  country — but  in  private  feud 
With  the  proud  Gordon,  fell  my  Loug-spear'd 

John, 

He  with  the  Axe.  and  he  mencall'd  the  Ready, 
Ay,  and   my  Fair-hair'd  V\ill  —  the   Gordon's 

wrath 
Devour'd  my  gallant  issue. 


Vip.  Since  thou  dust  weep,  their  death  is 

unavenged  ? 
Swi.  Templar,  what  think'st  thou  me  ?— See 

yonder  rock, 

From  which  the  fountain  gushes— is  it  less 
Compact    of   adamant,   though   waters    flow 

from  it  ? 
Firm   hearts   have   moister  eyes.  —  They  are 

avenged ; 
I   wept  not  till   they   were  — till  the   proud 

Gordon 
Had   with    his    life-blood    dyed    my   father's 

sword. 
In    guerdon    that    he     thinn'd    my    father's 

lineage, 

And  then  I  wept  my  sons;  and.  as  the  Gordon 
[.ay  at  my  feet,  there  was  a  tear  for  him. 
Which  mingled  with  the  rest.     We  had  been 

friends. 

Had  shared  the  banquet  and  the  chase  toge- 
ther. 
Fought  side  by  side,  — and  our  first  cause  of 

strife. 

Woe  to  the  pride  of  bolh.  was  but  a  light  one  ! 
Tip.  You  are  at  feud,  then,  with  the  mighty 

Gordon  ? 

Swi    At  deadly  feud.     Here  in  this  Border- 
land, 
Where  the  sire's  quarrels  descend   npon  the 

son, 

As  due  a  part  of  his  inheritance. 
As  the  strong  castle  and  the  ancient  blazon. 
Where  private  Vengeance  holds  the  scales  of 

justice. 

Weighing  each  drop  of  blood  as  scrupulously 
As  Jews  or  lJombards  balance  silver  pence, 
Not   in   this  land,   'twixt  Solway   and  Saint 

Abb's. 

Rages  a  bitterer  fend  than  mine  and  theirs, 
The  Swmton  and  the  Gordon 

Vip.  You,  with   some  threescore  lances  — 

and  the  Gordon 
Leading  a  thousand  followers. 
Swi.  You  rate  him  far  too  low.    Since  you 

sought  Palestine. 

He  hath  had  grants  of  baronies  and  lordships 
In  the  far-distant  North.     A  thousand  horse 
His    southern     friends    and    vassals    always 

nmnher'd 
Add  Badenoch  kenie,  and  horse  from  Dey  and 

Spey. 
He'll  count  a  thousand  more. — And  now  De 

Vipont, 
If  the   Boar-heads    seem  in  your  eyes   le: 

worthy 

i  For  lack  of  followers— seek  yonder  standard— 
The  bounding  Stag,  with  a  brave  host  around 

it; 
There  the  young  Gordon  makes  his  earliest 

field. 
And  pants  to   win   his  spurs.      His  father's 

friend. 
As  well  as   mine,   thou   wert  —  go,  join  his 

pennon. 
And  grace  him  with  thy  presence. 

Vip.  When   you   were  friends,   I  was    the 

friend  of  both. 

And  now  I  can  be  enemy  to  neither; 
But  my  poor  person,  though  hut  slight  the  aid, 
Joins  on  this  field  the  banner  of  the  two 
Which  hath  the  smallest  following 
Swi.  Spoke  like  the  generous  Knight,  who 

gave  up  all. 
Leading  and  lordship,  in  a  heathen  land 


HALIDON    HILL. 


613 


To  fight,  a  Christian  solJier !    Yet,  in  earnest, 
pray,  De  Vipont.  you  would  join  the  Gordon 
.11  this  hish  buttle.     '  I'ls  a  noble  youth,— 
So  fame  iloth    vouch  linn.  —  amorous,  quick, 

anil  valiant; 
Takes  knighthood,  too,  this  day,  and  well  may 

His  spurs  too  rashly  in  the  wjsh  to  win  them. 
A  mend  like  tliee  beside  him  in  the  fight. 
Were  worth  a  hundred  spears,  to   rein   his 

valour 
And  temper  it  with  prudence  :  —  'tis  the  aged 

easle 

Teaches  his  brood  to  gaze  upon  the  sun, 
With  eye  undazzled. 

Vii>.  Alas!  brave  Swinton !    Would'st  thou 

train  the  hunter 
That  scxm  must  bring  thee  to  the  bay  7    Your 

custom, 
Your   most    unchristian,   savage,   fiend-like 

custom, 
Binds  Gordon  to  avenge  his  father's  death. 

Swt.  Why,  be  it  so !  I  look  for  nothing  else : 
My  part  was  acted  when  1  slew  his  father, 
Avenamg    my   four    sons  —  Young    Gordon's 

sword. 
If  it  should   find  my  heart,  can  ne'er  inflict 

there 

A  pang  so  poignant  as  his  father's  did. 
But  1  would  perish  by  a  noble  hand. 
And  such  will  his  he  it  he  bear  him  nobly. 
Nobly  and  wisely  on  this  field  of  Halidon. 

Enter  a  Pursuivant. 

Pur.    Sir   Knishts,  to   council! — 'tis   the 

Regent's  order. 
That  knights  and  men  of  leading  meet  him 

instantly 

Before  t  he  royal  standard.     Edward's  army 
Is  seen  from  the  hill  summit. 
Su>i.  Sav  to  the  Regent,  we  obey  his  orders. 

lExit  Pur«mvaiit. 
[To  Reynald.]  Hold   thou   my   casque,  and 

furl  my  pennon  up 

Close  to  the  staff     I  will  not  show  my  crest, 
Nor  standard,  till  the  common  foe  shall  chal- 
lenge them. 

I'll  wake  no  civil  strife,  nor  tempt  the  Gordon 
With  aught  that 's  like  defiance. 

Vip.  Will  he  not  know  your  features? 

Sun    He   never  saw   me.      In    the  distant 

North, 
Against  his  will,  'tis  said,  his  friends  detain'd 

him 

During  his  nurture  — caring  not,  belike, 
To  trust  a  pledge  so  precious  near  the  Boar- 
tusks. 

It  was  a  natural  but  needless  caution : 
I  was:e  no  war  with  children,  for  1  think 
Too  deeply  on  my  own. 

Vip.  I  have  thought  on  it,  and  will  see  the 

Gordon 

As  we  go  hence  to  council.    I  do  bear 
A  cross,  which  binds   me   to  be  a  Christian 

priest. 
As  well   as  Christian  champion.      God   may 

grant. 

That  I.  at  once  his  father's  friend  and  yours, 
May  make  some  peace  betwixt  you. 
Swi.  When    that   your   priestly   zeal,  ant 

knightly  valour. 

Shall  force  Uie  grave  to  render  up  the  dead. 
[Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  H. 

Thf  summit  of  Hnliiion  Hill,  before  the  Rent's 
Tent.  The  Roi/nl  Standard  of  Sroltntul  is 
seen  in  thf  bachjrounil.  wtlh  the  Pmnnns  and 
Banners  of  the  principal  Nnb/rs  around  it. 

Council  of  Scottish  Nobles  and  Chiefs.  Suther- 
land. RONS.  Lennox,  Maxwell,  "nil  other 
Noblrs  of  the  hiuhest  rank.  nre.  clos'  to  the 
Regent's  person,  unit  in  th"  net  of  keen  dfhnle 
Vipont,  urilh  Gordon  and  others,  remain  vrmip'ri 
at  some  diflnnff  on  the  riqht-haml  of  the  Slave. 
On  the  left,  stnndinu  al.'O  npirl.  is  Swinton. 
alow  and  bare-headed.  The  Noblrs  are  dressed 
in  Highland  or  Lowland  hnbiis,  as  historical 
costume  requires.  Trumpets,  Heralds,  ifC., 
are  in  attendance. 

Lea.  Nay.  Lordings,  put  no  shame  upon  my 

counsels. 

[  did  hut  sav.  if  we  retired  a  little. 
We    should    have    fairer   field    and    better 

vantage 

I  've  seen  King  Robert  — ay.  The  Bruce  him- 
self— 
Retreat  six  leagues  in  length,  and  think  no 

sha  me  on  't. 
Rey.  Ay.  but  King  Edward  sent  a  haughty 

message. 

Defying  us  to  battle  on  this  field. 
This  very  hill  of  Halidon  :  if  we  leave  it 
Unfought,    withal,  it    squares    not    with  our 

honour. 
Sai.  (apart.)  A  perilous  honour,  that  allows 

the  enemy. 

And  such  an  enemv  as  this  same  Edward, 
To  choose  our  field  of  battle  !    He  knows  how 
To  make  our  Scottish  pride  betray  its  master 
Into  the  pitfall. 

[During  this  sjieecfi   the  debate  among  the 

Noblrs  i.t  continu'it. 
S«/A.  (alnwt.)  We  will  not  back  one  furlong 

—  not  one  yard, 

No,  nor  one  inch  :  where'er  we  find  the  foe. 
Or  where  the  foe  finds  us.  there  will  we  fight 

him. 

Retreat  will  dull  the  spirit  of  oar  followers, 
Who  now  stand  prompt  to  battle. 
Ross.  My  Lords,  methinks  great  Morarchat  1 

has  doubt!), 

That,  if  his  Northern  clans  once  turn  the  seam 
Of  their  check  M  hose  behind,  it  will  be  hard 
To  halt  and  rally  them. 

Suth.   Say'st    thou,    MacDonnell?  —  Add 

another  falsehood. 
And  name  when  Morarchat  was  coward   or 

traitor ! 

Thine  island  rare,  as  chronicles  can  tell. 
Were  oft  affianced  to  the  Southron  cause : 
Loving  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  gold. 
More   than  the  weight  and   temper  of  their 

steel. 

Reg.  Peace,  my  Lords,  ho! 
Ross  (throwinu  down  his  Glove).  MacDonnell 
will  not  peace  !    There  lies  my  pledge. 
Proud  Morarchat.  to  witness  thne  a  liar. 
Max  Brought   I   ail   Nithsdale   from   the 

Western  Border ; 

Left  I  my  towers  exposed  to  foraying  Eng- 
land. 
And  thieving  Annandale.  to  see  such  misrule  I 


1  Mormr<*hat«  ii   the  ancient  Gaelic  designal 
Earl»  of  Sutherland.     See  onM,  page  588,  *<X«. 


:ient  Gaelic  deiipnation  of   the 


614 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


John.  Who  speaks    of   Annandale?      Dare 

Maxwell  slander 

The  senile  Hu'ise  of  Lochwood  ?  1 
Reg.  Peace.  Lordings,  once  again.    We  re- 
present 

T!ie  Majesty  of  Scotland  —in  our  presence 
Brawlina  is  treason. 
Sulk.  Were  it  in  the  presence  of  the  King 

himself. 
What  should  prevent  my  saying 

Enter  Lindesay. 
Lin.  Yon  must  determine  quickly.    Scarce 

a  niile 
Parts  our  vanguard  from  Edward's.    On  the 

plain 
Brizht  eleams  of  armour  flash  through  clouds 

of  dust. 
Like  stars  through  frost-mist  —  steeds  neigh. 

and  weapons  clash  — 
And    arrows   soon  will   whistle  —  the  worst 

That  waits  on  English  war.  —  You  must  de- 
termine. 

Reg.  We   are  determined.    We  will  spare 
proud  Edward 

Half  of  the  ground   that  parts  us. — Onward, 
Lords: 

Saint  Andrew  strike  for  Scotland  !    We  will 
lead 

The  middle  ward  ourselves,  the  Royal  Stand- 
ard 

Display'd  beside  us  :  and  beneath  its  shadow 

Shall   the   young  gallants,  whom  we  knight. 
thisdny, 

Fight  for  their  golden  spurs.— Lennox,  thou'rt 
wise. 

And  wilt  obey  command— lead  thon  the  rear. 
Len.  The  rear? — why  I  the  rear?    The  van 
were  fitter 

For  him  who   fought   abreast  with  Robert 

Bruce. 

Sioi.  (apart.)  Discretion  hath  forsaken  Len- 
nox too ! 

The  wisdom  he  was  fortv  years  in  gathering 

Has  left  him  in  an  instant.     Tis  contagious 

Even  to  witness  frenzy. 
Suth.  The   Regent  "hath  determined  well. 
The  rear 

Suits  him  the  best  who  coimcill'd  our  retreat. 
Len.  Proud  Northern  Thane,  the  van  were 
soon  the  rear. 

Were  thv  disonler'd  followers  planted  there. 
Suth   Then,  for  that  very  word,  I  make  a 

Bv  my  broad  Earldom,  and  my  father's  soul, 
That,  if  I  have  not  leading  of  the  van, 
I  will  not  fi?ht  to-day! 
Rnss.  Morarchat !   thou  the  leading  of  the 

van ! 
Not  whilst  UfacDonnell  lives. 

Siri.  (apart.)  Nay.  then  a  stone  would  speak. 
[Adtirrssrs  the  Regent.]    May 't    please  your 

Grace. 
And  yoo.  great  Lords,  to  hear  an  old  man's 

counsel. 
That  hath  seen   fights  enow.     These   open 

bickerings 

Dishearten  all  oar  host.     If  that  your  Grace, 
With  these  great  Earls  and  Lords,  must  needs 

debate, 


Let  the   closed   tent   conceal  your  disagree- 
ment : 

Else  'twill  he  said,  ill  fares  it  with  the  flock. 

If  shepherds  wrinkle,  when  the  wolf  is  ni?h 
Reg.  The   old   Knight  counsels   well.    Let 
every  Lord 

Or  Chit-f.   who   leads   five   hundred    men   or 
more. 

Follow  to  council  —  others  are  excluded  — 

We'll  hnve  no  vulgar  censnrers  of  our  con- 
duct—  [Looking  at  Swinton 

Young  Gordon,  your  high  rank  and  numerous 
following 

Give  you  a   seat  with   us,  though  yet    nn- 

knighted. 

Gor.  I    pray  yon,  pardon  me.    My  youth's 
unfit 

To  sit  in  council,  when  that  Knight's  grey 
hairs 

And  wisdom  wait  without. 
Reg.  Do  as  you  will ;  we  deign  not  bid  you 

twice. 

[The  Regent.   Ross.  Sutherland,  Lennox. 
Maxwell,  4-c,  enter  the  Tent      The  rest 
remnin  armiftrii  abmit  the  Stage. 
Gor.  (obsfrving    Sim.)  That   helmetless   old 
Knieht.  his  giant  stature. 

His  awful  accents  of  rebuke  and  wisdom. 

Have   caught   my  fanny   strangely.    He  doth 
seem 

Like  to  some   vision'd    form  which  1  have 
dream'd  of. 

But  never  saw  with  waking  eyes  till  now. 

1  will  accost  him. 

Vip.  Pray  you,  do  not  so ; 

Anon  I'll  give  you  reason  why  you  should  not. 

There's  other  work  in  hand 

Gor.  I  will  hut  ask  his  name.    There's  in 
his  presence 

Something  that  works  upon  me  like  a  spell, 

Or  like  the  feeling  made  my  childish  ear 

Dote  upiwi  tales  of  superstitious  dread. 

Attracting  while  they  chill'd   my  heart  with 
fear. 

Now,  horn  the  Gordon,  I  do  feel  right  well 

I'm  bound  to  fear  nought  earthly  —  and  I  fear 
nought. 

I'll  know  who  this  man  is 

[Accosts  Swinton. 

Sir  Kniiht,!  pray  yon.  of  your  gentle  courtesy, 

To  tell  your  nonour'd  name.    I  am  ashamed, 

Hem?  unknown  to  arms,  to  say  that  mine 

Is  Adam  Gordon. 
Sitri.  (shows  ejnotion.  but  instantly  subdues  it.) 

It  is  a  name  that  soundeih  in  my  ear 

Like  to  a  death-knell — ay.  and  like  the  call 

Of  the  shrill  trumpet  to  the  mortal  lists ; 

Yet,  'tis  a  name  which  ne'er  hath  been  dis- 
honour'd. 

And  never  will,  I  trust — most  surely  never 

By  such  a  youth  as  thou. 
Gor.  There's  a  mysterious  courtesy  in  this, 

And  yet  it  yields  no  answer  to  my  question. 

I  trust  you  hold  the  Gordon  not  unworthy 

To  know  the  name  he  asks? 
Swi.    Worthy   of   all    that   openness   and 
honour 

May  show  to  friend  or  foe— hut.  for  my  name, 

Vipont  will  show  it  you  ;  and,  if  it  sound 

Harsh  in  your  ear,  remember  that  it  knells 
there 

But  at  your  own  request.    This  day,  at  least. 

Though  seldom  wont  to  keep  it  in  conceal- 
ment, 


HALIDON    HILL. 


615 


As  there's  no  cause  1  should,  you  had  not 
heard  it. 

Gar.  This  strange 

Vip.  The  mystery  is  needful      Follow  me. 

[  They  retire  behind  the  side  scene. 
Swi  (Innkini  after  them.)  Tis  a  brave  youth. 

How  biusii'd  his  noble  cheek, 
Wlnle  youthful  modesty,  and  the  embarrass- 
ment 

Of  curiosity,  combined  with  wonder. 
And  half  suspicion  of  some  sliaht  intended, 
All    minded    in  the   flush;    but   soon  'twill 

deepen 

Into  revenge's  glow.    How  slow  is  Vipont !  — 
[  wait  the  issue,  as  I've  seen  spectators 
Suspend  the  motion  even  of  the  eyelids. 
When    the    slow  gunner,  with    his    lighted 

nintch. 

Approach'd  the  charged  cannon,  in  the  act 
To  waken  its  dread  slumbers  — Now  'tis  out; 
He  draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  towards  me, 
Who  will  not  seek  nor  shun  him. 

Enter  Gordon,  withheld  by  Vipont. 

Vip.  Hold,  for  the  sake  of  Heaven!    O,  for 

the  sake 
Of  your  dear  country,   hold ! — Has  Swinton 

slam  yoar  father, 

And  must  you,  therefore,  be  yourself  a  parri- 
cide. 

And  stand  recorded  as  the  selfish  traitor, 
Who,  in  her  hour  of  need,  his  country's  cause 
Deserts,  that  he  may  wreak  a  private  wrongT 
Look  to  yon  banner  —  that  is  Scotland's  stan- 
dard; 

look  to  the  Regent— he  is  Scotland's  general; 
Look  to  the  English— they  are  Scotland's  foe- 

rnen! 

Bethink  tliee,  then,  thou  art  a  son  of  Scotland, 
And  think  on  nought  beside. 
Gar.  He  hath  come  here  to  brave  me ! — Off! 

unhand  me ! — 

Thou  canst  not  be  my  father's  ancient  friend. 
That  stand'st  'twixt  me  and  him  who  slew  my 

father. 
Vip   You  know  not  Swinton.    Scarce  one 

passing  thought 

Of  his  high  mind  was  with  you ;  now,  his  soul 
Is  fix  'J  on  this  day's  buttle.    You  might  slay 

At    unawares    before    he    saw   your   blade 

drawn  — 
Stand  still,  and  watch  him  close. 

Enter  Maxwell  from  the  tent. 

Sat.  How  go  our  councils,  Maxwell,  may  I 

ask? 
Max.  As  wild,  as  if  the  very  wind  and  sea 

With  every  breeze  and  billow  battled 

For  their  precedence. 

Sun.  Most  sure  they  are  possess'd !    Some 
evil  spirit. 

To  mock  their  Talonr.  robs  them  of  discretion. 

Fie.  tie  upon't ! — O  thai  Dunfermline's  tomb 

Could  render  up  The  Bruce  !  that  Spain's  red 
shore 

Could  K<ve  us  back  the  good  Lord  James  of 
Douglas! 

Or  that  fierce  Randolph,  with  his  voice  of 
terror, 

Were  here,  to  awe  these  brawlers  to  submis- 
sion! 


Vip.  to  Gor.  Thou  hast  perused  him  at  more 

leisure  now. 
Gor.  I  see  the  giant  form  which  all  men 

speak  of. 

The  stately  port — but  not  the  sullen  eye. 
Not  the  bloodthirsty  look,  that  should  belong 
To  him  that  made  me  orphan.    I  shall  need 
To  name  my  father  twice  ere  I  can  strike 
At  such   grey  hairs,  and   face  of  such  com- 
mand ; 

Yet  my  hand  clenches  on  my  falchion  hilt, 
In  token  he  shall  die. 

Vip.  Need   I   again  remind  you,  that  the 

place 

Permits  not  private  quarrel  f 
Gor.  I'm  calm.    I  will  not  seek— nay,  I  will 

shun  it — 
And  yet   methinks   that   snch  debate's  the 

fashion. 
You've  heard  how  taunts,  reproaches,  and  the 

lie. 
The   lie   itself,  have  flown  from  mouth  to 

mouth ; 

As  if  a  band  of  peasants  were  disputing 
About  a  foot-ball  match,  rather  than  Chiefs 
Were  ordering  a  battle.    I  am  young. 
And    lack    experience;    teli    me,    brave    De 

Vipont, 

Is  such  the  fashion  of  your  wars  in  Palestine  T 
Vip.  Such  it  at  times  hath  been  ;  and  then 

the  Cross 
Hath  sunk  before  the  Crescent.     Heaven's 

cause 
Won    us    not    victory   where    wisdom   was 

not. — 

Behold  yon  English  host  come  slowly  on. 
With  equal  front,  rank  marshall'd  upon  rank, 
As  if  one  spirit  ruled  one  moving  body  ; 
The  leaders,  in  their  places,  each  prepared 
To  charge,  support,  and  rally,  as  the  fortune 
Of  changeful  battle  needs  :  then  look  on  ours, 
Broken,  disjointed,  as  the  tumbling  surges 
Which  the  winds  wake  at  random.     Look  on 

both. 
And  dread  the  issue;   yet   there  might  be 

succour. 

Gor.  We're   fearfully  o'ermatch'd   in  dis- 
cipline ; 

So  even  my  inexperienced  eye  can  judge. 
What  succour  save  in  Heaven  ? 

Vip.  Heaven  acts  by  human  means.    The 

artist's  skill 

Supplies  in  war,  as  in  mechanic  crafts, 
Deficiency  of  tools.   There's  courage,  wisdom, 
And  skill  enough,  live  in  one  leader  here, 
As,  flung  into  the  balance,  might  avail 
To  counterpoise  the  odds  'twixt  that  ruled 

host 
And  our  wild  multitude.  —  I  must  not  name 

him. 
Gor.  I  guess,  but  dare  not  ask. — What  band 

is  yonder. 

Arranged  so  closely  as  the  English  discipline 
Hath  marshal  I'd  tlieir  best  files  ! 

Vip.  Know'st  thou  not  the  pennon  ? 
Oue   day,   perhaps,    ihou'lt   see   it   all    too 

closely; — 

It  is  Sir  Alan  Swinton's. 
Gor.  These,  then,  are  his,— the  relics  of  his 

power ; 

Yet  worth  an  host  of  ordinary  men. — 
And  I  must  slay  my  country's  sagest  lender, 
And  crush  by  numbers  that  determined  hand- 
ful. 


616 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  most  my  country  needs  their  practised 

aid, 
Or  men  will  say,  "  There  goes  degenerate 

Gordon : 

His  father's  blood  is  on  the  Swinton's  sword, 

\nd  his  is  in  his  scabbard  !  "  [Miurs 

Vip.  (ajiart.)  Hish  hlood  and  mettle,  mix'd 

with  early  wisdom. 

Sparkle  in  this  brave  youth.    If  he  survive 
This  evil-omen'd  day.  I  pawn  my  word, 
That  in  the  ruin  which  1  now  forbode. 
Scotland   lias  treasure   left. — How  close  he 

eyes  • 

Each  look  and  step  of  Swinton !    Is  it  hate, 
)r  is  it  admiration,  or  are  both 
Commingled  strangely  in  that  steady  gaze  ? 

[Swinton  and  Maxwell  return  from  the 

bottom  of  the  stage. 
Max.  The  storm  is  laid  at  length  amongst 

these  counsellors ; 
See,  they  come  forth. 

Swi   And  it  is  more  than  time . 
For  I  can  mark  the  vanguard  archery 
Handling   their   quivers  —  bending    up  their 

bows. 

Enter  the  Regent  and  Scottish  Lords. 

Reg.  Thus  shall  it  be,  then,  since  we  may 

no  better. 

And,  since  no  Lord  will  yield  one  jot  of  way 
To  this  high  urgency,  or  give  the  vanguard 
Up  to  another's  guidance,  we  will  abide  them 
Even  on   this  bent;   and  as  our  troops  are 

rank'd, 

So  shall  they  meet  the  foe.    Chief,  nor  Thane 
Nor  Noble,  can  complain  of  the  precedence 
Which  chance  has  thus  assisn'd  him. 

Sid.  (apart)  O.  sage  discipline. 
That  leaves  to  chance  the   marshalling  of  a 

batile! 

Gor.  Move  him  to  speech,  De  Vipont. 
Vip.  Move  him!— Move  whom? 
Gor.  Even    him,  whom,   but    brief  space 

since. 

My  hand  did  burn  to  put  to  utter  silence. 
'Vip.  I'll  move  it  to  him.— Swiuton,  speak  to 

them. 

They  lack  thy  counsel  sorely. 
Swi.  Had  I  the  thousand  spears  which  once 

lieu1, 

I  had  not  thus  been  silent.   But  men's  wisdom 
Is   rated   by  their   means.    From   the  poor 

leader 

Of  sixty  lances,  who  seeks  words  of  weight  ? 
Gor.  (steps  forward.)  Swinton,  there's  tha 

of  wisdom  ou  thy  brow, 
And  valour  in  thine  eye,  and  that  of  peril 
In  this  most  urgent  hour,  that  bids  me  say, — 
Bids  me.  thy  mortal  fue.  say. — Swinton,  speak 
For  King  and  Country's  sake ! 
Swi    Nay.    if    that    voice    commands    me 

speak  1  will; 

It  sounds  as  if  the  dead  lays  charge  on  me. 
-Key.   (To  Lennox,  with  whom  he  has  been 

consulting 
'Tis  better  than  you  think.    This  broad  hill 

side 

Affords  fair  compass  for  our  power's  display, 
Rank  above  rank  rising  in  seemly  tiers; 
So   that   the   rearward   stands   as  fair  am 

open 

Swi.  As-  e'er  stood  mark  before  an  Englisl 
arrher. 


Reg.  Who  dares  to  say  so?  — Who  is't  dare 

impeach 

Our  rule  of  discipline? 
Swi.  A  poor  Knight  of  these  Marches,  good  ! 

my  l.ord  ; 
Alan    of   Swinton,  who  hath   kepi  a  house    i 

hfre. 

He  and  his  ancestrv.  since  the  old  days 
Of  Malcolm,  called  the  Maiden. 
Reg    You  have  brought  here,  even  to  this 

pitched  field. 

In  which  the  Royal  Banner  is  displav'd, 
I    think    some    sixty    spears,   Sir  Knight  of 

Swinton; 
Our  musters  name  no  more. 

Swi.  1  brought  each  man  I  had  ;  and  Chief, 

or  Earl, 

Thane.  Duke,  or  dignitary,  brings  no  more  : 
And  wilh  them  brought  I  what  may  here  be 

useful — 

An  aged  eye;  which,  what  in  England,  Scot- 
land. 
Spain.  France,  and  Flanders,  hath  seen  fifty 

battles. 
And  ta'en  some  judgment  of  Ihem  ;   a  stark 

hand  too. 
Which  plays  as  with  a  straw  with  this  same 

mace,— 
Which  if  a  young  arm  here  can  wield  more 

lightly. 

I  never  mure  will  offer  word  of  counsel. 
Len.  Hear  him,  my   Lord;   it  is  the  noble 

Swinton — 
He  hath  had  high  experience. 

Max.  He  is  noted 

The  wisest  warrior    'twixt  the  Tweed   and 

Solway — 

I  do  beseech  you,  hear  him. 
John.  Ay,  hear  the  Swinton— hear  stout  old 

Sir  Alan; 
Maxwell  and  Jcihnsfone  both  agree  for  once. 

Reg.   Where's  your  impatience  now  ? 
l.ate  you  were  all  for  battle,  would  not  hear 
Ourself  pronounce  a  word— and  now  you  gaze 
On  yon  old  warrior,  in  his  antique  armour 
As  if  he  were  arisen  from  the  dead. 
To  bring  us  Bruce's  counsel  for  the  battle. 
Swi.  Tis  a  proud  word  to  speak;  but  he 

who  foueht 
Long  under   Robert  Bruce,  may  something 

euess. 

Without  communication  with  the  dead. 
At  what  he  would  have  counsell'd.  —  Brace 

had  hidden  ye 

Review  your  battle-order,  marshall'd  broadly 
Here  on  the  bare  hill-side,  and  bidden  you 

mark 

Yon  clouds  of  Southron  archers,  hearing  dow  n 
To  the  ereen  meadow-lands  which  stretch  be- 
neath— 

The  Bruce  had  wam'd  you,  not  a  shaft  to-day 
But  shall  find  mark  within  a  Scottish  bosom. 
If  thus  our  field  be  order'd.  The  callow  boys, 
Who  draw  but  four-foot  bows,  shall  gall  our 

front, 

While  on  our  mainward.  and  upon  the  rear. 
The  cloth-yard  shafts  shall  fall  like  death's 

own  darts. 
And,  though  blind  men  discharge  them,  find  a 

mark. 
Thus  shall  we  die  the  death  of  slaughter'd 

deer. 

Which,  driven  into  the  toils,  are  shot  at  ease 
By  boys  and  women,  while  they  toss  aloft 


HALIDON   HILL. 


617 


All  idly  and  in  vain  their  branchy  horns. 

As  we  shall  shake  our  unavailing  spears. 
Ken    Tush,  tell  not  me!    If  their  shot  fall 
like  hail. 

Oui-  men  have  Milan  coats  to  bear  it  out. 
Swi.  Never  did  armourer  teiiiper  steel  on 
stithy 

That  made  sure  fence  against  an  English  ar- 
row; 

A  cohweh  gossamer  were  guard  as  good 

Against  a  wasp-stnur. 
Reg.  Who  tears  a  wasp-sting  ? 
Swi  I,  my  Lord,  fear  none ; 

Yet  should  a  wise  man  brush  the  insect  off, 

Or  he  may  smart  for  it. 
Reg.  We'll  keep  the  hill ;  it  is  the  vantage- 
ground 

When  the  main  battle  joins. 
Stai.  It  ne'er  will  join,  while  their  light  ar- 
chery 

Can  foil  our  spearmen  and  our  barbed  horse. 

To  hope  Plantagenel  would  seek  close  combat 

When  he  can  conquer  nskless.  is  to  deem 

."agacious  Edward  simpler  than  a  babe 

In  battle-knowledge.    Keep  the  hill,  my  Lord, 

With  the  main  body,  if  it  is  your  pleasure; 

But  let  a  hody  of  your  chosen  horse 

Make  execution  on  yon  waspish  archers. 

I've  done  such  work  before,  and  love  it  well ; 

If  'tis  y»ur  pleasure  to  give  me  the  leading. 

The   dames   of   Sherwood,    Inglewood,    and 
Weardale. 

Shall  sit  in  widowhood  and  long  for  venison. 

And  long  in  vain.     Whoe'er  remembers  lian- 
nockburn. — 

And  when  shall  Scotsman,  till  the  last  loud 
trumpet. 

Forget  that  stirring  word !  —  knows  that  great 
battle 

Even  thus  was  fought  and  won. 
Len.  This  is  the  shortest  road    to   bandy 
blows ; 

For  when  the  bills  step  forth  and  bows  go 
back, 

Then  is  the  moment  that  our  hardy  spearmen. 

With  their  strong  bodies,  and  their  stubborn 
hearts. 

And  limbs  well  knit  by  mountain  exercise. 

At  the  close  tug  shall  foil  the  short-breath'd 

Southron. 
Sun.  I  do  not  say  the  field  will  thus  be  won  ; 

The  English  host  is  numerous,  brave,  and 
loyal; 

Their  Monarch  most  accomplish'd  in  war's 
art, 

Skill'd.  resolute,  and  wary 

Reg.  And  if  your  scheme  secure  not  victory, 

What  does  it  promise  us  1 
Swi.  This  much  at  least, — 

Darkling  we  shall  not  die:  the  peasant's  shaft, 

Loosen 'd  perchance  without  an  aim  or  pur- 
pose. 

Shall  not  drink  up  the  life-hlood  we  derive 

From  tho!-e  famed  ancestors,  who  made  their 
breasts 

This  frontier's  barrier  for  a  thousand  years. 

We'll  meet  these  Southron  bravely  hand  to 
hand, 

Ami  eye  to  eye.  and  weapon  against  weapon  ; 

Each  "man  who  falls  shall  see  the  foe  who 
strikes  him. 

While  our  good  blades  are  faithful  to  the  hilts, 

And  our  good  hands  to  these  good  blades  are 
faithful, 


Blow  shall   meet  blow,  and  none  fall  una- 
venged— 
We  shall  not  bleed  alone. 

Reg.  And  this  is  all 

Your  wisdom  halh  devised  ? 
Sui.  Not  all;  for  1  would  pray  you,  noble 

Lords, 

(If  one.  among  the  guilty  guiltiest,  might.) 
For  this  one  day  to  charm  to  ten  hours'  rest 
The  never-dying  worm  of  deadly  feud. 
That  gnaws  our  vexed  hearts  —  think  no  one 

foe 

Save  Edward  and  his  host:  — days  will  re- 
main. 

Ay,  days  by  far  too  many  will  remain, 
To  avenge  old  feuds  or  struggles  for  prece- 
dence ; — 

Let  this  one  day  be  Scotland's. — For  myself, 
If  there  is  any  here  may  claim  from  me 
(As  well   may  chance)  a  debt  of  blood  and 

hatred, 

My  life  is  his  to-morrow  unresisting, 
So  he  to-day  will  let  me  do  the  best 
That  my  old  arm  may  achieve  for  the  dear 

country 
That's  mother  to  us  both. 

[Gordon  shows  much  emotion  during  this 

and  the  pre cedimj  speech  o/Swinton. 
Reg.  It  is  a  dream— a  vision  !— if  one  troop 
Rush  down  upon  the  archers,  all  will  follow. 
And  order  is  destroy'd— we'll  keep  the  battle- 
rank 

Our  fathers  wont  to  do.    No  more  on't. — Ho ! 
Where  be  those  youths  seek  kmghlnood  from 

our  sword  ? 
Her.  Here  are  the  Gordon,  Somerville,  and 

Hay, 

And  Hepburn,  with  a  score  of  gallants  more. 
Reg.  Gordon,  stand  forth. 
Gor.  I  pray  your  Grace,  forgive  me. 

Reg.  How  !  seek  you  not  for  knighthood  ? 
Gor.  1  do  thirst  for't. 

But,  pardon  me — 'tis  from  another  sword. 
Reg.  It  is  your  Sovereign's  —  seek  you  for  a 

worthier? 
Gor.  Who  would  drink  purely,  seeks  the 

secret  fountain. 

How  small  soever — not  the  general  stream. 
Though  it  be  deep  and  wide.     My  Lord,  I 

•   seek 
The  boon  of  knighthood  from  the  honour'd 

weapon 

Of  the  l)est  knight,  and  of  the  sagest  leader, 
That  ever  graced  a  ring  of  chivalry. 
— Therefore,  I  beg  the  boon  on  bended  knee. 
Even  from  Sir  Alan  Swinton.  [Kneels. 

Reg.  Degenerate  boy  I    Abject  at  once  and 

insolent  !— 
See,  Lords,  he  kneels  to  him  that  slew  his 

father ! 
Gor.  (starting  tip.)    Shame  he  on  him,  who 

speaks  such  shameful  word  ! 
Shame  be  on  him,  whose  tongue  would  sow 

dissension. 
When  most  the  time  demands  that  native 

Scotsmen 

Forget  each  private  wrong ! 
Stai    (interrupting  him.)    Youth,  since  you 

crave  me 

To  be  your  sire  in  chivalry,  I  remind  you 
War  has  its  duties,  Office  has  its  reverence ; 
Who  governs  in  the  Sovereign's  name  is  Sove- 
reign ; — 
Crave  the  Lord  Regent's  pardon. 


62' 


618 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gor.  Yon  task  me  justly,  and  I  crave  his 
pardon,  lames  to  the  Regent. 

His  and  these  noble  Lords';  and  pray  them  all 
Bear  witness  tu  my  words.  —  Ye  noble  pre- 
sence. 

Here  I  remit  unto  the  Knight  of  Swinton 
All  bitter  memory  of  my  father's  slaughter. 
All  thoughts  of  malice,  hatred,  and  revenge ; 
By  no  h:ise  fear  or  composition  moved. 
But  by   the  thought,  that  in  our  country's 

battle 

All  hearls  should  be  as  one.    I  do  forgive  him 
As  freely  as  I  pray  to  be  forgiven, 
And  once  more  kneel  to  him  to  sue  for  knight- 
hood 

Swi.  (effected,  and  drawing  his  sword. ) 
Alas !  brave  youth,  'tis  1  should  kneel  to  you. 
And,  tendering  thee  the  hilt  of  the  fell  sword 
That  made  thee  fatherless,  bid  thee  use  the 

point 

After  thine  own  discretion.     For  thy  boon — 
Trumpets  be  ready — In  the  Holiest  name. 
And  in  Our  lady's  and  Saint  Andrew's  name, 
[  Touching  his  shoulder  with  his  sword. 
I  dub  thee  Knight !— Arise,  Sir  Adam  Gordon  ! 
Be  faithful,  brave,  and  O.  be  fortunate, 
Should  this  ill  hour  permit ! 

[The  trumpets  sound;  the  Heralds  cry 
"  Largesse."  and  the  Attendants  shout 
"A  Gordon!  A  Gordon!" 
Reg.  Beggars  and  flatterers !     Peace,  peace. 

We'll  to  the  Standard ;  knights  shall  there  be 
made 

Who  will  with  better  reason  crave  your  cla- 
mour. 
Len.  What  of  Swinton's  counsel? 

Here's   Maxwell  and   myself  think  it  worth 

noting. 
Reg.  (with  concentrated  indignation) 

Let  the  best  knight,  and  let  the  sagest  leader. — 

So  Gordon  quotes  the  man  who  slew  his  fa- 
ther.— 

With  his  old  pedigree  and  heavy  mace, 

Essay  the  adventure  if  it  pleases  linn. 

With  his  fair  threescore  horse.     As  for  our- 
selves. 

We  will  not  peril  aught  upon  the  measure. 
Gor.  Lord  Regent,  you  mistake ;  for  if  Sir 
Alan 

Shall  venture  such  attack,  each  man  who  calls 

The  Gordon  chief,  and  hopes  or  fears  from  him 

Or  good  or  evil,  follows  Swinton's  banner 

In  this  achievement. 

Beg.  Why,  God  ha'  mercy!    This  is  of  a 
piece. 

Let  young  and  old  e'en  follow  their  own  coun- 
sel. 

Since  none  will  list  to  mine. 
Ross.  'I  he  Border  cockerel  fain  would  be 
on  horseback  ; 

'Tis  safe  to  l«  prepared  for  fight  or  flight : 

And  this  comes  of  it  to  give  Northern  lands 

To  the  false  Nor  .nan  blood. 
Gor.  Hearken,  proud  Chief  of  Isles!    With- 
in my  stalls 

I  have  two  hundred  horse;  twohundred  riders 

Mount  guard  upon  my  castle,  who  would  tread 

Into  the  dust  a  thousand  of  your  Redshanks, 

Nor  count  it  a  day's  service. 
Sun.  Hear  I  this 

From  thee,  young  man,  and  on  the  day  of 
battle  ? 

And  to  the  brave  MacDonnell  ? 


Gor.  'Twas  he  that  urged  me  ;  but  I  am  re- 
buked. 
Reg.  He  crouches  like  a  leash-hound  to  his 

master! 
Swi.  Each  hound  most  do  so  that  would 

heat!  the  deer— 
Tis  mongrel  curs  that  snatch  at  mate  or 

mailer. 
Reg.  Too  much  of  this.    Sirs,  to  the  Royal 

Standard ! 

1  bid  you,  in  the  name  of  good  King  David. 
Sound  trumpets— sound  for  Scotland  and  King 
David  ! 

[  The  Regent  and  the  rest  go  off,  and  the 
Scene  closes.  Mant.nt  Gordon  Swin- 
ton. and  Vipont,  with  Keynald  and 
followers.  Lennox  follaua  the  Re- 
gent ;  but  returns,  and  addresses 
Swinton. 
Len.  0,  were  my  western  horsemen  but 

come  up, 
I  would  take  part  with  you ! 

Swi.  Better  that  yon  remain. 

They    lack    discretion;    such   grey  head    as 

yours 

May  best  supply  that  want. 
Lennox,  mine  ancient  friend,  and   honour'd 

lord. 

Farewell,  I  think,  for  ever! 
Len.  Farewell. brave  friend!— and  farewell, 

noble  Gordon, 

Whose  sun  will  he  eclipsed  even  as  it  rises ! — 
The  Regent  will  not  aid  you. 

Smi.  We  will  so  bear  us,  that  as  soon  the 

bloodhound 
Shall  halt,  and  take  no  part,  what  time  his 

comrade 

Is  grappling  with  the  deer,  as  he  stand  still, 
And  see  us  overmatch'd. 
Len.  Alas !  thou  dost  not  know  how  mean 

his  pride  is. 
How  strong  his  envy. 

Swi.  Then  we  will  die,  and  leave  the  shame 

with  him.  [Exit  Lennox. 

Vip.  (to  Gor)  What  ails  thee,  noble  youth? 

What  means  this  pause  ? 
Thou  dost  not  rue  thy  generosity? 

Gor.   I    have    been  hurried  on  by   strong 

impulse, 

Like  to  a  hark  that  scuds  before  the  storm, 
Till  driven  upon  some  strange  and  distant 

coast, 
Which  never  pilot  dream'd  of.  —  Have  I  not 

forgiven  ? 
And  am  1  not  still  fatherless? 

Sun.  Gordon,  no ; 

For  while  we  live  I  am  a  father  to  thee. 
Gor.  Thou,  bwinton?  —  no!  —  that  cannot, 

cannot  be. 
Swi.  Then  change  the  phrase,  and  say,  that 

while  we  live, 

Gordon  shall  be  my  son.    If  thou  art  father- 
less. 
Am    1    not   childless    too?      Bethink    thee. 

Gordon. 
Our  death-feud  was  not  like  the  household 

fire. 
Which  the   poor   peasant   hides   among  its 

embers. 

To  smoulder  on.  and  wait  a  time  for  waking. 
Ours  was  the  conflagration  of  the  forest, 
Which,  in  its  fury,  spares    nor   sprout    nor 

stem, 
Hoar  oak,  nor  sapling — not  to  be  extinguish 'd. 


HALIDON   HILL. 


619 


Till  Heaven,  in  mercy,  sends  down  all  her 

waters; 
But,  once  subdued,  its  flame  is  quench'd  for 

ever; 

And  spring  shall  hide  the  tract  of  devastation. 
With  foliage  and  with  fluwers.— Give  me  thy 

luad. 
Gor.  Mv  hand  and  heart ! — And  freely  now ! 

—to  tiaht ! 
Vip.  H  iw  will  you  act  ?  [To  Swiuton  ]  The 

Gordon's  uund  and  thine 
Are  in  tue  rearward  left,  I  think,  in  scorn — 
111  post  for  them  who  wish  to  charge  the  fore- 

must  ! 
Stei.  We'll  turn  that  scorn  to  vantage,  and 

descend 
Sidelong  ihe  hill  — some  winding  path  there 

must  b« — 
0,  for  a  well-skill'd  guide! 

[Hob  Hattely  starts  up  from  a  Thicket. 
Hob.  60  here  he  stands  — An  ancient fneud, 

Sir  Alan. 

Hob  Hattely.  or,  if  you  like  it  better. 
Hob  ot   the  Heron  Piume,  here  stands  your 

guide. 
Sim.  An  ancient  friend?— A  most  notorious 

knave. 
Whose  Uirout  I've  destined   to  the  dodder'd 

oak 

Before  my  castle,  these  ten  months  and  more. 
Was  a   n.it  you  who  drove   from   Simprim- 

mains. 

And  Swiiiton-Qiiarter.  sixty  head  of  cattle  ? 
Hob    What  then,  if  now  I  lead  your  sixty 

lances 
Upon  the   English   flank,  where  they'll   find 

spoil 
Is  worth  six  hundred  beeves  T 

Sim.   Why.  Hum  canst  do  it,  knave.   I  would 

not  trust  thee 
With  one  poor  bullock;    yet  would  risk  my 

life. 
And    all    my    followers,    on    thine    honest 

guidance. 
Hob.  There  is  a  dingle,  and  a  most  discreet 

one, 
(I  've  trod  each  step  by  starlight,)  that  sweeps 

round 

The  rearward  of  this  hill,  and  opens  secretly 
Upon  the  archers'  flank  —Will  not  that  serve 
Your  present  turn,  Mr  Alan  ? 
Sun.  Bravely,  bravely  ! 

Gor.  Mount,  sirs,  and  cry  my  slogan 
Let  all  who  love  the  Gordon  follow  me! 
Siei.    Ay.  let  all   follow  — hut   m   silence 

follow. 

Scare  not  the  hare  that's  couchaut  on  her 

form  — 
The  cushat    from   her  uest  — brush  not,  if 

possible. 

The  (lew-drop  from  the  spray — 
Let  no  one  wnisper.  until  1  cry,  "  Havoc  !" 
Tlien  sliiuit  as  loud's  ye  will.  —  On,  on,  brave 

Hob ; 
On,   thou   false  thief,  but  yet   most  faithful 

Scotsman!  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II.  — SCENE  I. 

A  rising  ground  immediately  in  front  of  the 

Position  of  the  English  Mam  Boiiy.    Percy. 

Chandos,  Ribaumont,  anil  other  English  and 

Norman  Nobles,  are  grouped  on  Hie  Stage. 


Per.  The  Scots  still  keep  the  hill  — the  sun 

grows  high. 

Would  that  the  charge  would  sound. 
Cha.  Thou  scent'st  the  slaughter,  Percy. — 

Who  comes  here  ? 

[Enter  the  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 
Now,  by  my  life,  the  holy  priest  of  WaJtham- 

MOW, 

Like  to  ;i  lamb  among  a  herd  of  wolves! 
See,  he's  about  to  bleat. 
At>.  The  King,  melhinks,  delays  the  onset 

Cha.  Your  general.  Father,  like  your  rat- 
catcher. 

Pauses  to  bait  his  traps,  and  set  his  snares. 
Ab.  The  metaphor  is  decent. 
Cha.  Reverend  sir, 

I  will  uphold  it  just     Our  good  King  Edward 
Will  presently  come  to  this  battle-field, 
And  S|>eak  to 'you  of  the  last  tilting  match. 
Or  of  some  frat  he  did  a  twenty  year-  since; 
But  not  a   word  of   the  day's   work  before 

him. 
Even  as  the  artist,  sir,  whose   name   offends 

you. 

Sits  prosing  o'er  his  can.  until  the  trap  fall, 
Announcing  that  the  vi-rmin  are  secured, 
And  then  'tis  up,  arid  on  them. 
I'er.  Chandos.  you  give  your  tongue  too  bold 

a  license 

Cha.  Percy.  I  am  a  necessary  evil. 
King  Edward  would  not  want  me.  if  he  could, 
And  could  not.  if  he  would.    I  know  my 

value. 

My  heavy  hand  excuses  my  light  tongue. 
So  men  wear  weishiy  swurds  in  their  defence, 
Although  they  may  offend  the  tender  shm, 
When  the  steel-bool  is  doffd. 

Ab.  My  Lord  of  Chandos, 

This  is  hut  idle  speech  on  brink  of  battle. 
When  Christian  men  should  think  upon  their 

sins; 

For  as  the  tree  falls,  so  the  trunk  must  lie. 
He  it  for  good  or  evil.  Lord,  bethink  thee. 
Thou  hast  withheld  from  our  most  reverend 

house. 

The  tithes  of  Everingham  and  Settle'on; 
Wilt  thou  make  satisfaction  to  the  Church 
Before  her  thunders  strike  thee  ?  1  do  warn 

thee 
In  most  paternal  sort. 

Cha.  I  thank  you.  father,  filially. 
Though  but  a  truant  son  of  Holy  Church, 
I  would  not  choose  to  undergo  her  censures. 
When    Scottish    blades    are   waving    at    my 

throat 

I'll  make  fair  composition. 
Ab.  N u  composition ;  I'll  have  all,  or  none. 
Cha.  None,  then  —  'us  soonest  spoke.     I'll 

take  my  chance, 

And  trust  my  sinful  soul  to  Heaven's  mercy, 
Kather  than  risk  my  woi  Idly  goods  with  thee — 
My  hciur  may  not  be  come. 
Ab.  Impious — impenitent — 
Per.  Hush!  the  King— the  King! 

Enter  King   Edward,  attended  by  Buliol  and 
others. 

King  (opart  to  Cha  )  Hark  hither,  Chandos ! 

'Have  the  Yorkshire  archers 
Yet  join'd  the  vanguard  ! 
Cha.  They  are  marching  thither. 


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SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


K.  Ed.  Bid  them  make  haste,  for  shame  — 

send  a  quick  rider. 
The  loitering  knaves  !   were  it  to  steal  my 

venison. 
Their  steps  were  light  enough.— How  now,  Sir 

Abbot ' 

Say,  is  your  i.everence  come  to  study  with  us 
The  princely  art  of  war  ? 
Ab.  I've   had   a  leciure   from  my  Lord  of 

Chandos, 

In  which  he  term'd  your  Grace  a  rat-catcher. 
K.  Ed.  Chanuos,  how's  Uns  ? 
Cha.  O,  I  will  prove  it,  sir !— These  skipping 

Scots 
Have  chansed  a  dozen  times  'twirt  Bruce  and 

Baliol. 

Quitting  each  House  as  it  began  to  totter; 
They're  fierce  and  cunning,  treacherous,  too, 

as  rats, 
And  we,  as  such,  will  smoke  them  in  their 

fastnesses. 
K.  Ed.  These  rats  have  seen  your  back,  my 

Lord  of  Chandos, 
And  noble  Perry's  too. 
far.  Ay ;    but    the    mass  which    now   lies 

welterin? 

On  yon  side  lull,  like  a  Leviathan 
That's  stranded  on  the  shallows,  then  had 

soul  in't. 

Order  and  discipline,  and  power  of  action. 
Now  'tis  a  headless  corpse,  which  only  shows 
By  wild  convulsions,  that  some  life  remains 

in't. 
K.  Ed.  True,  they  had  once  a  head ;  and 

'twas  a  wise, 
Although  a  rebel  head. 
Ab.  (lioieing  to  the  King.)  Would  he  were 
here !   we  should  And    one    to    match 
him. 
K.  Ed.    There's   something  in   that   wish 

which  wakes  an  t-cho 
Within  my  bosom     Yet  it  is  as  well. 
Or  better,  that  The  Bruce  is  in  his  grave. 
We  have  enough  of  powerful  foes  on  earth. — 
No  need  to  summon  them  from  other  worlds. 
Per.  Your  Grace  ne'er  met  The  Bruce  ? 
K.  Ed.  Never  himself;   but  in  my  earliest 

field, 

I  did  encounter  with  his  famous  captains, 
Douglas  and  Randolph.    Faith!  they  press'd 

me  hard. 
Ab.  My  Liege,  if  I  might  urge  you  with  a 

question, 

Will  the  Scots  fight  to-day  ? 
K.  Ed.  (sharply  )  Go  look  your  breviary. 
Cha.  (apart)  The   Abbot  has  it  — Edward 

will  not  answer 

On  that  nice   point.     We  must  observe   his 

humour —  [Addressn  the  King. 

Your  firs!  campaign,  my  Liege? — That  was  in 

Weardale, 
When  Douglas  gave  our  camp  yon  midnight 

ruffle. 

And  turu'd  men's  beds  to  biers  ? 
K.  Ed.  Ay,  by  Saint  Edward!  —  I  escaped 

right  nearly. 

I  was  a  soldier  then  for  holidays. 
And  slept  not  in  mine  armour :  my  safe  rest 
Was  startled  liy  the  cry  of  "  Douglas  !  Doug- 

And  by  my  couch,  a  grisly  chamberlain. 
Stood  Alan  Swmtou,  with  his  bloody  mace. 
It  was  a  churchman  saved  me  — my  stout 
chaplain, 


Heaven  quit  his  spirit !  caught  a  weapon  up,  • 
And   grappled   with   the    giant.  —  How   now, 
Louis? 

Enter  an  Offirer,  who  whispers  (he  King. 

K.  Ed.  Say  to  him— thus— and  thus 

[  Whispers. 
Ab.  That  Swinton's  dead.     A  monk  of  ours 

reported. 
Bound   homeward   from   St.    .Ninian's   pilgri- 

mnra. 

The  Lord  of  Gordon  slew  him. 
Per.  Father,  and  if  your  house  stood  on  our 

borders. 
You  might  have  cause  to  know  that  Swinton 

lives. 
And  is  on  horseback  yet. 

Cha.  He  slew  the  Gordon, 

That's  all  the  difference— a  very  trifle. 
Ab.  Trifling  to  those  who  wage  a  war  more 

noble 
Than  with  the  arm  of  flesh. 

Cha  (apart.)  The  Abbot's  vex'd,  I'll  rub  the 

sore  for  him. — 
(Aloud. )  \  have  seen  priests  that  used  the  arm 

of  flesh. 

And  used  it  sturdily.— Most  reverend  Father, 
What  say  you  to  the  chaplain's  deed  of  arms 
In  the  KmVs  tent  at  Weardale  ? 
Ab.  It  was   most  sinful,  being  against  the 

canon 

Prohibiting  all  churchmen  to  bear  weapons; 
And  as  he  fell  in  that  unseemly  guise, 
Perchance  his  soul  may  rue  it. 
K.  Ed.  (overhearing    the    last   words.)   Who 

may  rue  it  ? 

And  what  is  to  be  rued  ? 
Cha.  (opart.)  I'll  match   his  Reverence  for 

the  tithes  of  tveringham. 
—The  Abbot  says,  my  Liege,  the   deed  was 

sinful, 
By  which  your   chaplain,   wielding    secular 

weapons. 

Secured  your  Grace's  life  and  liberty. 
And  that  he  suflers  for 't  in  pursatory. 
K.  Ed.  (to  the  Abbot.)  Say'st  thou  my  chap- 
lain is  in  pureatory  ? 
Ab.  It    is    the  canon    speaks    it,  good   my 

Liege. 
K.  Ed  In  purgatory!  thou  shall  pray  him 

out  on't. 

Or  I  will  make  thee  wish  thyself  beside  him. 
Ab.  My  Lord,  perchance  his  soul  is  past  the 


My  Lon 
lid 


Of  all  the  Church  may  do  —  there  is  a  place 
From  which  there's  no  redemption. 
K.  Ed.  And  if  I  thought  my  faithful  chap- 
lain there, 
Thoa  shouldst  there  join  him,  priest !  —  Go, 

watch,  fast,  pray. 
And  let  me  have  such  prayers  as  will  slorm 

Heaven  — 
None  of  your  inaim'd  and  mutter'd  hunting 

masses. 
Ab.  (apart  to  Cha.)  For  God's  sake  take  him 

off. 

Cha.  Wilt  thou  compound,  then, 
The  tithes  of  Evt-nnshuiii  ? 
K.  Eil   I  tell  thee,  if  thou  bear'st  the  keys 

of  Heaven, 

Abbot,  tbou  shalt  not  turn  a  bolt  with  them 
'Gainst  any  well-deserving  English  subject. 
Ab.  (/oCha. )  We  will  compound,  and  grant 
thee,  too,  a  share 


HALIDON   HILL. 


621 


I'  Hie  next  indulgence.     Thou  dost  need   it 

inncli, 

And  greatly  'twill  avail  thee. 
C'/ia    Enough —  we're    friends,    and    when 
occasion  serves. 

I  will  sirike  in 

[Looks  as  if  towards  the  Scottish  Army. 
K.  E'l.  Answer,  proud  Abbot ;  is  my  chap- 
lain's soul. 
If  thou    knowest   aught   on 't,   in   the   evil 

place  ? 
Cha.  My  Liege,  the  Yorkshire  men  have 

gain'd  the  meadow. 

I  see  the  pennon  green  of  merry  Sherwood. 
K.  Ed.  Then  give  the  signal  instant!     We 

have  lost 

But  too  much  time  already. 
At>.  My  Liege,  your  holy  chaplain's  blessed 

soul  — 
K.  Eil.  To  hell  with  it  and  thee  !    Is  this  a 

time 
To  speak  of  monks  and  chaplains? 

[Fiouruh,  of  Trumpfls.  answered  by  a 

distant  sound  of  Buyles. 
See,  Chandos.  Percy— Ha,  Saint  George  !  Saint 

Edward! 

fee  it  descending  now.  the  fatal  hail-shower. 
The  storm  of  England's  wrath  —  sure,  swift, 

resistless. 
Which  no  mail-coat  can  hrook. — Brave  English 

hearts ! 

How  close  they  shoot  together!  —  as  one  eye 
Had   aun'd   five  thousand  shafts — as  if  one 

hand 
Hail  loosed  five  thousand  bow-strings ! 

Per.  The  thick  volley 

Darkens  the  air,  and  hides  the  sun  from  us. 
K.  Ed.  It  tails  on  those  shall  see  the  sun  no 

mure. 
The   winged,  the    resistless    plague    is  with 

them 

How  tneir  vex'd  host  is  reeling  toand  fro, 
Like  the   chafed  whale   with  fifty   lances  in 

him. 

They  do  not  see.  and  cannot  shun  the  wound. 
The  storm  is  viewless,  as  death's  sable  wing, 
Unerring  MS  his  scvthe. 
Per.  Horses   arid   riders   are   going  down 

together. 

'Tis  almost  pity  to  see  nohles  fall. 
And  by  a  peasant's  arrow. 

Bat.  I  could  weep  them, 

Although  they  are  my  rebels. 
Cha.   (aside    to    Her.)    His   conquerors,   he 

means,  who  cast,  him  out 
From  his  usurped  kingdom.— (Aloud.)  'Tis  the 

worst  of  it, 
That  knights  can  claim  small  honour  in  the 

field 

Which  archers  win.  unaided  by  our  lances. 
K.  Ed     The   battle  is  not  ended.     [Looks 

towards  the  field. 
Not  ended  ! — scarce  begun !    What  horse  are 

these. 

Rush  from  the  thicket  underneath  the  hill  ? 
Per.  They're  Hainaulters,  the  followers  of 

Queen  Isabel. 
K.    E<1.   (hastily)    Hainaulters!  — thou    art 

blind  —  wear  Hainaulters 
Saint  Andrew's  silver  cross? — or  would  they 
charge 


Full  on  our  archers,  and    make   havoc    of 

them  ?  — 

Bruce  is  alive  again  —  ho.  rescue !  rescue !  — 
Who  was'L  .-urvey'd  the  ground  ? 
Rioa    Most  royal  l.iege— 
K.  Ed.  A  rose  hath  fallen  from  thy  chap- 

let.i  Ribaumont. 
Riha.  I'll  win  it  back  or  lay  my  head  beside  it. 

1C.  Ed.    Saint    George !    Saint    Edward ! 

Gentlemen,  to  horse, 

And  to  the  rescue ! — Percy,  lead  the  bill-men  ; 
Chandos,  do  thou  bring  up  the  men-at-arms. — 
If  yonder  numerous  host  should  now  bear 

down 
Bold  as  their  vanguard,  (to  the  Abbot,)  thou 

mayst  pray  for  us. 
We  may  need  good  men's  prayers. —  To  the 

rescue. 
Lords,  to  the  rescue  !  ha,  Saint  George  !  Saint 

Edward !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  H. 

A  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle  Munxt  the  turn 
Main  Armirs.  Tumults  behind  the  scenes; 
alarums,  and  cries  of  "  Gordon,  a  Gordon," 
"Swinton,"  $c. 

Enter,  as  victorious  over  the  Enalish  vanguard, 
Vipont,  and  Reynald,  and  others. 

Vip.  Tis   sweet    to    hear  these  war-cries 

sound  together,— 
Gordon  and  Swinton. 
Key.  'Tis  passing  pleasant,  yet  'tis  strange 

withal. 
Faith,   when  at  first  I  heard    the   Gordon's 

slogan 

Sounded  so  near  me.  I  had  nigh  struck  down 
The  knave  who  cried  it. 

Enter  Swinton  and  Gordon. 

Sun.  Pitch  down  my  pennon  in  yon  holly 

bush. 
Gor.  Mine  in  the  thorn  beside  it;  let  them 

As  fought  this  mom  their  masters,  side  by 

side. 
Siai.  Let  the  men  rally,  and  restore  their 

ranks 

Here  in  this  vantage-ground— disorder'd  chase 
Leads  to  disorder'd  Sight ;  we  have  done  our 

part. 

And  if  we  're  succour'd  now,  Plantagenet 
Must  turn  his  bridle  southward  — 
Reynald,  spur  to  the  Regent  with  the  basnet 
Of  stout  De  Grey,  the  leader  of  their  vanguard ; 
Say,  that  in  battle  front  the  Gordon  slew  him, 
And  by  that  token  bid  him  semi  us  succour. 
Gor.  And  tell  him  that  when  Selby's  head- 
long charge 
Had  wellnigh  borne  me  down.  Sir  Alan  smote 

him. 

I  cannot  send  his  helmet,  never  nutshell 
Went  to  so  many  shivers. — Harkye.  grooms! 

F  Tn  those  behind  the  scenes. 
Why  do  you  let  my  noble  steed  stand  stiffening 
After  so  hot  a  course  ? 

En;li»h  body  of  cavalry  to  pass  his  flanks  on  the  day  pre- 
ceding the  battle  of  Bannockburn. 


622 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Sun.  Ay,  breathe  your  horses,  they  Ml  have 

work  anon. 

For  Edwml's  rnen-at-arms  will  he  on  us, 
The  flmver  of  Ensland.  Gascony  and  Flanders ; 
But  with  swift  succour  we   will  bide  them 

bravely  — 
De  Vipont.  thon  look'st  sad  ? 

ftp.  It  is  hfCiiuse  I  hold  a  Templar's  sword 
Wet  to  the  crossed  hilt  with  Christian  blood. 
SUK'.  The  blood  of  English,  archers  —  what 

nan  gild 

A  Scottish  blade  more  hrovelv  T 
Vip.  Even  therefore  grieve  I  for  those  gallant 

yeomen, 

England's  peculiar  and  appropriate  sons. 
Known  in  no  other  land.    Each  boasts  his 

hearth 

And  field  us  free  as  the  best  lord  his  barony, 
Owing  subjection  to  no  human  vassalage. 
Save  to  their  Kin?  and  law.    Hence  are  they 

resol nte, 

[.eadins  the  van  on  everv  day  of  battle. 
As  men  who  know  the  blessings  they  defend. 
Hence  are  thev  frank  and  generous  in  peace. 
As  men  who  have  their  portion  in  its  plenty 
No  olher  kingdom  shows  such   worth   and 

happiness 
Veil'd  in  such  low  estate  — therefore  I  mourn 

them. 
Sun.   I'll  keep  my  sorrow  for  our  native 

Scots. 

Who,  spite  of  hardship,  poverty,  oppression. 
Still    follow   to    the    field   their   Chieftain's 

banner. 
And  die  in  the  defence  on't. 

Gor.  And  if  I  live  and  see  my  halls  again. 
They  shall  have  portion  in  the  good  they  fight 

Each  hardy  follower  shall  have  his  field, 
His  household  hearth  and  sod-built  home,  as 

free 

As  ever  s<,nthron  had.   They  shall  be  happy  !— 
And  my  Elizabeth  shall  smile  to  see  it!  — 
I  have  betray'd  myself. 

Su>i.  Do  not  believe  it.— 

Viponf.  do  thon  look  out  from  yonder  height. 
And  see  what,  motion  in  the  Scottish  host. 
And  in  Km?  Edward's.—  [fizi't  Vipont. 

Now  will  I  counsel  thee ; 
The  Templar's  ear  is  for  no  tale  of  love. 
Being  wedded  to  his  Order.     But  I  tell  thee. 
The   brave  young  knight  that  hath  no  lady- 
love 

Is  like  a  lamp  unlighted  ;  his  brave  deeds. 
And  its  rich  painting,  do  seem  then  most 

glorious. 

When  the  nure  ray  gleams  through  them. — 
Hath  thv  Elizabeth  no  olher  name  ' 
Gor.  Must  I  then  speak  of  her  to  you.  Sir 

Alan? 
The  thought  of  thee,  and  of  thy  matchless 

sireiisth. 
Hath  conjured    phantoms    up    amongst    her 

dreams. 

The  name  of  Swinton  hath  been  spell  suffi- 
cient 

To  chnse  the  rich  blood  from  her  lovely  cheek, 
Ami  woiildst  thou  now  know  hers? 

Sipi.  1  would,  nay  must. 

Thy  father  in  the  paths  of  chivalry. 
Should  know  the  load-star  thon  dost  rule  thy 
course  by. 

Gor.  Nay,  tlien,  her  name  is— hark 

[  Whispers. 


Siai.  I  know  it  well,  that  ancient  northern 

house. 

Gor   ().  thou  shall  see  its  fairest  grace  and 
honour 

In  my  Elizabeth.    And  if  music  touch  thee 

Swi    It  did,  before  disasters   had   untuned 

me 

Gor.  O.  her  notes 

Shall  hush  each  sncl  remembrance  to  oblivion, 
Or  melt  them  to  siitih  gentleness  of  feeling, 
That  grief  shall  have   its  sweetness.     Who, 

but  she, 

Knows  the  wild  harpings  of  our  native  land  ? 
Whether  they  lull  the  shepherd  nn  his  hill. 
Or  wake  the  knight  to  battle ;  rouse  to  merri- 
ment, 
Or  soothe   to   sadness ;   she  can   touch  each 

mood. 
Princes  and  statesmen,  chiefs  renown'd  in 

arms. 
And  grey-hair'd  hards,  contend  which   shall 

the  first 

And  choicest  homage  render  to  the  enchant- 
ress. 

Sioi.  You  speak  her  talent  bravely. 
Gor.  Though  you  smile, 

I  do  not  speak  it  half.     Her  gift  creative. 
New  measures  adds  to  every  air  she  wakes ; 
Varying  and  gracing  it  with  liquid  sweetness, 
Like  the  wild  modulation  of  the  lark  ; 
Now  leaving,  now  returning  to  the  strain! 
To  listen  to  her.  is  to  seeni  to  wander 
In  some  enchanted  labyrinth  of  romance, 
Whence  nothing  but  the  lovely  fairy's  will. 
Who  wove  the  spell,  can  extricate  the  wan- 
derer. 
Methinks  I  hear  her  now  !— 

Sun.  Bless'd  privilege 

Of  youth !    There's  scarce  three   minutes  to 

decide 

Twixt  death  and  life,  'twixt  triumph  and  de- 
feat. 

Vet  all  his  thoughts  are  in  his  lady's  bower, 
Ust'ning  her  harping  ! — 

f£n/<-r  Vjpont. 

Where  are  thine.  De  Viponf  ? 
Vip   On  death— on  judgment — on  eternity  ! 
For  time  is  over  with  us 
Stei.  There  moves  not,  then,  one  pennon  to 

our  aid. 
Of  all  that  flutter  yonder ! 

Vip.  From   the   main    English    host    come 

rushing  forward 

Pennons  enow— ay,  and  their  Royal  Standard . 
But  ours  stand  rooted,  as  for  crows  to  roost  on. 
Sun',  (to  lumsrlf.)  I'll  rescue  him  at  least.— 
Younz  Uird  of  Gordon. 

Spur  to  the  Regent — show  the  instant  need 

Gor.  I  penetrate  thv  nurpose:  but  I  go  not. 
Swi    Not  at  my  bidding  ?    I,  thy  sire  in  chi- 
valry— 

Thv  leader  in  the  battle  ? — I  command  thee. 
Gor    No.  thou  wilt  not  command  me  seek 

my  safety. — 

For  such  is  thy  kind  meaning — at  the  expense 
Of  the  last  hope  which   Heaven  reserves  fur 

Scotland. 

While  I  abide,  no  follower  of  mine 
Will  turn  his  rein  for  life  :  but  were  I  zone. 
What  power  can  stay  them?  and,  our  band 

dispersed. 
What  swords  shall  for  an  instant  stem  yon 

host, 
And  save  the  latest  chance  for  victory  ? 


HALIDON   HILL. 


623 


Vip.  The   noble  youth  speaks  truth;  and 

were  he  gone. 

There  will  not  twenty  spears  be  left  with  us. 
Gor.  No,   bravely  as  we  have  begun  the 

field. 

So  let  us  fight  it  out     The  Regent's  eyes, 
More  certain  than  a  thousand  messages, 
Shall  see  us  stand,  the  barrier  of  his  host 
Against  yon  bursting  storm.     If  not  for  ho- 
nour. 

If  not  for  warlike  rule,  for  shame  at  least 
He  must  bear  down  to  aid  us. 

Swi.  Must  it  be  so? 

And  am  1  forced  to  yield  the  sad  consent, 
Uevutins  thy  young  life  7   O.  Gordon,  Gordon ! 
I  do  it  as  the  patriarch  doom'd  his  issue  : 
1  at  my  country's,  he  at  Heaven's  command ; 
But  I  seek  vainly  some  atoning  sacrifice. 
Rather  than  such  a  victim!  —  (Trumpets.)  — 

Hark,  they  come ! 

That  music  sounds  not  like  thy  lady's  lute. 
Gor.  Yet  shall  my  lady's  name  mix  with  it 

gailv. — 
Mount,  vassals,  couch  your  lances,  and  cry, 

"  Gordon ! 
Gordon  for  Scotland  and  Elizabeth  !" 

[Exeunt.    Loud  Alarums. 


SCENE  III. 

Another  fart  of  the  Field  of  Battle,  adjacent  to 
the  former  Scene. 

Alarums.    Enter  Swinton,  followed  by 
Hob  Hattely. 

Sun.  Stand  to  it  yet !  The  man  who  flies  to- 
day. 
May  bastards  warm   them  at   his   household 

hearth  ! 
Hob    That   ne'er  shall  be   my  curse.     My 

Magdalen 
Is  trusty  as  my  broadsword. 

Swi.  Ha,  thou  knave, 

Art  tnou  dismounted  toot 

Hob.  I  know,  Sir  Alan, 

You  want  no  homeward  guide  ;  so  threw  my 

reins 

Upon  my  palfrey's  neck,  and  let  him  loose. 
W  ithin  an  hour  he  stands  before  my  gate ; 
And  Magdalen  will  need  no  other  token 
To  bid  the  Melrose  Monks  say  masses  for  me. 
Swi.  Thou  art  resolved  to  cheat  the  halter, 

then  ? 

Hob.  It  is  my  purpose, 

Having  lived  a  thief,  to  die  a  brave  man's 

death ; 

And  never  had  I  a  more  glorious  chance  for't. 
Sun.  Here  lies  the  way  to  it,  knave.— Make 

in.  make  in, 
And  aid  young  Gordon  ! 

[Extunt.     Loud  and  long  Alarums     After 
which  the  back   Scene  rises,  and  dis- 
covers Swinton  on  the  ground,  Gordon 
supporting  him ;  both  much  wmmded. 
Swi.  All  are  cut  down  — the  reapers  have 

pass'd  o'er  us. 

And  hie  to  distant  harvest.— My  toil's  over ; 
There  lies  my  sickle.     [Dropping  las  sword.] 

Hund  of  mine  again 
Shall  never,  never  wield  it ! 

Gor.  O  valiant   leader,  is  thy  light   extin- 
guish'd! 


That  only  beacon-flame  which  promised  safely 
In  this  (lav's  deadly  wrack  ! 
Swi.   My  lamp   haih   long  been  dim !    But 

thine,  young  Gordon, 
Just  kindled,  to  be  quench 'd  so  suddenly, 

Ere  Scotland  saw  its  splendour! 

Gor    Five  thousand  horse  hung  idly  on  yon 

hill. 
Saw  us  o'erpower'd,  and  no  one  stirr'd  to  aid 

us! 

Swi.  It  was  the  Regent's  envy.— Out !— alas ! 
Why  blame  1  him  ! — It  was  our  civil  discord. 
Our  selfish  vanity,  our  jealous  haired. 
Which  framed  this  day  of  dole  for  our  poor 

country. — 

Had  thy  brave  father  held  yon  leading  staff, 
As  well    his    rank    and   valour  might  have 

claim'd  it. 
We  had  not  fall'n  unaided  —How,  O  how 

Is  he  to  answer  it.  whose  deed  prevented 

Gor.  Alas!  alas!  the  author  of  ihe  death- 
feud. 

He  has  his  reckoning  too  !  for  had  your  sons 
And  numerous  vassals  lived,  we  had  lack'd  no 

aid 
Su'i    May  God  assoil  the  dead,  and  him  who 

follows ! 
We've  drank  the  poison'd  beverage  which  we 

brew'd : 
Have  sown  the  wind,  and  reap'd  the  tenfold 

whirlwind ! — 
But  thou,  brave  youth,  whose  nobleness  of 

heart 

Pour'd   oil   upon  the  wounds   our    hate  in- 
flicted ; 
Thou,  who  hast  done  no  wrong,  need'st  no 

lorgivem-ss,— 

Why  should'st  thou  share  our  punishment! 
Gor.  All  need  forgiveness—  [distant  alarum.] 

Hark,  in  yonder  shout 

Did  the  main  battles  counter! 
Swi.  LOOK   on   the  field,  brave  Gordon,  if 

thou  canst. 
And  tell  me  how  the  day  goes.— But  I  guess, 

Too  surely  do  I  guess 

Gor.  All's  lost!   all's  lost!  — Of  the  main 

Scottish  host. 

Some  wildly  fly,  and  some  rush  wildly  for- 
ward ; 
And  some  there  are  who  seem  to  turn  their 

spears 

Against  their  countrymen. 
Swi.  Rashness,  and  cowardice,  and  secret 

treason, 

Combine  to  ruin  us ;  and  our  hot  valour. 
Devoid  of  discipline,  is  madmen's  strength, 
More  fatal  unto  friends  than  enemies  ! 
I'm  glad  that  these  dim  eyes  shall  see  no  more 

on't  — 
Let  thy  hands  close   them,  Gordon  —  I  will 

dream 

My  fair-hair'd  William  renders  me  that  office  ! 

[Dies. 

Gor.  And,  Swinton,  1  will  think  I  do  that 

duty 
To  my  dead  father. 

Enter  De  Vipont. 
Vip.  Fly,  fly.  brave  youth !  —  A  handful  of 

thy  followers, 

The  scalter'd  gleaning  of  this  desperate  day, 
Still  hover  yonder  to  essay  thy  rescue. — 
O  linger  not!— I'll  be  your  guide  to  them. 


624 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gor.  Look  there,  and  bid  me  fly  !— The  oak 
has  fall'n ; 

And  the  young  ivy  bush,  which  leam'd  to 
climb 

By  its  support,  must  needs  partake  its  fall. 
Vip.  Swmton?    Alas!  the  best,  the  bravest, 
strongest. 

And  sagest  of  our  Scottish  chivalry ! 

Forgive  one  moment,  if,  to  save  the  living, 

My  tongue  should  wrong  the  dead.  —  Gordon, 
bethink  thee, 

Thou  dost  but  stay  to  perish  with  the  corpse 

Of  him  who  slew  thy  father. 

Gor.  Ay,  but  he  was  my  sire  in  chivalry. 

He  taught  my  youth  to  soar  above  the  prompt- 
ings 

Of  mean  and  selfish  vengeance ;   gave  my 
youth 

A  name  that  shall  not  die  even  on  this  death- 
spot. 

Records  shall  tell  this  field  had  not  been  lost. 

Had  all  men  fought  like  Swinton  and  like 
Gordon.  [Trumpets. 

Save  thee.  De  Vipont.  —  Hark  !  the  Southron 

trumpets. 
Vip.  Nay,  without  thee  I  stir  not. 

Enter  Edward,  Chandos,  Percy,  Baliol.  <J«. 

Gor.  Ay,  they  come  on  —  The  Tyrant  and 

the  Traitor, 

Workman  and  tool.  Plantagenet  and  Baliol.— 
O  for  a  moment's  strength  in  this  poor  arm, 
To  do  one  glorious  deed  ! 

[He  rushes  on  the  English,  but  is  made 

prisoner  with  Vipont. 
K.  Ed.    Disarm    them  —  harm    them    not ; 

though  it  was  they 

Jfade  havoc  on  the  archers  of  our  vanguard. 

They  and  that  bulky  champion.    Where  is  he  ? 

Chan.  Here  lies  the  giant !    Say  his  name, 

young  Knight? 
Gor.    Let  it  suffice,  he  was  a   man  this 

morning  ' 
Cha.  I  qiiestion'd  thee  in  sport.    I  do  not 

need 

Thy  information,  youth.   Who  that  has  fought 
Through  all   these  Scottish  wars,  but  knows 

his  rrest. 

The  sable  boar  chain'd  to  the  leafy  oak. 
And  thai  huge  mace  still  seen  where  war  was 
wildest! 


K.  Ed.  'Tis  Alan  Swinton  ! 
Grim  chamberlain,  who  in  my  tent  at  Wear- 
dale, 
Stood  by  my  startled  couch  with  torch  and 

mace. 
When  the  Black  Douglas'  war-cry  waked  mv 

camp. 
Gor.    (sinking  doom.)  If  thus  thou  know'st 

him, 

Thou  wilt  respect  his  corpse. 
K.  Ed.  As  belted  Knight  and  crowned  King, 

I  will. 

Gor.  And  let  mine 

Sleep  at  his  side,  iu  token  that  our  death 
Ended  the  feud  of  Swinton  and  of  Gordon. 
K.  Ed.  It  is  the  Gordon !  —  Is  there  aught 

beside 

Edward  can  do  to  honour  bravery 
Even  in  an  enemy? 

Gor.  Nothing  but  this : 
Let  not  base  Baliol,  with  his  touch  or  look, 
Profane  my  corpse  or  Swinton's.     1  've  some 

breath  still, 

Enough  to  say— Scotland— Elizabeth  !     [Dies. 
Cha.  Baliol,  I  would  not  brook  such  dying 

looks, 

To  buy  the  crown  you  aim  at. 
K.  Ed.  (to  Vip.)  Vipont.thy  crossed  shield 

shows  ill  in  warfare 
Against  a  Christian  king 

Vip.  That  Christian  King  is  warring  upon 

Scotland. 

I  was  a  Scotsman  ere  I  was  a  Templar,^ 
Sworn  to  my  counlrv  ere  I  knew  my  Order. 
K.  Ed   1  will  but' know  thee  as  a  Christian 

champion, 
And  set  thee  free  unransom'd. 

Enter  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 

Ab.  Heaven  grant  your  Majesty 
Many  such  glorious  Jays  as  this  hath  been  ! 
K.  Ed.   It  is  a  day  of  much  and  high  ad- 
vantage ; 

Glorious  it  might  have  been,  had  all  our  foes 
Fought   like   these   two  brave  champions.  — 

Strike  the  drums, 

Sound  trumpets,  and  pursue  the  fugitives. 
Till  the  Tweed's  eddies  whelm  them.     Ber- 
wick's render'd — 

These   wars,  I  trust,  will  soon  find   lasting 
close. 


1  In  hi.  narrative  of  eventu  on  the  day  afler  the  batlle 
of  Shcriffmuir,  Sir  Walter  Scott  says,  ••  Amongst  the  gen- 
tries, alike  eminent  for  birth  and  character.  The  body  of 
Held,  watched  by  >  faithful  old  domestic,  who.  being  asked 


much  care,  made  this  striking  reply,  4  He 
yeaterday.'  "—Tata  of  a  Grmtdfaliar. 


testified 
gltt  against  those  of  the  Pope, 
•ther  of  the  Church,  addressed 


MACDUFF'S    CROSS. 


625 


INTRODUCTION. 

These  few  scenes  had  the  honour  to  be 
included  in  a  Miscellany,  published  in  the 
year  182).  by  Mrs  Joanna  Baillie.  and  are 
here  reprinted,  to  unite  them  with  the  trifles 
of  the  same  kind  which  owe  their  birth  to  the 
author.  The  singular  history  of  the  Cross 
and  Law  of  Clan  Mac.Duff  is  given,  at  length 
enough  to  satisfy  the  keenest  antiquary,  in 
The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.  It  is 
here  only  necessary  to  state,  that  the  Cross 
was  a  place  of  refuge  to  any  person  related  to 
MacDuff,  within  the  ninth  degree,  who,  having 
committed  homicide  in  sudden  quarrel,  should 
reach  this  place,  prove  his  descent  from  the 
Thane  of  Fife,  and  pay  a  certain  penalty. 

The  shaft  of  the  Cross  was  destroyed  at  the 
Reformation.  The  huge  block  of  stone  which 
served  for  its  pedestal  is  still  in  existence  near 
the  town  of  Newhurgh,  on  a  kind  of  pass 
which  commands  the  county  of  Fife  to  the 
southward,  and  to  the  north,  the  windings  of 
the  magnificent  Tay  and  fertile  country  of 
Angus-slure.  The  Cross  bore  an  inscription, 
which  is  transmitted  to  us  in  an  unintelligible 
form  by  Sir  Robert  Sibbald. 

Abbotsford,  January  1830. 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


TO 

MRS.  JOANNA  BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS  OF 

THE  PLATS  ON  THE  PASSIONS." 


PRELUDE. 
Nay,  smile  not,  lady,  when  I  speak  of  witch- 

craft, 
And  say,  that  there  still  lurks  amongst  our 

glens 
Some  touch  of  strange  enchantment.  —  Mark 

that  fragment, 
I   mean   that  rough-hewn  block  of  massive 

•tone, 

Placed  on  the  summit  of  this  mountain-pass, 
Commanding  prospect   wide    o'er  field    and 

fell. 

And  peopled  village  and  extended  moorland, 
And  the  wide  ocean  and  majestic  Tay, 
To    the    far   distant    Grampians.  —  Do   not 

deem  it 

A  loosen'd  portion  of  the  neighbouring  ror.k, 
Detach'd  by  storm  and  thunder,—  'twas  the 


On  which,  in   ancient    times,  a  Cross  was 

rear'd. 

Carved  o'er  with  words  which  foil'd  philolo- 
gists : 

And  the  events  it  did  commemorate 
Were  dark,  remote,  and  (indistinguishable. 
As  were  the  mystic  characters  it  bore. 
But,  mark,— a  wizard,  born  on  Avon's  bank, 
Tuned   but   his   harp  to   this   wild  northern 

theme. 
And,  lo!  the  scene  is  hallow'd.    JNone  shall 

pass, 

Now,  or  in  after  days,  beside  that  stone. 
But  he  shall  have  strange  visions ;  thoughts 

and  words, 
That  shake,  or  rouse,  or  thrill  the  human 

heart, 

Shall  rush  upon  his  memory  when  he  hears 
The  spirit-stirring  name  of  this  rude  sym- 
bol ;  —  * 

Oblivious  ages,  at  that  simple  spell, 
Shall  render  back  their  terrors  with  their 

woes, 
Alas!  and  with  their  crimes  — and  the  proud 

phantom 

Shall  move  with  step  familiar  to  his  eye. 
And  accents  which,  once  heard,  the  ear  forgets 

not, 
Though  ne'er  again  to  list  them.    Siddons, 

thine, 

Thou  matchless  Siddons !  thrill  upon  our  ear ; 
And  on  our  eye  thy  lofty  Brother's  form 
Kises  as  Scotland's  monarch. — But,  to  thee, 
Joanna,  why  to  thee  s|>eak  of  such  visions? 
Thine  own  wild  wand  can  raise  them. 

Yet  since  thou  wilt  an  idle  tale  of  mine. 
Take  one  which  scarcely  is  of  worth  enough 
To  give  or  lo  withhold.— Our  time  creeps  on, 
Fancy  grows  colder  as  the  silvery  hair 
Tells  the  advancing  winter  of  our  life. 
But  if  it  be  of  worth  enough  to  please. 
That  worth  it  owes  to  her  who  set  the  task; 
If  otherwise,  the  fault  rests  with  the  author. 


Ctoss. 

SCENE  I. 

The  summit  of  a  Rocky  Pass  near  to  Newburgh, 
about  two  miles  from  the  ancient  Abbey  of  Lin- 
dares,  in  Fife.  In  the  centre  is  Mac  Duff's 
Cross,  an  antique  Monument;  and,  at  a  small 
distance,  on  one  side,  a  Chapel,  with  a  Lamp 
burning. 

Enter,  as  having  ascended  the  Pass,  Ninian  and 
VValdhave,  Monks  of  Lindores.  Ninian 
crosses  himself,  and  seems  to  recite  his  devo- 
tions. Waldhiive  stands  gazing  on  the  pros- 
pect, as  if  in  deep  contemplation 
Nia  Here  stands  the  Cross,  good  brother, 

consecrated 

By  the  bold  Thane  unto  his  patron  saint 
Magridius,  once  a  brother  of  our  house. 


626 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Canst  thou  not  spare  an  ave  or  a  creeil  1 
Or  hath  the  steep  ascent  exhausted  yon  T 
You  trocle  it  stoutly,  though  't  was  rough  and 

toilsome. 

Wai.  I  have  trode  a  rougher. 
Nin.  On  the  Highland  hills  — 

Scarcely  within  onr  sea-girt  province  here, 
Unless  upon  the  Lomond*  or  Benn;ir'y. 
Wai.  1  spoke  not  of  the  literal  path,  good 

father, 

But  of  the  road  of  life  which  I  have  travell'd, 
Ere  I  assumed  this  habit;  it  was  bounded. 
Hedged  in,  and  limited  by  earthly  prospects. 
As    ours    beneath   was    closed   by  dell    and 

thicket. 

Here  we  see  wide  and  far,  and  the  brr.ad  sky, 
With  wide  horizon,  opens  full  around. 
While     earthly    objects   dwindle.      Brother 

Ninian, 

Fain  would  I  hope  that  mental  elevation 
Could  raise  me  equally  o'er  worldly  thoughts, 
And  place  me  nearer  heaven. 

Nin.  Tis  good  morality.— But  yet  forget  not. 
That  though  we  look  on  heaven  ironi  this  high 

eminence, 

Yet  doth  the  Prince  of  all  the  airy  spare, 
Arch  foe  of  man.  possess  the  realms  between. 
Wai.  Most  true,  good   hrothtr;   and    men 

may  be  fariber 
From  the   bright  heaven   they  aim  at,  even 

because 
They  deem  themselves  secure  on 't. 

Nin.  (after  a  pause  )  You  do  gaze  — 

Strangers  are  wont  to  do  so— on  the  prospect. 
Yon  is  the  Tay,  roll'd  down  from  Highland 

hills. 

That  rests  his  waves,  after  so  rude  a  race, 
In  the  fair  plains  of  Cowrie  — further  west- 
ward. 

Proud  Sterling  rises— yonder  to  the  east, 
Dundee,  the  gift  of  God.  and  fair  Montrose, 
And   still    more   northward    lie  the  ancient 

Wai  'of  Edzell. 

Nin.  How?  know  you  the  towers  of  Edzell? 

Wai.  I've  heard  of  them. 

Nin.  Then  you  have  heard  a  tale. 

Which  when  he  tells,  the  peasant  shakes  his 

head. 
And  shuns  the  mouldering  and  deserted  walls. 

Wat.  Why,  and  by  whom,  deserted  ? 

Nin.                                         Long  the  tale  — 
Enough  to  say  that  the  last  Lord  of  Etrzell. 
Bold  Louis  Lindesay,  had  a  wife,  and  found 

Wai.  Enough  is  s-aid,  indeed— since  a  weak 

Ay,  and  a  tempting  fiend,  lost  Paradise, 
When  man  was  innocent. 

Nin.  They  fell  at  strife, 

Men   say,    on    slight    occasion ;     that   fierce 

Lindesay 
Did  bend   his   sword   against  De   Berkeley's 

breast. 

And  that  the  lady  threw  herself  between; 
That    then   De  Berkeley  dealt    the   Baron's 

death-wound. 

Enough,  that  from  that  time  De  Berkeley  bore 
A  spear  in  foreign  wars.     But,  it  is  said. 
He   hath    returu'd    of   late  ;    aud,  therefore, 

brother. 

The  Prior  hath  ordain'd  our  vigil  here, 
To  watch  the  privilege  of  the  sanctuary, 
Anil  rights  of  Clan  MacDutf. 

Wai.  What  rights  are  these  ? 


Kin.  Must  true!  you  are  but  newly  come  ! 

from  Rome, 

And  do  not  know  onr  ancient  usages. 
Know  then,  when  fell  Mucbeth  beneath  the 

arm 

Of  the  predestined  knight,  unborn  of  woman. 
Three  boons  the  victor  ask 'd,  and  thrice  did 

Malcolm, 

Stooping  the  sceptre  by  the  Thane  restored. 
Assent  to  his  request.  And  hence  the  rnle. 
The  first  when  Scotland's  King  assumes  the 

crown. 

MacDufFs  descendant  rings  his  brow  wit  h  it : 
And  hence,  when  Scotland's  King  calls  forth 

his  host, 

MacDnflPs  descendant  leads  the  van  in  battle : 
And  last,  in  guerdon  of  the  crown  restored, 
Red  with  the  blood  of  the  usurping  tyrant, 
The  right  was  granted  in  succeeding  time, 
That  if  a  kinsman  of  the  Thane  of  Fife 
Commit  a  slaughter  on  a  sudden  impulse, 
And  fly  for  refuge  to  this  Cross  MacDuff. 
For  the  Thane's  sake  he  shall  find  sanctuary ; 
For  here  must  the  avenger's  step  be  staid, 
And  here  the  panting  homicide  find  safety. 
Wai.  And    here  a  brother  of   your   order 

watches. 

To  see  the  custom  of  the  place  observed  ? 
Nin.  Even  so; — such  is  our  convent's  holy 

right. 
Since    Saint    Magridius  —  blessed    be    his 

memory!  — 

Did  by  a  vision  warn  the  Abbot  Eadmir. — 
And  chief  we  watch,  when  there  is  bickering 
Among  the   neighbouring  nobles,  now  most 

likely 

From  this  return  of  Berkeley  from  abroad, 
Having  the  Lmdesay's  blood  upon  his  hand. 
Wai.  The  Lindesay,  then,  was  loved  among 

his  friends  ? 
Nin.  Honour'd  and  fear'd  he  was— but  little 

loved ; 

For  even  his  bounty  bore  a  show  of  sternness  : 
And  when  his  passions  waked,  he  was  a 

Sathan 
Of  wrath  and  injury. 

Wai.  How  now.  Sir  Priest!  (.fiercely.)—  For- 
give  me   (recollecting  himself.}  —  1   was 

dreaming 

Of  an  old  baron,  who  did  bear  about  him 
Some  touch  of  your  Lord  Reynold. 

Nin.  Lmdesay's  name,  my  brother. 
Indeed  was  Reynold;  —  and  methmks,  more- 
over. 
That,  as  yon  spoke  even  now,  he  would  have 

spoken. 

I  brought  him  a  petition  from  our  convent : 
He  granted  straight,  but  in  such  tone  aud 

manner, 

By  my  good  saint !  I  thought  myself  scarce  safe 
I  Till  Tay  roll'd  broad  bet.weeii  us  I  musi  now 
i  Unto  the  chapel  —  meanwhile  the  watch  is 

thine; 

I  And,  at  thy  word,  the  hurrying  fugitive, 
Sliouid  such  arrive,  must  here  find  sanctuary; 
1  And,  at  thy  word,  the  fiery-paced  avenger 
Must  stop  his  bloody  course  —  e'en  a-s  swolu 

Jordan 
Controll'd  his  waves,  soon  as  they  touch'd  the 

feet 

Of  those  who  bore  the  ark. 
I      Wai.  Is  this  my  charge  ? 

I     Nin.  Even  so ;  and  I  am  near,  siiouid  chance 

require  me. 


MACDUFF'S   CROSS. 


627 


At  midnight  I  relieve  you  on  your  watch 
Wlien  we  may  taste  togeiher  some   refresh- 
ment: 

I  have  nareii  for  it ;  and  for  a  flask  of  wine  — 
There  is  no  sin,  so  thai  we  drink  it  not 
Until  the   midnight   hour,  when  lauds  have 

toll'd. 

Farewell  a  while,  and  peaceful  watch  be  with 
you  !  {.Exit  towards  the  Chapel. 

Wai.  It  is  not  with  me,  and  alas !  alas ! 
1  know  not  where   to  seek  it.    Tins  monk's 

mi  nil 
Is  witli  Ins  cloister  match'd,  nor  lacks  more 

room 

Its  petty  duties,  formal  ritual. 
Its  humble  pleasures  and  its  paltry  troubles. 
Fill   up    his    round  of  life ;    even    as    some 

reptiles. 

They  say,  are  moulded  to  the  very  shape. 
And  all  the  angles  of  the  rocky  crevice, 
in  which  they  live  and  die.    B'ut  for  myself, 
Retired  m  passion  to  the  narrow  cell, 
Couching  mv  tired  limbs  in  its  recesses, 
.-o  ill-adapted  am  I  to  its  limits, 

That  every  attitude  is  agony. • 

How  uow!  what  bungs  him  back? 

Re-enter  Ninian. 
Nin.  Look    to   your    watch,   my    brother; 

horsemen  come  : 
I   heard    their  tread  when   kneeling  in   the 

chapel. 
Wai    (looking  to  a  distance.)  My  thoughts 

have  rapt  me  more  than  thy  devotion. 
Else  had  I  heard  the  tread  of  distant  horses 
Farther  than  thou  couidsl  hear  the  sacring 

hell : 
But  now   in  truth   they  come: — flight    and 

pursuit 

Are  sights  I  've  been  long  strange  to. 
Nin.  See  how  they  gallop  down  the  opposing 

hill! 
Yon  grey  steed  bounding  down  the  headlong 

path. 

As  on  the  level  meadow ;  while  the  black, 
Urged  by  the  rider  with  his  naked  sword. 
Stoops  on  his  prey,  as  I  have  seen  the  falcon 
Dashing  upon  the  heron. — Thou  dost  frown 
And    clench    thy   hand    as    if   it   grasp'd    a 

weapon  ? 
Wai.  'Tis  but  for  shame  to  see  a  man   fly 

thus 

While  only  one  pursues  him.  Coward,  turn ! — 
Turn  :  ii'-:-.  1  say  !  thou  art  as  stout  as  he. 
And  well  may'st  match  thy  single  sword  with 

his  — 
Shame,  that  a  man  should  rein  a  steed  like 

thee, 

Yet  fear  to  turn  his  front  against  a  foe  !— 
I  am  ashamed  lo  look  on  them. 

Km.  Yet  look  again ;  they  quit  their  horses 

now, 

Unfit  for  the  rough  path:  the  fugitive 
Keeps    the    advantage    still. — They    strain 

towards  us. 
Wai.  I  'II   not   believe  that  ever  the  bold 

Thane 

Rear'd  up  his  Cross  to  be  a  sanctuary 
To  the   base  coward,  who  shunn'd  an  equal 

coinlmt. — 
How's  this  ?— that  look — that  mien — mine  eyes 

grow  dizzy !  — 
Nin.  He  conies  !  —  thou  art  a  novice  on  this 

watch, — 


Brother,  I'll  take  the  word  and  speak  to  him. 
Pluck  down  thy  cowl;  know, that  we  spintual 

cnampions 

Have  honour  to  maintain,  and  must  not  seem 
To  quail  before  the  laity. 

[Waldehave  lets  down  his  cowl,  and 
steps  bach. 

Enter  Maurice  Berkeley. 
A'in.  Who  art  thou,   stranger T  speak  thy 

name  and  purpose. 

Her.  1  claim  the  privilege  of  Clan  Mar-duff. 
My  name  is  Maurice  Berkeley,  and  my  lineage 
Allies  me  nearly  with  the  Thane  of  Fife. 
Nin   Give   us  to  know  the  cause  of  sanc- 
tuary 1 

E<~r.  Let  him  show  it, 

Against  whose  violence  I  claim  the  privilege. 

Enter  Lindesay,  vrith  his  sieord  drawn.      Be 
rushes  at  Berkeley  ;  Niman  interposes 

Nin.  Peace,  in  the  name  of  Saint  Magridius  ! 
Peace,  in  our  Prior's  name,  and  in  the  name 
Of  that  dear  symbol,  which  did  purchase  peace 
And  good-will  towards  man !  1  do  command 

thee 
To  sheath  thy  sword,  and  stir  no  contest  here. 

Lin  One  charm  I'll  try  first, 
To  lure  the  craven  from  the  enchanted  circle 
Which  he  hath  harbour'd  in.— Hear  you,  De 

Berkeley, 

This  is  my  brother's  sword— the  hand  it  arms 
Is  weapon'd  lo  avenge  a  brother's  death:  — 
If  thou  hast  heart  to  step  a  furlong  off. 
And  change  three  blows,— even  for  so  short  a 

space 

As  these  good  men  may  say  an  ave-marie, — 
So.  Heaven  he  good  to  me'!  I  will  forgive  thee 
Thy  deed  and  all  its  consequences. 
Ber.  Were  not  my  ngiit  hand   fetter'd  by 

the  thought 

That  slaying  thee  were  but  a  double  eruilt 
In  which  to  steep  my  soul,  no  bridegroom 

ever 

Stepp'd  forth  to  trip  a  measure  with  his  bride 
More  joyfully  than  1,  young  man,  would  rush 
To  meet  thy  challenge 

Lin.   He  quails,  and  shuns  to  look  upon  my 

weapon. 
Yet  boasts  himself  a  Berkeley! 

Ber.  Lindesay,  and  if  there  were  no  deeper 

cause 

For  shunning  thee  than  terror  of  thy  weapon, 
That  rock-hewn  Cross  as  soon  should  start 

and  stir. 

Because  a  shepherd-boy  blew  horn  beneath  it, 
As  I  for  brag  of  thine 
Nin.  I  charge  you  both,  and  in  the  name  of 

Heaven, 

Breathe  no  defiance  on  this  sacred  spot. 
Where  Christian  men  must  bear  them  peace- 
fully. 

On  pain  of  the  Church  thunders.    Calmly  tell 
Your  cause  of  difference;  and,  Lord  Lindesay, 

thou 

Be  first  10  speak  them. 
Lin.  Ask  the  blue  welkin— ask  the  silver 

Tay, 
The  northern  Grampians— all  things  know  my 

But  ask  not' me  to  tell  them,  while  the  villain, 
Who  wrought  them,  stands  and  listens  with  a 
smile. 


628 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Nin.  It  is  said — 

Since  you  refer  us  thus  to  general  fame — 
That   Berkeley  slew  Ihy   hrother.  the   Lord 

1-OII!S, 

In  his  own  halls  at  Edzell 

Lin.  Ay,  in  his  halls — 

In  his  own  halls,  good  father,  that's  the  word. 
In  his  own  halls  lie  slew  him,  while  the  wine 
Pass'd  on  the  board  between!  The  gallant 

Thane. 

Who  wreak'd  Macbeth's  inhospitable  murder, 
Kear'd  not  you  Cross  to  sanction  deeds  like 

these. 
Ber.  Thou  say'st  I  came  a  guest !  —  I  came 

a  victim. 

A  destined  victim,  train'd  on  to  the  doom 
His  frantic  jealousy  prepared  for  me. 
He  fix'd  a  quarrel  on  me,  and  we  fought. 
Can  1  forget  the  form  that  came  between  us, 
And   perish'd   by  his  sword  ?    Twas  then  I 

fought 

For  vengeance, — until  then  I  guarded  life. 
But  then  I  sought  to  take  it.  and  prevail'd. 
Lin.  Wretch  !  tliou  didst  first  dishonour  to 

thy  victim. 
And  then  didst  slay  him ! 

Ber.  There  is  a  busy  fiend  tugs  at  my  heart, 
But  1  will  struggle  with  it  '—Youthful  knight, 
My  heait  is  sick  of  war,  my  hand  of  slaugh- 
ter; 

I  come  not  to  my  lordships,  or  my  land. 
But  just  to  seek  a  spot  in  some  cold  cloister. 
Which  I  may  kneel  on  living,  and,  when  dead, 
Which  may  suffice  to  cover  me. 
Forgive  me  that  I  caused  your  brother's  death  ; 
And  I  forgive  thee  the  injurious  terms 
With  which  thou  taxest  me. 
Lin.  Take  worse  and  blacker.  —  Murderer, 

adulterer! — 
Art  thou  not  moved  yet  7 

Ber.  Do  not  press  me  further. 

The   hunted  stag,  even  when   he  seeks  the 

thicket, 

Compell'd  to  stand  at  bay.  grows  dangerous! 
Most  true  Ihy  brother  perish 'd  by  my  hand, 
And  if  you  term  it  murder— 1  must  bear  it. 
Thus  far  my  patience  can  :  but  if  thou  brand 
The  purity  of  yonder  inartyr'il  saint, 
Whom  then  my  sword  but  poorly  did  avenge, 
With  one  injurious  word,  come  to  the  valley. 
And  I  will  show  thee  how  it  shall  he  answer'd ! 
fiin.  This  heal.  Lord  Berkeley,  doth  but  ill 

accord 

With  thy  late  pious  patience. 
Ber.  Father,  forgive,  and  let  me  stand  ex- 
cused 
To  Heaven  and  thee,  if  patience  brooks  no 

more. 

I  loved  this  lady  fondly— truly  loved— 
Loved  her,  and  was  beloved,  ere  yel  her  father 
Conferr'd  her  on  another.     While  she  lived. 
Each  thought  of  her  was  to  my  soul  as  hal- 
low'U 


As  those  I  send  to  Heaven  ;  and  on  her  erave. 
Her  bloody,  early  grave,  while  this  poor  hand 
Can  hold  a  sword,  shall  no  one  cast  a  scorn. 
Lin.  Follow  me.    Thou  shall  hear  me  call 

the  adulteress 
By  her  right  name.  —  I'm  glad  there's  yet  a 

spur 

Can  rouse  thy  sluggish  mettle. 
Ber.  Make  then   obeisance  to  the  blessed 

Cross, 
For  it  shall  be  on  earth  thy  last  devotion. 

[  Then  are  going  off. 

I      Wai.  (rushing  forward.)  Madmen,  stand  ! — 
i  Stay  but  one  second  —  answer  but  one  ques- 
tion.— 
There,   Maurice   Berkeley,  can'st  thou   look 

upon 
That  blessed  sign,  and  swear  thou'st  spoken 

truth' 

|     Ber.  I  swear  by  Heaven, 
I  And  by  the  memory  of  that  murder'd  inno- 
cent. 

Each  seeming  charge  against  her  was  as  false 
As  our  bless'd  Lady's  spotless.     Hear,  each 

saint ! 

Hear  me,  thou  holy  rood  !  hear  me  from  hea- 
ven. 
Thou  martyr'd  excellence  !  —  Hear  me  from 

penal  fire, 
(For  sure  not  yet  thy  guilt  is  expiated  !) 

Stern  ghost  of  her  destroyer ! 

Wai.  (throws  back  his  coicl.)  He  hears!  he 
hears !  Thy  spell  hath  raised  the  dead  ! 
Lin.   My  brother !  and  alive  !— 
Wai.  A'live,  —  but  yet,  my  Richard,  dead  to 

thee. 

No  tie  of  kindred  binds  me  to  the  world ; 
All  were  renounced,  when,  with  reviving  life, 
Came  the  desire  to  seek  the  sacred  cloister. 
Alas,  in  vain !  for  to  that  last  retreat. 
Like  to  a  pack  of  bloodhounds  in  full  chase, 
Mv  passion  and  my  wrongs  have  foilow'd  me. 
Wrath  and  remorse — and.  to  fill  up  the  cry, 
Thou  hast  brought  vengeance  hither. 

Lm.  I  but  sought 

To  do  the  act  and  duty  of  a  hrother. 

Wai.  I  ceased   to  be  so  when  1  left  the 

world ; 

But  if  he  ran  forgive  as  I  forgive, 
God  sends  me  here  a  hrother  in  mine  enemy, 
To  pray  for  me  and  with  me.     If  tiiou  canst, 
De  Berkeley,  eive  thine  hand.— 

Ber.  (gives  his  hand. )  It  is  Ihe  will 

Of  Heaven,  made  manifest  in  thy  preserva- 
tion. 

To  inhibit  farther  bloodshed ;  for  De  Berke- 
ley, 

The  votary  Maurice  lays  the  title  down. 
Gri  to  his  halls.  Lord  Richard,  where  a  maiden, 
Kin  to  his  blood,  and  daughter  in  affection. 
Heirs  Ins  broad  lands ;— If  thou  canst  love  her, 

Lindesay, 
Woo  her,  and  be  successful. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL.                  629 

$jjt  Snout  nf  Dmrgnil. 

PREFACE. 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

The  first  of  these  dramatic  pieces  was  long 
since  written,  for  the  purpose  of  obliging  the 

)swald  of  Devorgoil,  a  decayed  Scottish  Baron. 
.eonard,  a  Rnnqcr. 

bite  Mr  Terrv.  then  Manager  of  the  Adelphi 

Jurward,  a  Palmer. 

Theatre,  for  whom  the  Author  had  a  particu- 

.ancelot Blackthorn,  a  Companion  of  Leonard, 

lar  regard.    The  manner  in  which  the  mimic 

in  love  wi/h  Katleen. 

goblins  of  Devorgoil  are  intermixed  with  the 

jiillcraminer.  a  conceited  Student. 

supernatural  machinery,  was  found  to  be  ob- 
jectionable, and    the   production   had   other 

Owlspiesle  and  >.  Waiters,  represented  by  Black- 
Cockledemov.    \          thorn  aid  Katleen. 

faults,  which  rendered  it  unfit  for  representa- 

Spirit of  Lord  Erick  of  Devorgoil. 

tion.'     I  have  called  the  piece  a  Melo-drarna. 

Peasants,  Shepherds,  and    Vassals  of  inferior 

for  want  of  a  better  name  ;  hut,  as  I  learn  from 

rank. 

the  unquestionable  authority  of  Mr  Oilman's 

Kandmn  Records,  that  one  species  of  thedrama 

Eleanor.  Wife  of  Oswald,  descended  of  obscure 

is  termed  an  extravaganza,  1  am  sorry  1  was 

Parfntage. 

not  sooner  aware  of  a  more  appropriate  name 

F"lora.  Daughter  of  Oswald. 

than  that  which  I  had  selected  for  Devorgoil. 

Katleen,  Niece  of  Eleanor. 

The  Author's  Publishers  thought  it  desira- 

ble, that  the  scenes,  long  condemned  to  obli- 

vion, should  be  united  to  similar  attempts  of 



the  same  kind;  and  as  he  felt  indifferent  on 

the  subject,  thev  are  printed  in  the  same  vo- 
lume with  Halidon  Hill  and  MacDuflf's  Cross. 

2T{je  Doom  of  IDeborjjotl. 

and  thrown  off  in  a  separate  form,  for  the 

convenience  of  those  who  possess  former  edi- 

ACT I—  SCENE  I. 

tions  of  the  Author's  Poetical  Works. 

The  general  storv  of  the  Doom  of  Devorgoil 

The  Scene  represents  a  wild  and  hilly,  but  not  a 

is  founded  on  an  'old  Scottish  tradition,  the 

mountainous  Country,  in  a.  frontier  District  of 

scene  of  which  lies  in  Galloway.    The  crime 

Scotland.     The  flat  Scene  exhibits  the  Castle 

supposed  to  have  occasioned  the  misfortunes 
of  this  devoted  house,  is  similar  to  that  of  a 

of  Dtvorooil,  decayed,    and   partly    ruinous, 
situated  upon  a  Lake,  and  connected  with  the 

Lord  Hernes  of  Hoddarn  Castle,  who  is  the 

Land   by  a   Drawbridge,  which   is   lowered. 

principal  personage  of  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe's  interesting  ballad,  in  the  Minstrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Bolder,  vol.  iv  .  p.  307.     In  re- 

Time— Sunset. 
Flora   enters  from    the   Castle,    looks   timidly 

morse   for   his  crime,  be  built  the  singular 

around,  then  comes  forward  and  speaks. 

monument  called  the  Tower  of  Kepentance. 

In  manv  cases  the  Scottish  superstitions  allude 
to  the  t'aines,  or  those  who,  for  sins  of  a  milder 

He  is  not  here—  those  pleasures  are  not  onrs 
Which  placid  evening  brings  to  all  things  else. 

description,  are  permitted  to  wander  with  the 

2                    ' 

by  Dr.  Leyden.    They  imitate  human   labour 
mid  human  amusements,  hut  their  toil  is  use- 
less, and  without  any  advantageous   result; 
and  their  gaiety  is  unsubstantial  and  hollow. 
The  phantom  of  Lord  Enck  is  supposed  to  be 
a  spectre  of  ttiis  character 

SONG, 

The  snn  upon  the  lake  is  low, 
'['he  wild  birds  hush  their  song, 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow, 
Yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

The  story  of  the  Ghostly  Barber  is  told  in 
manv  countries:  but  the  best  narrative  found- 
ed oh  the  passage,  is  the  tale  called  Stumme 

From  home  and  love  divide, 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair 
Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

1  iebe,  among  the  legends  of  M  usap.us.     1  think 
it  has  been  introduced  upon  the  English  stage 
in  some  pantomime,  which  was  one  objection 
to  bringing  it  upon  the  scene  a  second  time. 
Abbotsford,  April.  1830 

The  noble  dame,  on  turret  high, 
VN  ho  waits  her  gallant  knight. 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy 
The  flash  of  armour  bright. 

1  Mr.  Daniel  Terry,  the  comedian,  dillinguiahed  for  a 

l^S^^i^^^f^^^^ 

eenerallv  shared  by  memo,  rs  of  his  profession,  waa,  during 

^ece^ary^hetras.rt'n'at^he  o'riginal'.Ta'n'ia.  .houM  * 

mat"  "ear",  on  terms  of  intimacy  willi  Sir  Waller  Scolt 

retaiued  here. 

He  died  -n<\  Jane  11-39. 

630 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  blow,  | 

The  level  ray  to  shaile. 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Culm's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row. 

By  day  they  swam  apart. 
And  to  the  thicket,  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark.  at  liis  partner's  side. 

Twitters  his  closing  song — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide. 

But  Leonard  tarries  long. 

[Katleen  has  come  out  of  the  Caslle 
while  Flora  was  sinning,  and  speaks 
when  the  Son/i  is  ended. 

Kat.  Ah.    my    dear    coz !  —  if    that    your 

mother's  niece 
May    so    presume    to    call    your    father's 

daughter- 
All  these  fond  things  have  got  some  home  of 

comfort 
To   tempt    their   rovers    back  —  the    lady's 

bower. 
The   shepherdess's   hut,    the   wild   swan's 

couch 

Among  the  rushes,  even  the  lark's  low  nest, 
Has  that  of  promise  which    lures  home  a 

lover. — 

But  we  have  nought  of  this. 
Flo   How  call  you,  then,  this  castle  of  my 

sire. 
The  towers  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  Dungeons  for   men.   and   palaces   for 

owls; 
Yet  no  wise  owl  would  change  a  farmer's 

barn 

For  yonder  hungry  hall— our  latest  mouse. 
Our  last  of  mice,  I  tell  you,  has  been  found 
Starved  in  the  pantry;  and  the  reverend 

spider, 

Sole  living  tenant  of  the  Baron's  halls. 
Who,  tram'd   to  abstinence,  lived    a  whole 

summer 

Upon  a  single  fly.  he's  famish'd  too; 
The  cat  is  in  the  kitchen-chimney  seated 
I'pon  our  last  of  fagots,  destined  soon 
To  dress  our  last  of  suppers,  and.  pour  soul, 
1;  starved  with  cold,  and  rnewling  mad  with 

hunger. 

Flo.  D'ye  mock  our  misery,  Katleen  T 
Kat.  No,  but  I  am  hysteric  on  the  subject, 
So    I    must    laugh    or    cry,    and    laughing's 

lightest 
Flo   Why  stay  you  with  us,  then,  my  merry 

cousin  ? 
From  you  niy  sire  can  ask  no  filial  duty. 

Kat.  No,  thanks  to  Heaven  ! 
No  noble  in  wide  Scotland,  rich  or  poor. 
Can  claim  an  interest  in  the  vulgar  blood 
That  dances  in  my  veins :  and  I  might  wed 
A  forester  to-morrow,  nothing  fearing 
Tne    wrath    of   high-born    kindred,  and  far 

less 

That  the  dry  bones  of  lead-lapp'd  ancestors 
Would    clatter    in    their   cerements   at    the 

tidings. 
Flo.  My  mother,  too,  would  gladly  see  you 

placed 

Beyond  the  verge  of  our  unhappiness. 
Which,   like   a    witch's   circle,   blights   and 

taints 
Whatever  comes  within  it. 


Kat.  Ah  !  my  good  aunt ! 

She  is  a  careful  kinswoman  and  prudent, 

In  all  but  marrying  a  ruin'd  baron. 

When   she   could  lake   her  choice  of  honest 
yeomen  : 

And  now.  to  balance  this  ambitions  error. 

She  presses  on  her  daughter's  love  the  suit 

Of  one,  who  hath  n-«  touch  of  nobleness. 

In   manners,  birth,  or   mind,  to   recommend 
him.— 

Sage   Master  Gullcrammer,   the   new-dubb'd 

preacher. 

Flo.  DII  not  name  him,  Katieen  ! 
Kat.  Ay.  but  I  must,  and  with  some  grati- 
tude. 

I  said  but  now.  1  saw  our  last  of  fagots 

Destined  to  dress  our  last  of  meals,  but  said 
not 

That  the  repast  consisted  of  choice  dainties, 

Sent  to  our  larder  by  that  liberal  suitor, 

The  kind  Xleldiisedek. 

Fin.  Were  famishing  the  word, 

I'd  furnish  ere  I  tasted  tliem  —  the  fop, 

The   fool,    the    low-born,    low-bred,    pedant 

coxcomb ! 

Kat.  There  spoke    the    blood  of   long-de- 
scended sires ! 

My  cottage  wisdom  ouirht  to  echo  bnck, — 

0  the  snug  parsonage  !  the  well-paid  stipend  ! 
The  yew-hedged  garden!  beehives,  pigs,  and 

poultry! 

But,  to  speak  honestly,  the  peasant  Katleen. 
Valuing  these  good  things  justly,  still  would 

scorn 

To  wed.  for  such,  the  paltry  Gullcrammer, 
As  much  as  Lady  Flora. 
Flo.  Mock    me   not    with   a   title,   gentle 

cousin. 
Which  poverty  has  made  ridiculous. — 

[  Trumpets  far  off. 
Hark !    they   have   broken    up   the    weapon- 

shawmg; 
The    vassals    are    dismissal,    and    marching 

homeward. 

Kat.  Comes  your  sire  back  to-night  ? 
Flo.  Ke  did  purpose 

To  tarry  for  the  banquet.    This  day  only, 
Summon'd  as  a  king's  tenant,  he  resumes 
The  right  of  rank  his  birth  assigns  to  him. 
And  mingles  with  the  proudest. 

Kat.  To  return 

To  his  domestic  wretchedness  to-morrow — 

1  envy  not  the  privilege.     Let  us  go 

To  yonder   height,  and    see   the    marksmen 

practise : 
They   shoot   their  match  down   in  the  dale 

beyond. 

Betwixt   the  Lowland   and    the  Forest  dis- 
trict. 

By  ancient  custom,  for  a  tun  of  wine. 
Let  us  go  see  which  wins. 
Flo.  That  were  too  forward. 

Kat.  Why.  you  may  drop  the  screen  before 

your  face. 
Which  some  chanc*  breeze  may  haply  blow 

aside 
Just  when  a  youth   of  special    note   takes 

aim. 

Tt  chanced  even  so  that  memorable  morning. 
Wheu.  nutting  in  the  woods,  we  met  young 

Leonard ; 
And    in   good    time  here  comes  his  sturdy 

comrade. 
The  rough  Lance  Blackthorn. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


631 


Enter  Lancelot  Blackthorn,  a  Forester,  with 
the  Cnrcass  of  a  Deer  on  his  back,  anil  a  Gun 
in  his  hand. 

Bla.  Save  you,  damsels ! 

Kat    Godden,   good    yeoman.  —  Come    you 

from  the  Weaponshaw  ? 

Bla.  Not  I,  indeed;   there  lies  the  mark  I 

shot  at.  (Lays  down  the  deer. 

The  time  has  been  I  had  not  nuss'd  the  sport. 

Although  Lord   .Nithsdale's  self  had  wanted 

venison  ; 
But  tliis  same  mate  of  mine,  young  Leonard 

Dacre, 
Makes  me  do  what  he  lists;  — he'll  win  the 

prize,  though  : 

The  Forest  district  will  not  lose  its  honour, 
And  that  is  all  I  care  for  —  (some  shouts  are 
heard  ) 

Hark  !  they're  at  it. 
I'll  go  see  the  issue. 

Flo.  Leave  not  here 

The  produce  of  your  hunlimr. 

Bla  But  I  must,  though. 

This  is  his  lair  to-niaht,  for  Leonard  Dacre 
Charged  me  to  leave  the  stag  at  Devorgoil ; 
I  hen  show  me  quickly  where  to  stow  the 

quarry, 
And  lei  me  to  the  sports — (more  shots)  Come, 

hasten,  damsels! 

Flo.  It  is  impossible— we  dare  not  take  it. 
Bla.  There  let  it  he,  then,  and  I'll  wind  my 

bugle, 
That  ail   within   these   tottering  walls   may 

know 
That  here  lies  venison,  whoso  likes  to  lift  it. 

(About  to  blow. 
Kat.  (toFIa)  He  will  alarm  your  mother; 

and.  besides, 

Our  Forest  proverb  teaches,  that  no  question 
Should  ask  where  venison  comes  from. 
Your  careful  mother,  with  her  wonted  pru- 
dence, 

Will  hold  its  presence  plead  its  own  apology. — 
Come,  Blackthorn,  I  will  show  you  where  to 
stow  it. 

\_Exennt  Katleen  and  Blackthorn  into  the 
Castle  —  more  shooting  —  then  a  distant 
shout  —  Stragglers,  armed  in  different 
ways,  pass  over  the  Stage,  as  ifjrom  the 

Flo.  The  prize  is  won  ;  that  general  shout 

proclaim'd  it. 

The  marksmen  and  the  vassals  are  dispersing. 

[She  draws  back. 

First  Vassal  (a  peasant.)   Ay,  ay, — 'tis  lost 

and  won — the  Forest  have  it. 
Tis  they  have  all  the  luck  on't. 
Second  Vas.  (a  shepherd.)  Luck,  say'st  thou, 
man?     Tis  practice,  skill,  and  cunning. 
Third  Vas.  'Tis  no  such  thing.  —  I  had  hit 

the  mark  precisely, 

But  for  this  cursed  flint;  and,  as  I  fired, 
A  swallow  cross'd  mine  eye,  too— W  ill  you  tell 

me 
That  that  was  but  a  chance,  mine  honest 

shepherd  ( 
First  Vas.  Ay,  and  last  year,  when  Lancelot 

Blackthorn  won  it. 

Because  my  powder  happen'd  to  be  damp. 
Was  there  110  luck  in  that?  — The  worse  luck 

mine. 

Second  Vas.  Still  I  say  'twas  not  chance  ;  it 
might  lie  witchcraft. 


First  Vas.  Faith,  not  unlikely,  neighbours ; 

for  these  foresters 

Do  often  haunt  about  this  ruin'd  castle. 
I've  seen  myself  this  spark,  — young  Leonard 

Dacre. — 

Come  stealing  like  a  ghost  ere  break  of  day, 
And  after  sunset,  ton,  along  this  path ; 
And  well  you   know  the  haunted  towers  of 

Devorgoil 

Have  no  good  reputation  in  the  land. 
Shep.  That  have  they  not.    I've  heard  my 

father  say.— 

Ghosts  dance  as  lightly  in  its  moonlight  balls, 
As  ever  maiden  did  at  Midsummer 
Upon  the  village-green. 
First  Vas.  Those  that  frequent  such  spirit- 
haunted  rums 
.Must  needs  know  more  than  simple  Christians 

do. — 
See,  Lance   this  blessed   moment  leaves  the 

castle. 
And  comes  to  triumph  o'er  us. 

[Blackthorn  enters  from  the  Castle,  and 

comes  forward  while  they  speak 
Third  Vas.  A  mighty  triumph!     What  is't, 

after  all, 

Except  the  driving  of  a  piece  of  lead. — 
As  learned  Master  Gullcrammer  deiined  it, — 
Just  throuich  the  middle  of  a  painted  board. 
Bla..  And  if  he  so  define  it,  by  your  leave. 
Your  learned  Master  Giillcrammer's  an  ass. 
Third  Vas.  (angrily.)  He's  a  preacher,  hunts- 
man, under  favour. 

Second  Vas.  No  quarrelling,   neighbours  — 
you  may  both  be  right. 

Enter  a  Fourth  Vassal,  with  a  gallon  stoup  of 

wine. 
Fourth  Vas.  Why  stand  you  brawling  beret 

Young  Leonard  Dacre 
Has  set  abroach  the  tun  of  wine  he  gain'd, 
That  all  may  drink  who  list.    Blackthorn,  I 

sought  you : 
Your   comrade   prays  you  will  bestow  this 

flagon 
Where  you  have  left  the  deer  you  kill'd  this 

morning. 
Bla.  And  that  I  will;  but  first  we  will  take 

toll 
To  see  if  it's  worth  carriage.    Shepherd,  thy 

horn. 
There    must    be   due   allowance   made   for 

leakage. 

And  that  will  come  about  a  draught  a-piece. 
Skink   it   about,  and   when   our  throats  are 

liquor'd. 
We'll  merrily  trowl  our  song  of  weaponshaw. 

[  Thry  drink  about  out  of  the  Shepherd's 
horn  and  then  sing. 

SONG. 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the  dram's 
rattle, 

They  call  us  to  sport,  and  they  call  us  to 
battle ; 

And  old  .Scotland  shall  laugh  at  the  threats  of 
a  stranger. 

While  our  comrades  in  pastime  are  comrades 
in  danger. 

If  there's  mirth  in  our  house,  'tis  our  neigh- 
bour that  shares  it — 

If  peril  approach,  'tis  our  neighbour  that  dares 
it; 


632 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  when  we  lead  off  to  the  pipe  and  the 
tabor, 

The  fair  hand  we  press  is  the  hand  of  a  neigh- 
bour. 

Then  close  your  ranks,  comrades,  the  bands 
that  combine  them, 

Faith,  friendship,  and  brotherhood,  join'd  to 
entwine  them  ; 

And  we'll  laugh  at  the  threats  of  each  inso- 
lent stranger. 

While  our  comrades  in  sport  are  our  comrades 
in  danger. 

Black.  Well,  I  must  do  mine  errand.  Master 
flagon  (Shaking  it. 

Is  too  consumptive  for  another  bleeding. 
Shep.  I  must  to  my  fold. 
Third  Vas.  I'll  to  the  batt  of  wine, 

And  see  if  that  has  given  up  the  shost  yet. 
First  Vas.  Have  with  you,  neighbour. 

[Blackthorn  enters  the  Castle,  the  rest 
exeunt  severally.  Mdchisedek  Gull- 
crammer  watches  them  off  the  staye, 
and  then  enters  from  the  sidt-scm?. 
His  costume  is  a  Geneva  cloak  and 
band,  with  a  high-crowned  hat ;  the 
rest  of  his  dress  in  the  fashion  of 
James  the  First's  time.  He  looks  to 
the  windows  of  the  Castle,  then  draws 
back  as  if  to  escape  observation,  while 
he  brushes  his  cloak,  drives  the  white 
threads  from  his  waistcoat  with  his 
welted  thumb,  and  dusts  his  shoes,  all 
with  the  air  of  one  who  wmM  not  wil- 
lingly be  observed  engaged  in  these 
offices.  He  then  adjusts  his  collar  and 
band,  comes  forward  and  speaks. 
Gull.  Right  comely  is  thy  garb,  Melchisedek  ; 
As  well  beseemeth  one,  whom  good  Saint 

Mungo. 

The  patron  of  our  land  and  university. 
Hath  grared  with  license  both  to  teach  and 

preaoh — 

Who  dare  opine  thou  hither  plod'st  on  foot  ? 
Trim  sits  thy  cloak,  unruffled  is  thy  hand, 
And  not  a  speck  upon  thine  outward  man 
Bewrays  the  labours  of  thy  weary  sole. 

[Touches  his  shoe,  and  smiles  complacently 
Quaint   was  that  jest  and   pleasant!  —  Now 

will  I 

Approach  and  hail  the  dwellers  of  this  fort; 
But  specially  sweet  Flora  Devorgoil. 
Ere  her  proud  sire  return.     He  loves  me  not, 
Mocketh  my  lineage,  flouts  at  mine  advance- 
ment— 

Sour  as  the  fruit  the  crab-tree  furnishes, 
And  hard  as  is  the  cudgel  it  supplies; 
But  Flora — she's  a  lily  on  the  lake, 
And  I  must  reach  her,  though  I  risk  a  ducking. 
[As  Gullcrammer  moves  towards  the 
drawbridge,  Bauldie  Durward  enters, 
and  interposes  himself  betwixt  him 
anil  the  Castle.    Gullcrammer  stops 
and  speaks. 

Whom  have  we  here  ?— that  ancient  fortune- 
teller, 

Papist  and  sorcerer,  and  sturdy  beggar. 
Old  Bauldie  Durward!     Would   1  were  well 
past  him ! 

[Durward  advances,  partly  in  the  dress 
of  a  palmer,  partly  in  that  of  an  old 
Scottish  mendicant,  having  coarse  blue 
cloak  and  badge,  white  beard,  ifC. 


Dur.  The  blessing  of  the  evening  on  your 
worship. 

And  on  your  taff ' ty  doublet.     Much  T  marvel 

Your  wisdom  chooseth  such  trim  garb,  when 
tempest* 

Are  gathering  to  the  bursting 
Gullcrammer  (looks  to  his  dress,  and  then  to  the 
sky,  with  some  apprehension. ) 

Surely,  Bauldie, 

Thou  dost  belie  the  evening — in  the  west 

The  light,  sinks  down  as  lovely  as  this  band 

Drops  o'er  this  mantle — Tush,  man  !  'twill  be 

fair. 

Dur.  Ay,  hut  the  storm  I  bode  is  big  with 
blows. 

Horsewhips  for  hailstones,  clubs  for  thunder- 
bolts ; 

And  for  the  wailing  of  the  miilnieht  wind, 

The  unpitied  howling  of  a  cudgell'd  coxcomb. 

Come,  come,  I  know  thou  seek'st  fair  Flora 

Devorgoil. 
Gul.  And  if  I  did,  I  do  the  damsel  grace. 

Her  mother  thinks  so,  and  she  has  accepted 

At  these  poor  hands  gifts  of  some  consequence, 

And  curious  dainties  for  the  evening  cheer, 

To  which  I  am  invited — She  respects  me. 
Dur.  But  not  so  doth  her  father,  haughty 
Oswald. 

Bethink  thee,  he's  a  baron 

Gul.  And  a  bare  one ; 

Construe  me  that,  old  man! — The  crofts  of 
Mucklewhame — 

Destined  for  mine  so  soon  as  heaven  and  earth 

Have  shared  my  uncle's  soul  and  bones  be- 
tween them — 

The  crofts  of  Mucklewhame.  old  man,  which 
nourish 

Three  scores  of  sheep,  three  cows,  witli  each 
her  follower. 

A  female  palfrey  eke — I  will  be  candid, 

She  is  of  that  meek  tribe  whom,  in  derision. 

Our  wealthy  southern  neighbours  nickname 

donkeys 

Dur.    She   hath   her  follower  too,  —  when 

thou  art  there. 

Gul.  \  say  to  thee,  these  crofts  of  Muckle- 
whame, 

In  the  mere  tything  of  their  stock  and  pro- 
duce. 

Outvie  whatever  patch  of  land  remains 

To  this  old  rugged  castle  and  its  owner. 

Well,  therefore,  may  Melchisedek  Gullcram- 
mer, 

Younger  of  Mucklewhame,  for  such  I  write 
me, 

Master  of  Arts,  by  grace  of  good  Saint  An- 
drew, 

Preacher,  in  brief  expectance  of  a  kirk, 

Endow'd  with  ten  score  Scottish  pounds  per 
annum, 

Being  eight  pounds  seventeen  eight  in  sterling 
coin — 

Well  then.  I  say,  may  this  Melchisedek. 

Thus  highly  graced  by  fortune  —  and  by  na- 
ture 

E'en  gifted  as  thou  seest — aspire  to  woo 

The  daughter  of  the  begear'd  Devorgoil. 
Dur.  Credit  an  old  man's  word,  kind  Master 
Gullcrammer, 

You  will  not  find  it  so  — Come,  sir,  I've  known 

The  hospitality  of  Mucklewhame; 

It  reach 'd  not  to  pmfuMMN  —  yet,  in  grati- 
tude 

For  the  pure  water  of  its  living  well, 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


633 


And  for  the  barley  loaves  of  its  fair  fields, 
Wlierem  chopp'd  straw  contended  with  the 

grain 

Which  best  should  satisfy  the  appetite, 
I  would  not  see  the  hopeful  heir  of  Muckle- 

wh:ime 
Thus  fling  himself  on  danger. 

Gvl.  Darieer!  what  danger  ?— Know'st  thou 

not.  old  Oswald 

This  day  attends  the  muster  of  the  shire, 
Where  the  crown  vassals  meet  to  show  their 

arms. 
And  their  best  horse  of  service  ? — 'Twas  good 

sport 

(An  if  a  man  had  dared  but  laugh  at  it) 
To  see  old  Oswald  with  his  rusty  morion. 
And  huge  two-handed  sword,  that  might  have 

seen 

The  field  of  Bannockhurn  or  Chevy-Chase, 
Without  a  squire  or  vassal,  page  or  eroom, 
Or  e'en  a  single  pikeman  at  his  heels, 
Mix  with  the  proudest  nohles  of  the  county. 
And  claim  precedence  for  his  tatter'd  person 
O'er  armours  douhle  gilt  and  ostrich  plumase. 
Dur.  Ay !  'twas  the  jest  at  which  fools  laugh 

the  loudest, 

The  downfall  of  our  old  nobility — 
Which  may  forerun  the  ruin  of  a  kingdom. 
Ive  seen  an  idiot  clap  his  hands,  and  shout 
To  see  a  tower  like  yon  (points  to  a  part  of  the 

Castle)  stoop  to  its  base 
In   headlong    rum;    while    the   wise    look'd 

round. 

And  fearful  sought  a  distant  stance  to  watch 
What  fragment  of  the  fabric  next  should  fol- 
low; 

For  when  the  turrets  fall,  the  walls  are  totter- 
ing. 
GuL  (after  pondering.)  If  that  means  aught, 

it  means  thou  saw'st  old  Oswald 
Expell'd  from  the  assembly. 

Dur.  Thy  sharp  wit 

Hath  glanced  unwittingly  right  nigh  the  truth, 
txpell'd  he  was  not,  but.  his  claim  denied 
At  some  contested  point  of  ceremony, 
He  left  the  weaponshaw  in  high  displeasure. 
And  hither  comes — his  wonted  bitter  temper 
Scarce  sweeten'd  by  the  chances  of  the  day. 
'  1  were  much  like  rashness  should  you  wait 

his  coming. 
And  thither  tends  my  counsel. 

Gul.  And  I'll  take  it ; 

Good  Bauldie  Durward,  I  will  take  thy  coun- 
sel, 

And  will  requite  it  with  this  minted  farthing, 
That  bears  our  sovereign's   head   in   purest 

copper. 
Dur.  Thanks  to  thy  bounty  — Haste  thee, 

good  young  master; 

Oswald,  besides  the  old  two-handed  sword, 
Bears  in  his  hand  a  staff  of  potency. 
To  charm  intruders  from  his  castle  purlieus. 
Gul.  1  do  abhor  ail  charms,  nor  will  abide 
To  hear  or  see,  far  less  to  feel  their  use. 
Behold,  1  have  departed.  [Exit  /tastily. 

Alanent  Durward. 

Dur.  Thus  do  I  play  the  idle  part  of  one 
Who  seeks  to  save  the  moth  from  scorching 

htm 
In  the    bright    taper's    flame  —  And    Flora's 

beauty 

Must,  not  unlike  that  taper,  waste  away, 
Gilding  the  rugged  walls  that  saw  it  kindled. 


1  his  was  a  shard-born  beetle,  heavy,  drossy, 
Though  boasting  his  dull  drone  and  gilded 

wing. 

Here  comes  a  flutterer  of  another  stamp. 
Whom  the  same  ray  is  charming  to  his  ruin. 

Enter  Leonard,  dressed  03  a  huntsman ;  he  pauses 
before  thf  ToiOfr.  anil  whistles  a  note  or  two  at 
intervals— drawmy  back,  as  if  fearful  of  obser- 
vation— yet  waiting,  as  if  expecting  some  ri-pli/. 
Durward,  ic'iom  he  had  not  observed,  moves 
round,  so  as  lo  front  Leonard  unexpectedly. 

Leon.  I  am  too  late— it  was  no  easy  task 
To  rid  myself  from  yonder  noisy  revellers. 
Flora !— I  fear  she's  angry  -Flora— Flora ! 

SONG. 

Admire  not  that  I  gain'd  the  prize 

From  all  the  village  crew; 
How  could  I  fail  with  hand  or  eyes, 

When  heart  and  faith  were  true  ! 

And  when  in  floods  of  rosy  wine 
My  comrades  drown 'd  their  cares, 

I  thought  hut  that  thy  heart  was  mine, 
My  own  leapt  light  as  theirs. 

My  brief  delay  then  do  not  blame, 

Nor  deem  your  swain  untrue ; 
My  form  but  liiifjer'd  at  the  game, 

My  soul  was  still  with  you. 

She  hears  not ! 
Dur.  But  a  friend  hath  heard  — Leonard,  I 

pity  thee. 
Leon  (starts,  but  recovers  himself)  Pity,  good 

father,  is  for  those  in  want, 
In  age,  in  sorrow,  m  distress  of  mind, 
Or  agony  of  body.    I'm  in  health — 
Can  match  my  limbs  against  the  stag  in  chase, 
Have  means  enough  to  meet  my  simple  wants, 
And  am  so  free  of  soul  that  I  can  carol 
To  woodland  and  to  wild  in  notes  as  lively 
As  are  my  jolly  bugle's. 
Dur.   Even   therefore  dost   thou  need   my 

pity.  Leonard, 

And  therefore  I  bestow  it,  paying  thee. 
Before  thou  feel'st  the  need,  my  mile  of  pity. 
Leonard,  thou  Invest;  and  in  that  little  word 
There  lies  enough  lo  claim  the  sympathy 
Of  men  who  we«r  such  hoary  locks  as  mine. 
And  know  what  misplaced  love  is  sure  to  end 

in. 
Leon.  Good  father,  thou  art  old,  and  even 

thy  youth. 

As  thou  hast  told  me,  spent  in  cloister'd  cells, 
Fits  thee  but  ill  to  judge  the  passions, 
Which  are  the  joy  and  ch.irin  of  social  life. 
Press  me  no  farther,  then,  nor  waste  those 

moments 
Whose  worth  thou  canst  not  estimate. 

[As  turning  from  him. 
Dur.  (detains  him.)  Stay,  young  man  ! 
'Tis  seldom  that  a  beggar  claims  a  debt ; 
Yet  I  bethink  me  of  a  gay  young  stripling, 
That  owes  to  these  white  locks  and  hoary 

beard 

Something  of  reverence  and  of  gratitude 
More  than  he  wills  to  pay. 
Leon.  Forgive  me,  father.    Often  hast  thou 

told  me. 

That  in  the  ruin  of  my  father's  house 
You  saved  the  infant  Leonard  in  his  cradle ; 
And  well  I  know,  that  to  thy  care  alone— 


634 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Care  seconded  by  means  beyond  thy  seeming — 
I  owe  whate'er  of  nurture  1  c;in  bi>ast. 

Dur.  Then  fur  thy  lifu  preserved. 
And    for  the    means    of   knowledge  I   have 

funiish'd, 
(Whic.ti    kicking,   man    is    levell'd   with  the 

brules.) 

Grant  me  this  boon  : — Avoid  these  fatal  walls ! 
A  curse  is  on  them,  hitter,  deep,  and  heavy, 
Of  power  to  split  the   rnassiest   tower  they 

boast 

From  pinnacle  to  dungeon  vault.    It  rose 
Upon  the  gay  horizon  of  proud  Devorgoil, 
As  unregarded  as  the  fleecy  cloud, 
The  first  forerunner  of  the  hurricane, 
Scarce  seen  amid  the  welkin's  shadelcss  blue. 
Dark  grew  it,  and    more  dark,  and  s'.ill  the 

fortunes 

Of  this  doomM  family  have  darken'd  with  it. 
It  hid  their  sovereign's  favour,  anil  obscured 
The  lustre  of  their  service,  gender'd  hate 
Bet  wixt  them  and  the  mighty  of  the  land ; 
Till  by  degrees  the  waxing  tempest  rose, 
And    stnpp'd    the  goodly   tree   of   fruit    and 

flowers. 
And  buds,  and  boughs,  and  branches.    There 

remains 

A  rugged  trunk,  dismember'd  and  unsightly, 
Waiting  the  bursting  of  the  final  bolt 
To  splinter  it  to  shivers.     Now.  go  pluck 
Its  single  tendril  to  enwreath  thy  brow. 
And  rest  beneath  its  shade — to  share  the  ruin ! 

Lfnn.  This  anathema, 
Whence  should  it  come  ?  — How  merited  ?  — 

and  when? 

Dur.  'Twas  in  the  days 
Of  Oswald's  grandsire. — 'mid  Galwegian  chiefs 
The  fellest  foe.  the  fiercest  champion. 
His  blood-red  pennons  scared   the  Cumbrian 

coasts, 
And   wasted   towns  and  manors   mark'd   his 

progress. 
His  galleys  stored   with   treasure,  and   their 

decks 

Crowded  with  English  captives,  who  beheld, 
With  weeping  eyes,  their  native  shores  retire 
He  bore  them  homeward ;  but  it  tempest 

rose 

Leon   So  far  I  've  heard  the  tale, 
And  spare  thee  the  recital,— The  grim  chief. 
Marking  his  vessels  labour  on  the  sea. 
And  loth  to  lose  his  treasure,  gave  command 
To  plunge  his  captives  in  the  raging  deep 
Dur.  'I  here  sunk   the   Lneage  of  a   noble 

name. 

And  the  wild  waves  boom'd  over  sire  and  son. 
Mother  and  nursling,  of  the  House  of  Aghouby. 
Leaving  but  one  frail  tendril.— Hence  the  fate 
That  hovers  o'er  these  turrets, —  hence  the 

peasant, 

Belated,  hying  homewards,  dreads  to  cast 
A  glance  upon  that  portal,  lest  he  see 
The   unshrouded  spectres   of  the    murder'd 

dead  ; 

Or  the  avenging  Angel,  with  his  sword, 
Waving  destruction  ;  or  the  grisly  phantom 
Of  that  fell  Chief,  the  doer  of  the  deed. 
Which  still,  they  say,  roams  through  h;s  empty 

halls. 
And  mourns  their  wasteness  and  their  loneli- 

hood. 

Leon.  Such  is  the  dotage 
Of  superstition,  father,  ay,  and  the  cant 
Of  hoodwink'd  preiudice.— Not  for  atonement 


Of  some  foul  deed  done  in  the  ancient  warfare. 
When    war   was    butchery,  and    men    were 

wolves. 

Doth  Heaven  consign  the  innocent  to  suffering. 
I  tell  thee.  Flora's  virtues  might  a'one 
For  all  the  massacres  her  sires  have  done. 
Since  first  the  Piciish  race  their  stained  limbs 
Array'd  in  wolf's  skin. 
Dur.  Leonard,  ere  yet  this  beggar's  scrip  and 

cloak 
Supplied  the  place  of  mitre  and  of  crosier. 

hich  in  these  alter'd  lands  must  not  be  worn. 
I  was  superior  of  a  brotherhood 
Of  holy  men,—  the  Prior  of  Lanercost. 
Nobles    then    sought   my  footstool    many   a 

league. 

There  to  unload  their  sins  —  questions  of  con- 
science 

Of  deepe.st  import  were  not  deem'd  too  nice 
For  my  decision,  youth. — But  not  even  then, 
With  mitre  on  my  brow,  and  all  the  voice 
Which  Rome  gives  to  a  father  of  her  church, 
Dared  I  pronounce  so  hohlly  on  the  ways 
Of  hidden  Providence,  as  thou,  young  man. 
Whose  chiefest  knowledge  i*  to" track  a  stag. 
Or  wind  a  bugle,  hast  presumed  to  do. 

Lton.  Nay.  I  pray  forgive  me. 
Father;   thou  know'st   1   meant  not   to   pre- 
sume   

Dur.  Can  I  refuse  thee  pardon  ?  —  Thou  art 

all 
That  war  and  change  have   left  to  the  poor 

Durward. 

Thy  father,  too.  who  lost  his  life  and  fortune 
Defending  Lanercost,  when  its  fair  isles 
Were  spoil'd  by  sacrilege — I  bless'd  his  banner, 
And  yet  it  prosper'd  not.     But — all  I  could — 
Thee  from   the  wreck   I  saved,  and  for  thy 

sake 

Have  s'lll  dragg'd  on  my  life  of  pilgrimage 
And  penitence  upon  the  hated  shores 
1  else  had  left  for  ever.     Come  with  me, 
And  I  will  teach  thee  there  is  healing  in 
The  wounds  which  friendship  gives. 

lExeunt. 


SCEXE  II. 

The  Scene  changes  to  the  interior  of  the  Castle. 
An  apartment  is  discovered,  in  which  there  is 
much  appearance  of  prest-nt  poverty,  mixtd 
with  some  relics  of  former  grandeur.  On  the 
wall  hangs,  ammgst  other  thintis,  a  suit  of 
ancient  armour;  by  the  table  is  a  covered 
basket ;  behiml,  and  concealed  by  it,  the  carcase 
of  a  roe-deer.  There  is  a  small  latticed  window, 
which,  appearing  to  perforate  a  wall  of  great 
thickness,  is  supposed  to  look  out  towards  tlie 
drawbridge.  It  is  in  the  shape  of  a  loop-hole 
for  musketry;  and.  as  is  not  unusual  in  old 
buildings,  is  placrd  so  high  up  m  the  wall,  that 
it  is  only  approached  by  five  or  six  narrow  stone 
steps. 

Eleanor,  the  w(fe  of  Oswald  o/ Devorgoil,  Flora 
and  KaMeen.  her  Daughter  and  Nitce,  are  dis- 
covered at  work.  The  former  splits,  the  latter 
are  embroidering.  Eleanor  quits  her  own 
labour  to  examine  the  manner  in  which  Flora 
is  executing  her  task,  and  shakes  her  head  as 
if  dissatisfied. 

Ete.  Fy  on  it,  Flora ;  this  botch'd  work  of 
thine 

Shows  that  thy  mind  is  distant  from  thy  task. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


635 


The  finest  trncery  of  our  old  cathedral 
Had  mil.  <i  lic.ier,  freer,  bolder  pattern, 
I  han  FL.ra  once  could  trace.  Thy  thoughts 

are  wandering. 
Flo   They're  wuli  my  father.     Broad  upon 

the.  lake 
The  evening  sun  sunk  down;  huge  piles  of 

CI'.IHl.S, 

i 'ij'iiMj  i  an  i  sable,  rose  upon  his  disk. 

And  quencu'd  linn  ere  his  setting,  like  some 

n.a  H;  i   II 

In  his  last  conflict,  losing  all  his  glory. 
Sure  signals  tin.se  of  storm.  And  if  my 

la  her 
Be  on  nis  homeward  road— — 

Ke.   l!u    that  lie  w.l.  n  .t. 
Baron  nt  LVv.-rsoii.  this  day  at  least 
He  liamjue  s  with  the  u ibles.  who  the  next 
Wnulii  scarce  vouchsafe  an  alms  to  save  his 

household 
From   want  or  famine.     Thanks  to  a  kind 

friend. 
For  one  lirief  space  we  shall  not  need  their 

aid 
Flo.  (joyfu'ly)  What!   knew  you   then  his 

gift.? 

How  silly  1  t  .at  would  yet  durst  not  tell  it  1 
[  fear  my  latuer  will  condemn  us  both, 
That  easily  accepted  such  a  present. 
Sat.  Now,  here's  the  game  a  bystander  sees 

belter 
Than  those  who  play  it.  —  My  good  aunt  is 

pondering 
On   the  good  cheer  which  Gullcrammer  has 

sent.  us. 
And  Flora  thinks  upon  the  forest  venison. 

[Aside. 
Ele.  (la  Flo  )  Thy   father   need   not   know 

on'l  —  'tis  a  boon 

Comes  timely,  when  frugality,  nay.  abstinence, 
Might  scarce  avail  us  longer.     I  had  hoped 
Kre  now  a  visit  from  the  youthful  donor. 
Thai  we  might  thank  Ins  bounty ;  and  per- 
haps 
My  Flora  thought  the  same,  when  Sunday's 

kerchief 
And   the    best   kirtle   were  sought  out,  and 

donn'd 

To  srace  a  work-day  evening 
Flo.  Nay,  mother,  that   is  judging  all  loo 

close  ! 
My  work-day  gown  was  torn—  my  kerchief 

sullied: 
And  thus— But,  think  you,  will   the   gallant 

come  ? 
Ele.  He  will,  for  with  these  dainties  came  a 

MMM 
From     genile     Master     Gullcrammer,     to 

iniimiite 

Flo.  (greatly disappointed.)  Gullcrammer! 
JCat.  There    burst  the   bubble  — down  fell 

house  at  cards, 

And  cousin's  like  to  cry  for 't !  [Aside. 

Ele.  Gullcrammer?  ay.  Gullcrammer — thou 

scorn  st  not  at  him  .' 
Twere    something   shoit   of  wisdom    in    a 

maiden. 

Who,  like  the  poor  bat  in  the  Grecian  fable, 
Hovers  betwixt  two  classes  in  the  worid. 
And  is disclann'd  by  both  the  mouse  and  bird. 

Kat.  1  am  the  poor  mouse. 

And  may  go  creep  into  what  Hole  I  list, 
And  no  one  heed  me— Yet  I'll  waste  a  word 
Of  counsel  on  my  betters.— Kind  my  aunt. 


And  you,  my  gentle  cousin,  were 't  not  better 
We   thought  of  dressing  this  same  gear  for 

supper. 

Than  quarrelling  about  the  worthless  donor? 
Ele    IVace.  minx! 

Flo.  Thuii  hast  no  feeling,  cousin  Katleen. 
JCat.  Soli !  1  have  brought  them  both  on  my 

poor  shoulders; 

Sn  meddling  peace-makers  are  still  rewarded : 
E'en  let  tnem  to  't  again,  ami  limit  it  nut. 
Flo.  Mother,   were   I   disclaimed  of   every 

class, 

I  would  not  therefore  so  disclaim  myself. 
As  even  a  passin:  thought  of  scorn  to  waste 
On  cloddish  Gullcraminer. 

Ele.  List,  to  me,  love,  anil  let  adversity 
Incline  thine  ear   to  wisdom.     LOOK   around 

thee  — 

Of  the  gay  youths  who  boast  a  noble  name, 
Which    will    mciine    to    wed    a   dowerless 

damsel  T 
And   of  the  yeomanry,   who   thmk'st    thou, 

flora, 

Would  ask  to  share  the  labours  of  his  farm 
An  high-born  beggar?  — This  young  man  is 

modest 

Flo.  Silly,  good   mother;  sheepish,  if  you 

will  it. 
Ele.  h"en  call  it  what  you  list  — the  softer 

temper, 

The  fitter  to  endure  the  bitter  sallies 
Of  one  whose  wit  is  all  too  sharp  for  mine. 

Flo.  Mother  you  cannot  mean  it  as  you  say; 
You  caiinoL  hid  me  pr,z«  conceited  folly? 
Ele.  Content  thee,  child  —  each  lot  has  its 

own  hlessmgs. 

This  youtn,  wiih  his  plain-dealing  honest  suit, 
Proffers  thee  quiet,  peace,  and  competence, 
Redemption  from  a  home,  o'er  which  fell  Kate 
Sloops  like  a  falcon  — (),  if  thou  couidst  choose 
(As  no  such  choice  is  given)  'twixt  such  a  mate 
And  some  proud  noble ! — Who,  in  sober  judg- 
ment, 

Would  like  to  navigate  the  heady  river. 
Dashing  in  fury  from  Its  parent  mountain, 
Morn  man  the  waiers  of  the  quiet  lake  ? 
Kat.  Now  can  I  hold  no  longer— Lake,  good 

aunt .' 
Nay,  in   the   name  of  truth,  say  mill-pond, 

horse-pond  ; 

Or  if  there  be  a  pond  more  miry. 
More  sluggish,  mean-derived,  and  base  than 

either, 

Be  such  Gullcrammer's  emblem— and  his  por- 
tion ! 

Flo.  1  would  that  he  or  I  were  in  our  grave. 
Rather  than  thus  his  suit  should  goad  me!— 

Mother, 

Flora  of  Devorgoil,  though  low  in  fortunes. 
Is  still  too  hi.'li  in  mind  to  join  her  name 
With  such  a  base-born  churl  as  Gullcrammer. 

Ele    You  are  trim  maidens  both ! 
( To  Flora  )  Have  you  forgotten, 

Or  did  you  mean  to  call  to  my  remembrance 
Thy  father  chose  a  wife  of  peasant  blood  ? 
Flo.  Will  you  speak  thus  to  me,  or  think 

the  stream 
Can  mock  the  fountain  it  derives  its  source 

from  ? 

My  venerated  mother,  in  that  name 
Lies  all  on  earth  a  child  should  chiefest  ho- 
nour; 

And  with  that  name  to  mix  reproach  or  taunt, 
I  Were  only  short  of  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 


636 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ele.  Then  listen,   Flora,  to  that   mother's 

counsel, 

Or  rather  profit  by  that  mother's  fate. 
Your  father's  fortunes   were   but   bent,  not 

broken, 

Until  he  listeu'd  to  his  rash  affection. 
Means  were  afforded  lo  redeem  his  house, 
Ample  and  large — the  hand  of  a  nch  heiress 
Awaited,  almost  courted,  his  acceptance ; 
He  saw  my  beauty— such  it  then  was  cali'd. 
Or  such  at  least  he  thought  it  —  the  wither'd 

bush, 
Whaie'er  it  now  may  seem,  had  blossoms 

then,— 
And  he  forsook  the  proud  and  wealthy  heire,-s, 

To  wed  with  me  and  rum 

Kat.  (aside.)  The  more  fool, 

Say  I.  apart,  the  pensnnt  maiden  then, 
Who  might  have  chose  a  mate  from  her  own 

hamlet. 

Ele.  Friends  fell  off. 

And  to  his  own  resources,  his  own  counsels, 
Abandnn'd.  as  they  said,  the  thoughtless  pro- 
digal. 
Who  had  exchanged  rank,  riches,  pomp,  and 

honour, 
For  the  mean  beauties  of  a  cottage  maid.. 

Flo.  It  was  done  like  my  father, 
Who  scorn'd  to  sell  what  wealth  can  never 

buy — 
True  love  and  free  affections.     And  he  loves 

you! 

If  yon  have  suffer'd  in  a  weary  world. 
Your  sorrows  have  been  jointly  borne,  and 

love 

Has  made  the  load  sit  lighter. 
Ele.  Ay,  but  a  misplaced  match  hath  that 

deep  nurse  in't, 

That  can  embitter  e'en  the  purest  streams 
Of  true  affection.     Thou  hast  seen  me  seek. 
With  the  strict  caution  early  habits  taught 

me, 
To  match  our  wants  and  means  —  hast  seen 

thy  father 

With  aristocracy's  high  brow  of  scorn, 
Spurn  at  economy,  trie  cottage  virtue, 
As  best  befitting  her  whose  sires  were  pea- 
sants : 

Nor  can  1,  when  I  see  my  lineage  scorn'd, 
Always  conceal  m  what  contempt  I  hold 
The  fancied  claims  of  rank  he  clings  to  fondly. 
Flo.  Why  will  you  do  so?  —  weil  you  know 

it  chafes  him. 

Ele.  Flora,  thy  mother  is  but  mortal  woman. 
Nor  can  at  all  times  check  an  eager  tongue. 
Kal.  (aside  )  Thai's  no  new  tidings  to  her 

niece  and  daughter. 
Ele.  O  may-t  thou  never  know  the  spited 

feelings 

That  gender  discord  in  adversity 
Betwixt  the  dearest  friends  and  truest  lovers  ! 
In  the  chill  damping  gale  of  poverty, 
If  Love's  lamp  go  not  out,  it  gleams  but  palely, 
And  twinkles  in  the  socket, 
Flo.  But  tenderness  can  screen  it  with  her 

veil. 

Till  it  revive  again.     By  gentleness,  good  mo- 
ther, 
How  oft  I've  seen  you  soothe  my  father's 

mood  ! 
Kat.  Now  there  speak  youthful  hope  and 

fantasy !  [Aside.. 

Ele.  That  is  an  easier  task  in  youth  than 

age; 


Our  temper  hardens,  and  our  charms  decay, 

And  both  are  nerued  in  thKt  art  of  sooilung. 

Kal.  And  there  spe:\ks  sad  experience. 

[Aside. 
Ele.  Besides,  since  that  our  state  was  utter 

desperate, 
Darker  Ins  brow,  more  dangerous  grow  his 

words ; 
Fain  would  I  snatch  thee  from  the  woe  and 

wrath 
Which  darken'd  long  my  life,  and  soon  must 

eml  it. 

[A  knocking  without ;  Eleanor  shows  alarm. 
It  was  thy  father's  knock,  rmste  to  the  gate. 

[Exeunt  Flora  and  Kat.een 
What  can  have  happ'd  1— he  thought  to  stay 

the  night. 
This  gear  must  not  he  seen. 

[As  she  is  about  to  remove  the  basket, 

she  sees  the  bmly  of  the  roe-deer. 
What  have  we  here  ?  a  roe-deer ! — as  1  fear  it, 
This  was  the  gift  of  which  poor  Flora  ihonsht. 
The  young  and  handsome  hunter ;— but  time 
presses. 

[.SAe  removes  the  basket  and  the  roe  into 
a  closet.     As  she  has  done— 

Enter  Oswald  o/Devorgot],  Flora,  and  Katleen. 
[He  is  dressed  m  a  scnrli't  cloak,  which 
should  seem  worn  and  old — a  headpiece, 
and  oM-.tashroned  sword — the  rest  of  his 
dress  that  of  a  jteasunt.    His  counte- 
nance and  manner  should  express  the 
moodt/  and   irritable  hauuhtiness  of  a 
proud  man  involved  in  calamity,  and 
who  has  been  exposed  lo  recent  insult. 
Osut.  (addressing  his  wi'e.)  The  sun  liath  set 

— why  is  I  lie  drawbridge  Inwer'd  ? 
Ele.  The  counterpoise  lias  faii'd.and  Flora's 

strength, 
Katleen's.  and  mine  united,  could  not  raise  it.  ' 

Osw.  Flora  and  thou  !     A  goodly  g.irnson 
To  hold  a  castle,  which,  if  fame  say  true. 
Once  foil'd   the   King  of  Norse   and   all   his 

rovers. 
Ele.  It  might  be  so  in  ancient  times,  hut 

Osw    A  herd  of  deer  might  storm  proud  De- 

vorgoil. 
Kat.  (aside  to  Flora.)  You,  Flora,  know  full 

well  one  deer  already 

Has  enter'd  at  the  breach  :  and,  what  is  worse. 
The  escort  is  not  yet  march'd  off,  for  Black- 
thorn 

Is  still  within  the  castle. 
Flo.  In  Heaven's  name,  rid  him  out  on't,  ere 

my  father 

Discovers  he  is  here  !    Why  went  he  not 
Before  ? 
Kat.  Because   I  staid  him  on   some  little 

business; 
I  had  a  plan  to  scare  poor  paltry  Gullcram- 

mer 
Out  of  his  paltry  wits. 

Flo.  Well,  haste  ye  now, 

Anil  try  to  get  him  off. 

Kat.  I  will  not  promise  that. 

1  would  not  turn  an  honest  hunter's  dog, 
So  well  1  love  the  woodcraft,  out  of  shelter 
In  such  a  night  as  this— fur  less  his  master : 
But  I'll  do  this.  I'll  try  to  hide  him  for  you. 
Osw.  (whom  his  wife  has  assistid  to  take  nff  his 
cloak  and  fealfiered  cap  )  Ay,  take  them 
off,  and  bring  my  peasant's  bonnet 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


637 


And  peasant's  plaid — I'll  noble  it  no  farther, 
xjt  them  erase  my  name  from  tumour's  lists, 
And  drag  my  scutcheon  at  their  horses'  heels  ; 

have  deserved  it  all,  for  1  am  poor. 
And  poverty  hath  neither  riglil  of  birth, 
Nor  pink,  relation,  claim,  nor  privilege, 
I'o  match  a  new-co:ri'd  viscount,  whose  good 

erandsire. 

The  Lord  he  with  him.  was  a  careful  skipper, 
steer'd  his  paltry  skiff 'twixt  Letth  and 

Campvere — 
Marry,  sir.  he  could  buy  Geneva  cheap, 
Ami  knew  the  coast,  by  moonlight 
Flo    Mean  you  the  Viscount  Ellondale,  my 

father? 
What  strife  has  been  between  you? 

Osw.  O.  *  trifle ! 

Not  worth  a  wise  nmn's  thinking  twice  about — 
Precedence  is  a  toy— a  superstition 
About  a  table's  end.  joint.. stool,  and  trencher. 
Something  was  once  thought  due  to  long  de- 
scent. 

And  something  to  Galwegia's  oldest  baron,— 
Bu'  let  that  pass— a  dream  of  the  old  time. 
Elf    It  is  indeed  a  dream. 
Osw    (turning  ttpim  her  rather  quifkly.)  Ha! 
said  ye !  let  me  hear  these  words  more 
plain. 

Elf.  Alas!  they  are  but  echoes  of  your  own. 
Match'd  with  the  real  woes  that  hover  o'er  us. 
What  are  the  idle  visions  of  precedence. 
But,  as  you  term  them,  dreams,  and  toys,  and 

trifles, 

Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  upon  ! 
Osw.  Ay,  'twas  for  you  1  framed  thai  conso- 
lation. 

The  true  philosophy  of  clouted  shoe 
And  linsey-woolsey  kirtle     I  know,  that  minds 
Of  nobler  stamp  receive  no  dearer  motive 
Than  what  is  link'd  with  honour.    Ribands, 

Which  are  hut  shreds  of  silk  and  spangled 

tinsel— 
The  right  of  place,  which  in  itself  is  moment- 

A  word, 'which  is  but  air— may  in  themselves, 
And  to  the  nobler  tile   besteep'd  so  richly 
In  that  elixir,  honour,  that  the  lack 
Of  things  so  very  trivial  in  themselves 
Shall  be  misfortune     One  sh:dl  seek  for  them 
O'er  the  wild  waves— one  in  the  deadly  breach 
And  battle's  headlong  front— one  in  the  paths 
Of  midnight  study  ;  and,  in  saining  these 
Kmblems  of  honour,  each  will  hold  himself 
Repaid  for  all  his  labours,  deeds,  and  dan- 

What  then  should  he  think,  knowing  them 

his  own. 
Who  sees  what  warriors  and  what  sages  toil 

The  formal  and  establisn'd  marks  of  honour, 
Usurp'd  from  him  by  upstart  insolence  ? 
Ele   (who  has  listened  to  the  last  speech  with 
some  impatience  )   This  is  but  empty  de- 
clamation. Oswald. 

The  fragments  left  at  yonder  full-spread  ban- 
Nay,  even' the  poorest  crust  swept  from  the 

Ought  to  be  far  more  precious  to  a  father, 
Whose  family  lacks  food,  than  the  vain  boast 
He  sate  at  the  board-head 
Osta.  Thou'lt  drive  me  frantic !  — I  will  tell 
thee,  woman — 


Yet  why  to  thee?    There  is  another  ear 
Which  'that  tale  better  suits,  and   he  shall 
hear  it. 

[Looks  at  his  sword,  which  he  has  un- 
buckleil  and  addresses  the  rest  of  the 
speech  to  it. 

Yes,  trusty  friend,  my  father  knew  thy  worth, 
And  often  proved  it— often  told  me  of  it — 
Though  thou  anil  I  be  now  held  lightly  of, 
And  want,  the  gilded  hatchments  of  the  time, 
'.  think  we  both  may  prove  true  metal  still. 
Tis  thou  shall  tell  this  story,  right  this  wrong : 
[test  thou  till  time  is  fitting. 

(Hangs  tip  the  sword. 

[The  women  look  at  etch  other  with 

anxiety  during  this  speech,  which  they 

partly  overhear.     They  both  approach 

Oswald 

Elf.  Oswald — my  dearest  husband  ! 
Flo.  My  dear  father! 

Osw.  Peace,  both !  —  we  speak  no  more  of 

this.     I  eo 

To  heave  the  drawbridge  up.  {Exit. 

Katlten  mounts  the  steps  towards  the  loop-hole, 

looks  out.  and  speaks. 
The  storm   is  gathering   fast;  broad,   heavy 

drops 

Fall  plashing  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
And  dash  its  inky  surface  into  circles; 
The  distant  hills  are  hid  in  wreathes  of  dark- 
ness. 
'Twill  be  a  fearful  night. 

Oswald  re-enters,  and  throws  himself  into  a 

seat. 

Ele.  More  dark  and  dreadful 

Than  is  our  destiny,  it  cannot  he. 
Osw   (to  Flo.)  Such  is  Heaven's  will  —  it  is 

our  part  to  bear  it. 
We're    warranted,    my  child,    from    ancient 

story 

And  blessed  writ,  to  say,  that  song  assuages 
The  gloomy  cares  that  prey  upon  our  reason. 
And  wake  a  strife  betwixt  our  belter  feelings 
And  the  fierce  dictates  of  the  headlong  pas- 
sions. 

Sing,  then,  my  love;  for  if  a  voice  have  influ- 
ence 

To  mediate  peace  betwixt  me  and  my  destiny, 
Flora,  it  must  be  thine. 
Flo.  My  best  to  please  you ! 


When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest. 

On  its  gale  the  eagle  rides ; 
When  the  ocean  rolls  the  proudest. 

Through  the  foam  the  sea-bird  glides- 
All  the  rage  of  wind  and  sea 
Is  subdued  by  constancy. 

Gnawing  want  and  sickness  pining, 
All  the  ills  that  men  endure  : 

Each  their  various  pangs  combining, 
Constancy  can  find  a  cure — 

Pain,  ami  Fear,  and  Poverty, 

Are  subdued  by  constancy. 

Bar  me  from  each  wonted  pleasure, 
Make  me  abject,  mean,  and  poor; 

Heap  on  insults  without  measure. 
Chain  me  to  a  dungeon  floor- 


Til  be  happy,  ric 
If  endow'd  with 


.  rich,  and  free, 
constancy. 


638 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


ACT  II  —SCEN  K  T. 

A  Chamber  in  a  distant  part  of  the  Castle.  A 
large  Window  tn  the  flat  scene,  supposed  to 
look  on  the  Lake,  which  is  occatjottally  illuni- 
tuilett  hy  liahlnint],  Th/re  is  a  Coucli-bed  in 
the  Room,  and  an  anliqut  Cabinet. 

Enter  Katleen,  introducing  Blackthorn. 

Kat.  This  was  the  destined  scene  of  action, 

Blackthorn, 

And  here  our  properties.     But  all  in  vain. 
For  of  Gnllcrammer  we'll  see  nouaht  to-night, 
Except  the  dainties  that  I  told  you  of. 
Bla.  O.  if  he's  left  that  same  hog's  face  and 

sausases. 

He  will  try  back  upon  them,  never  fear  it. 
The  cur  will  open  on  the  trail  of  bacon, 
Like  my  old  hrach-hound. 
Kat.  And  should  that  hap,  we'll  play  our 

comedy, — 
Shall  we   not.  Blackthorn?    Thou  shall  be 

Owlspieale 

Bla.  And  who  may  that  hard-named  person 

he? 

Kat.  I've  told  yon  nine  times  over. 
Bla.  Yes,  pretty  Katleen,  but  my  eyes  were 

busy 

In  lookin?  at  yon  all  the  time  you  were  talking; 
Ami  so  I  lost'thetale. 
Kat.  Then  shut  your  eyes,  and  let  your 

goodly  ears 
Do  their  good  office. 

Bin.  That  were  too  hard  penance. 

Tell  hut  thy  tale  once  more,  and  I  will  hearken 
As  if  I  were  thrown  out,  and  listening  for 
My  bloodhound's  distant  bay. 

Kat.  A  civil  simile! 

Then,  for  the  tenth  time,  and  the  last— be  told, 
Owlspiegle  was  of  old  the  wicked  barber 
To  Enck.  wicked  Lord  of  Devorgoil. 
Bla.  The  chief  who  drown'd  his  captives  in 

the  Solway— 
We  all  have  heard  of  him. 

Kat.  A  hermit  hoar,  a  venerable  man — 
So  goes  the  lesend— came  to  wake  repentance 
In  the  fierce  lord,  and  tux'd  him  with  hix  guilt ; 
But  he,  heart-harden'd.  turn'd  into  derision 
The  man  of  heaven,  and,  as  his  dignity 
Consisted  much  in  a  Ions'  reverend  beard. 
Which  reached  his  girdle,  Erick  caused  his 

barber. 

This  same  Owlspieele.-violate  its  honours 
With  sacrilegious  razor,  and  clip  his  hair 
After  the  fashion  of  a  roguish  fool. 
Bla.  This  was  reversing  of  our  ancient  pro- 
verb. 

And  shaving  for  the  devil's,  not  for  God's  sake. 
Kat.  True,  most  grave  Blackthorn ;  and  in 

punishment 

Of  this  foul  act  of  scorn,  the  barber's  ghost 
Is  said  to  have  no  resting  after  death. 
But  haunts  these  halls,  and  chiefly  this  same 

chamber. 

Where  the  profanity  was  acted,  trimming 
And  clipping  all  such  euesis  as  sleep  within  it. 
Such  is  at  least  the  tale  our  elders  tell. 
With  many  others,  of  this  haunted  castle. 
Bla.  And  yon  would  have  me  take  this  shape 

ofOwispieffle. 

And  trim  the  wise  Melchisedek !— I  wonnot. 
Kat.  You  will  not  ? 
Bla.  No — unless  you  bear  a  part. 


Kat    What !  can  you  not  alone  play  such  a 

farce? 

Bla.  Not  I— I'm  dull.    Besides,  we  foresters 
Still  hunt  our  game  in  couples.     Look  you, 

Ka!leen, 
We  danced  at  Shrovetide— then  you  were   my 

partner; 
We  sung  at  Christmas  — you  kept  time  with 

me ; 

And  if  we  go  a  mumming  in  this  business. 
By  heaven,  you  must  be  one,  or  Master  Gull- 
crammer 

Is  like  to  rest  unshaven 

Kat.  Why,  you  fool, 

What  end  can  this  serve  t 

Bla.  Nay,  I  know  not.  I. 

But  if  we  keep  this  wont  of  being  partners. 
Why,  use  makes  perfect  —  who  knows  what 

may  happen  1 
Kat.  Thou  art  a  foolish  patch — But  sing  our 

carol. 
As  I  have  alter'd  it.  with  some  few  words 

To  suit  the  characters,  and  I  will  hear 

[Gives  a  paper. 
Bla.    Part  in  the  gambol.       I'll  go  study 

quickly. 

Is  there  no  other  ehost.  then,  haunts  the  castle, 
But  this  same  barber  shave-a-penny  goblin  ? 
I  thouaht   they  glauced   in  every   beam  of 

moonshine, 

As  frequent  as  the  bat. 
Kat.  I've  heard  my  aunt's  high  husband  tell 

of  prophecies. 
And  fates  impending  o'er  the  house  of  Devor- 

goil ; 

Legends  first  coin'd  by  ancient  superstition, 
And  render 'd  current  by  credulity 
Au<l  pride  of  linease      Fiveyears  have  I  dwelt, 
And  ne'er  saw  any  thing  more  mischievous 
Than  what  I  am  myself. 

Bla.  And  that  isquite  enough.  I  warrant  you. 
But.  stay,  where  shall  I  find  a  dress 
To  play  this — what  d'ye  call  him— Owlspiegle  ? 
Kat    (lakes  dresses  out  nf  the  cabinet.}  Why, 

there  are  his  own  clothes. 
Preserved  with  other  trumpery  of  the  sort, 
For  we  have  kept  nought  but  what  is  good  for 

nought. 
[She  (Iro/is  a  cap  as  she  draws  out  the  clothes. 

Blackthorn  lijts  it.  and  yivts  it  to  her. 
Nay,  keep  it  for  thy  pains — it  is  a  coxcomb  ; 
So  call'd  in  ancient  times. in  ours  a  fool's  cap; 
For  you  must  know  they  kept  a  Fool  at  Devor- 

goil 

In  former  days ;  but  now  are  well  contented 
To  play  the  fool  themselves,  to  save  expenses ; 
Yet  eive  it  me,  I'll  find  a  worthy  use  for't. 
I'll  take  this  page's  dress,  to  play  the  pase 
Cockledemoy .who  waits  on  ehoMly  (>wlt,piegle; 
And  yet  'tis  needless,  for  Gnllcrammer 
Will  scarce  he  here  to-night. 

B/a.  I  tell  you  that  he  will— I  will  uphold 
His  plifiited  faith  and  true  allegiance 
Unto  a  mws'd  sow's  fiice  and  Miiisriges, 
And  such  thedaintiesthat  you  say  he  sent  you, 
Azainst  all  other  likings  whatsoever, 
K'xcept  a  certain  sneaking  of  affection, 
Which  makes  some  f.ilks  I  know  of  play  the 

fool, 

To  please  .some  other  folks. 
Kat.  Well.  I  do  hope  he'll  come  — there's 

first  a  chance 

He  will  be  cudgell'd  by  my  noble  uncle. — 
I  cry  his  mercy — by  my  good  aunt's  husband, 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


639 


Who  did  vow  vengeance,  knowing  nought  of 

Jut  liy  report,  and  by  a  limping  sonnet 
Which  he  had  fashion'd  tn  my  cousin's  glory, 
And  forwarded  hy  hlmd  Torn  Long  th«cair.er; 
Sn  there's  the  chanOK.  first  of  a  hearty  beating, 
Which  failing,  we  ve   thin  after-plot  of  ven- 
geance. 
Bla.    Kind   damsel,  how  considerate    and 

merciful ! 

But  how  shal  1  we  get  off,our  parts  being  play'd? 
Kut.  For  that  we  are  well  filled ;  here's  a 

trap-door 
Sinks  with,  a  counterpoise — you  shall  go  that 

way. 

I'll  make  my  exit  yonder— 'neath  the  window, 
A  balcony  communicates  with  the  tower 
That  overhangs  the  lake. 
Bla.  'Twere  a  rare  place,  this  house  of  De- 

vorgoil. 

To  play  at  hide-and-seek  in— shall  we  try, 
One  day.  my  pretty  Katleen  ? 
Kat.  Hands  off.  rude  ranger !    I'm  no  ma- 
naged hawk 
To  stoop  to  lure  of  yours.— But  hear  you  gal- 
lantly ; 

Tliis  Guilcrammer  hath  vex'd  my  cousin  much 
I  fain  would  have  some  vengeance. 
Bla.  I'll  bear  my  part  with  glee ;— he  spoke 

irreverently 
Of  practice  at  a  mark  ! 

Kat.  That  cries  for  vengeance 

But  I  must  go;  I  hear  my  aunt's  shrill  voice 
My  COUMII  and  lier  father  will  scream  next. 
Ele   (at  a  distance.)  Kaileen!  Katleeu! 
Bla.  Hark  to  old  Swee.llips 

Away  with  you  before  the  full  cry  open- 
But  stay,  what  have  you  there  ? 
Kat.  '(with  a  bundle  she  has  taken  from  the 

wardrobe  ) 

My  dress,  mv  page's  dress — let  it  alone 
Bla    Your   tiring-room  is  not,  I   hope,  fai 

distant; 
You're    inexperienced  in  these    new  habili 

inents — 

I  am  niont  ready  to  assist  your  toilet. 

Kat.  Out,  you  great  ass !  was  ever  such  a 

fool !  [-ft!""  Off 

Bla.  (sings.) 
0,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

And  a  bowman  good  was  he, 
And  he  met  with  a  maiden  in  merry  Sherwood 
All  under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  said  he, 
For  there  never  came  maid  into  merry  Sher 
wood. 

But  she  paid  the  forester's  fee. 

I've  coursed  this  twelvemonth  this  sly  puss 

Kaileen, 
And  she  lias  dodged  me,  turn'd  beneath  m 

nose. 

And  fluiis  me  out  a  score  of  yards  at  once; 
If  this  tame  gear  fadge  right,  I'll  cote  am 

mouth  her. 
And  then,  whoop!  dead!  dead!  dead!  — Sh 

is  the  inelal 

To  make  a  woodman's  wife  of! 

[Patises  a  moment 

Well — I  can  find  a  hare  upon  her  form 
With  any  man  in  Nithsdale — stalk  a  deer, 


an  Reynard  to  the  earth  for  all  his  doubles, 
eclaim  a  haggard  hawk  that's  wild  and  way- 

an  bait  a  wild-cat,— sure  the  devil's  in't 
Jut  I  can  match  a  woman — I'll  to  sdxlv. 
[Sits  down  on  lite  couch  to  examine  t/te  paper. 


SCENE  II. 
Scene  changes  to  the  inhabited  apartment  of  the 
Castle,  as  in  the  last  Seen*  of  the  preceding 
Act.  A  fire  is  kindled,  by  which  Oswald  siti 
in  an  aiti:ude  of  deep  and  melancholy  thought, 
without  jnt/inu  attention  to  what  passes  around 
him.  Eleanor  is  busy  in  covenmi  a  table. 
Flora  goes  nut  and  re-enters,  as  it  'busied  in  the 
kitchen.  There  shoiM  be  some  bu-play—the 
women  whispering  together,  and  witching  the 
stale  of  Oswald  ;  then  siparaling,  and  seeking 
to  avoid  his  observation,  when  he  casually 
raises  his  head,  anil  drops  it  auam.  This  must 
be  left  to  taste  and  nianajemtnt.  The  Women, 
in  the  first  part  of  the  scene,  talk  apart,  and  as 
if  fearful  of  being  overheard;  the  bs-ptoy  of 
stopiring  occasionally,  and  attending  to  Os- 
wald's movements,  will  yive  liveliness  to  the 
Scene. 

Ele.  Is  all  prepared  ? 

Flo.  Ay ;  hut  I  doubt  the  issue 

Will  give  my  sire  less  pleasure  than  you  hope 

for. 

Ele.  Tush,  maid— I  know  thy  father's  hu- 
mour better. 

He  was  high-hred  in  gentle  luxuries; 
And  when  our  griefs  began.  I've  wept  apart. 
While  lordly  cheer  and  high-fill'd  cups  of  wine 
W  ere  blinding  him  against  the  wi>e  to  come. 
He  has  turn'd  bis  back  upon  a  princely  banquet. 
We  will  not  spread  his  board— this  night  at 

least. 
Since  chance  hath  better  furnish'd— with  dry 

bread. 
And  water  from  the  well. 

Enter  Katleen,  and  hears  the  last  speech. 

Kat.  (aside.)  Considerate  aunt !  she  deem 

that  a  LMi.nl  supper 

Were  not  a  Hung  indifferent  even  to  him 
Who  is  to  hang  to-morrow.    Since  she  think 

so, 
We  must   take   care   the  venison   has  due 

honour — 

So  much  I  owe  the  sturdy  knave,  Lance  Black- 
thorn. 

Flo.  Mother,  alas !  when  Grief  turns  reveller 
Despair  is  cup-bearer.     What  shall  hap  to 

morrow  t 
Ele.  I  have  learn'd  carelessness  from  fruit 

less  care. 

Too  long  I've  watch'd  to-morrow ;  let  it  come 
And  cater  for  itself— Thou  hear'st  the  thunder. 
[Loio  and  distant  thunder. 
This  is  a  gloomy  nignt — within,  ala-s  ! 

[Looking  at  her  husband 

St  ill  gloomier  and  more  threatening-Let  us  us* 
Wha'ev«r  means  we  have  to  drive  it  o'er, 
And  leave  to  Heaven  to-morrow.    Trust  me 

flora. 

'Tis  the  philosophy  of  desperate  want 
To  match  itself  but  with  the  present  evil. 


640 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


fj 


And  face  one  grief  at  once. 
Away,  1  wish  thine  aiii  ami  not  thy  counsel. 
[As  Flora  is  about  to  uo  off,  Gnlicrarnmer's 
voice  is  heard  belimd  the  Jtat  sane,  as  if 
from  the  drawbritlye. 
Gul.    (behind.)    Hiilo— hillo—hilloa— hoa— 

hoa! 

[Oswald  raises  himself  and  listens ;  Eleanor 

goes  up  the  steps,  and  opens  the  window  at 

the  loop-hole ;  Gullcramuier's  voiceisthen 

heard  more  distinctly. 

Gul.  Kind  Lady  Devorgoil— sweet  Mistress 

Flora  !— 

The  night  grows  fearful,  I  have  lost  my  way, 
And  wauder'd  till  the  road  turn'd  round  with 

me. 
And  brought  me  back  —  For  Heaven's  sake. 

give  me  shelter! 
Kat    (aside.)  Now,  as  I  live,  the  voice  of 

Gullorammer ! 

Now  shall  our  gambol  he  play'd  offwith  spirit ; 
I'll  swear  1  am  the  only  one  to  whom 
That  screech-owl  whoop  was  e'er  acceptable. 
Osv>.  What  bawling  knave  is  this  that  lakes 

onr  dwelling 

For  some  hedge  inn,  the  haunt  of  laled  drunk- 
ards? 
Ele.  What  shall  I  say  ?— Go,  Katleen,  speak 

to  him. 
Kat.  (aside)  The  game  is  in  my  hands — I 

will  sav  something 

Will  fret  the  Baron's  pride — and  then  he  enters 
(She  speaks  from  the  window.)  Good  sir,  be  pa- 
tient! 

We  are  poor  folks — it  is  but  six  Scotch  miles 
To  the  next  borough  town,  where  your  Reve- 
rence 

May  be  accommodated  to  your  wants  ; 
We  are  poor  folks,  ari't  plea.se  your  Reverence, 
And  keep  a  narrow  household  —  there's  no 
track 

To  lead  your  steps  astrav 

Gul.  Nor  none  to  lead  them   right.     You 

kill  me,  lady. 

If  you  deny  me  harbour.   To  budge  from  hence. 
And  in  my  weary  plight,  were  sudden  death, 
Interment,  funeral-sermon. tombstone. epitaph. 
Oslo  Who's  he  that  is  thus  clamorous  with- 
out? 

(To  Ele.)  Thou  know'st  him? 
Etc.  (contused.)  I  know  him? — no — yes— 'tis 

a  worthy  clergyman. 

Benighted  on  his  way  ; — but  think  not  of  him. 
Kat.  The  moon  wi'll  rise,  when  that  the  tem- 
pest's pa>t. 

And  if  he  miss  the  marsh,  arid  can  avoid 
The  crass  upon  the  left,  the  road  is  plain. 

Oslo.  Then  this  is  all  your  piety ! — to  leave 
One  whom  the  holy  duties  of  his  office 
Have  snmmon'd  over  moor  and  wilderness, 
To  pray  beside  some  dying  wretch's  bed. 
Who  (erring  mortal)  still  would  cleave  to  life, 
Or  wake  some  stubborn  sinner  to  repentance, — 
To  leave  him.  afier  offices  like  these. 
To  choose  his  way  in  dark  ness  'twixlthe  marsh 
And  dizzy  precipice  ? 
Ele.  What  can  1  do  ? 

Osu>.   Do  what  thou  canst— the  wealthiest 

do  no  more — 
And  if  so  much,  'tis  well.     These  crumbling 

walls. 

While  yet  they  bear  a  roof,  shall  now,  as  ever, 
Give  shelter  to  the  wanderer — Have  we  food  ? 
He  shall  partake  it— Have  we  none  ?  the  fast 


Shall  be  accounted  with  the  good  man's  merits 

And  our  ouofbrtoneii 

[He  ooes  to  the  locqi-hv/e  vihilf  he  speaks,  and 
places  hiniselj  Uerr,  in  roum  ot  his  Wite, 
who  comes  down  with  reluctance. 
Gul.  (without.)  Hiilo— hoa!  hoa! 
By  my  good  faith  1  cannot  plod  it  farther; 
The  attempt  were  deaih. 
Osw.  (spfjiksfrom  the  window  )  Palience,  my 

friend, 
I  come  to  lower  the  drawbridge. 

[Descends,  and  exit. 
Ele.  0,  that  the  screaming  bittern  had  his 

couch 

Where  he  deserves  it,  in  the  deepest  marsh  ! 
Kat.  I  would  not  give  this  spurt  for  all  the 

rent 

Of  Devorgoil.  when  Devorgoil  was  richest ! 
( To  Ele  )  But  now  you  eluded  me,  my  dearest 

aunt, 

For  wishing  him  a  horse-pond  for  his  portion  ? 
Ele  Yes,  saucy  girl;  but,  an  it  please  you, 

then 

He  was  not  fretting  me;  if  he  had  sense  enough, 
And  skill  to  bear  him  as  some  casual  stranger, — 
But  he  is  dull  as  earth,  and  every  hint 
Is  lost  on  him,  as  hail-shot  on  the  cormorant. 
Whose  hide  is  proof  except  to  musket-bullets  ! 
Flo.  (apart.)  And  yet  to  such  a  one  wouid 

my  kind  mother. 

Whose  chiet'est  fault,  is  loving  me  too  fondly, 
Wed  her  poor  daughter! 

Enter  Gullcrammer.  his  dress  damaged  by  the 
storm  ;  Eleanor  runs  to  meet  him.  in  order  to 
explain  to  him  that  she  wished  him  to  behave 
as  a  stranger.  Gullcranimer,  mistaking  hir 
approach  for  an  invitation  to  familiarity,  ad- 
vances with  the  air  of  pedantic  conceit  belong- 
ing to  his  character,  when  Oswald  enters. — 
Eleanor  recovers  herself,  and  assumes  an  air 
of  distance — Gullcrarmner  it  confounded,  and 
does  not  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

Osw.  The  counterpoise  has  clean  given  way ; 
the  bridge 

Must  e'en  remain  unraised,  and  leave  us  open. 

For  this  night's  course  at  least,  to  passing 
visi'aiits. — 

What  have  we  here  ?— is  this  the  reverend  man? 
[He  takes  up  the  candle,  and  surveys  Gull- 
crammer, who  strives  to  sustain  the  in- 
spection with  confidence,  while  fear  obvi- 
ously contends  with  conceit  and  desire  to 
show  himself  to  the  best  advantage. 
Gul.  Kind  sir— or,  good  ray  lord — my  band 
is  ruffled, 

But  yet  'twas  fresh  this  morning.    This  fell 
shower 

Hath  somewhat  smirch  d  my  cloak,  but  you 
may  note 

It  rates  five  marks  per  yard  ;  my  doublet 

Hath  tairly  'scaped— 'tis  three-piled  taffeta. 

[Opens  his  cloak,  anil  displays  his  doublet. 
Osw.     A    goodly    inventory— Art    thou    a 

preacher  ? 
Gul.  Yea —  1  laud  Heaven  and  good  Saint 

M  ungo  for  it. 

Osw.  Tis  the  time's  plague,  when  those  that 
should  weed  follies 

Out  of  the  common  field,  have  theirown  minds 

O'errun  with  foppery— Envoys  'twill  heaven 
and  earth. 

Example  should  with  precept  join,  to  show  us 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


641 


How  we  may  scorn  the  world  with  all  its 

vanities. 
Gul.  Nay.  the  high  heavens  forefend  that  I 

were  vain  ! 

When  our  learn 'd  Principal  such  sounding  laud 
Gave  to  mine  Kssny  on  the  hidden  qualities 
Of  the  sulphuric  mineral,  I  disclaim'd 
All  self-exaltmetit.   And  (turning  to  the  women) 

when  at  the  dance. 
The  lovely  Saccharissa  Kirkencrofl, 
Daughter  to  Kirkencroft  of  Kirkencrofl. 
Graced  me  with  her  soft  hand,  credit  me,  ladies, 
That  still  I  felt  myself  a  mortal  man, 
Though  beauty  smiled  on  me. 

Osw.  Come,  sir,  enough  of  this. 
That  you're  ourguest  to-night,  tbank  the  rough 

heavens. 

And  all  our  worser  fortunes;  be  conformable 
Unto  my  rules ;  these  are  no  Sacdianssas 
To  gild  with  compliments.    There's  in  your 

profession, 

j  As  the  best  grain  will  have  its  piles  of  chaff, 
A  certain  wintrier,  who  hath  dared  to  bait 
A  noble  maiden  with  love  tales  and  sonnets; 
And  if  1  meet  him,  his  Genera  cap 
May  scarce  be  proof  to  save  his  ass's  ears. 

Kat.  (aside.)    Umph— 1  am  strongly  tempted. 
!  And  yet  I  think  1  will  be  generous, 
'  And  give  his  brains  a  chance  to  save  his  hones. 
Then  there's  more  humour  in  our  goblin  plot, 
Than  in  a  simple  drubbing. 
Ele.  (aixrrt  to  Flo.)  What  shall  we  do?    If 

he  discover  him, 
He'll  fling  him  out  at  window. 
Fio.  My  faiher's  hint  to  keep  himself  un- 
known 

Is  all  too  broad,  I  think,  to  he  neglected. 
Ele.  But  yet  the   fool,  if  we  produce   his 

bounty. 

May  claim  the  merit  of  presenting  it: 
And  then  we're  but  lost  women  lor  accepting 
A  gift  our  needs  made  timely. 

Kat.  Do  not  produce  them. 

E'en  let  the  fop  go  supperless  to  bed, 
And  keep  his  bones  whole. 

Osw.  (to  his  WiJ'e)  Hast  thou  aught 

To  place  before  him  ere  he  seek  repose  ? 
Ele.  Alas!  loo  well  you  know  our  needful 

fare 

Is  of  the  narrowest  now,  and  knows  no  surplus. 
Osw.  Shame  us  not  with  thy  niggard  house- 
keeping ; 

He  is  a  stranger — were  it  our  last  crust, 
!  And  he  the  veriest  coxcomb  ere  wore  taffeta, 
A  pilch  he's  little  short  of— he  must  share  it, 
Though  all  should  want  to-morrow. 

Gul.  (partly  overhearing  what  pusses  between 

them  ) 

Nay,  I  am  no  lover  of  your  sauced  dainties : 
Plain  food  and  plenty  is  my  motto  still. 
Your  mountain  air  is  bleak,  and  brings  an 

appetite  : 

A  soused  sow's  face,  now,  to  my  modest  think- 
ing. 

Has  ne'er  a  fellow.  What  think  these  fair  ladies 
Uf  a  sow's  face  and  sausaaes  ? 

iAlukis  svjns  to  Eleanor. 
Flo.  Plague  on  the  vulgar  mind,  and  on  his 

courtesies. 
The  whole  truth  will  come  out ! 

Osw.  What  should  they  think,  but  that  you're 

like  to  lack 

Your  favourite  dishes,  sir,  unless  perchance 
You  bring  such  dainties  with  you. 

5!* 


Gul.  No.  not  teith  me  ;  not,  indeed. 
Directly  with  me ;  but— Aha  !  fair  ladies ! 

Ma  firs  ft,jns  again. 
Kat.  Hell  draw  the  beating  down  — Were 

that  the  worst. 

Heaven's  will  be  dune  !  [Aside. 

Osw.  (opart.)  What  can  he  mean  ?— this  is 

the  veriest  dog-whelp— 
Still  he's  a  stranger'and  the  latest  act 
Of  hospitality  m  this  old  mansion 
Shall  not  be  suilied. 
Out  Troth,  sir,  I  think,  under  the  ladies' 

favour. 
Without  pretending-  skill  in  second  sight, 

1  hose  of  my  cloth  being  seldom  conjurers 

Ckio.  I'll  take  my  Bible-oath  that  thou  art 

none.  {Aside 

Gul.  [  do  opine,  still  with  the  ladies'  favour 

1  hat  I  could  guess  the  nature  of  our  supper : 

I  do  nut  say  in  such  and  such  precedence 

1  he  dishes  will  be  placed ;  housewives,  as  you 

know, 

On  such  forms  have  their  fancies ;  but,  I  say 
still. 

That  a  sow's  face  and  sausages 

O™  Peace,  sir! 

0  er-dnven  jests,  (if  this  be  one)  are  insolent. 
Flo.  (apart,  seeing  her  mother  uneasy.)  The  old 

saw  still  holds  true— a  churl's  benefits, 
bauced  with  his  lack  of  feeling,  sense,  and 

courtesy, 
Savour  like  injuries. 

IA  horn  is  winded  without:  then  a  loud 

knocking  at  the  gate. 

Leo.  (without)  Ope,  for  the  sake  of  love  and 

charity !       [Oswald  noes  to  the  loop-hole. 

Gul.  Heaven's  mercy !  should  there  come 

another  stranger, 
And  he  half  starved  with  wandering  on  the 

wolds. 
The  sow's  face  boasts  no  substance,  nor  the 

sausages, 

To  stand  our  reinforced  attack  !    1  judge,  too, 
By  this  starved  Baron's  language,  there's  no 

hope 

Of  a  reserve  of  victuals. 
Flo.  Go  to  the  casement,  cousin. 
Kat.  Go  yourself, 

And  bid  the  gallant  who  that  bugle  winded 
Sleep  in  the  storm-swept  waste;  as  meet  for 

him 
As  for  Lance  Blackthorn. — Come,  111  not  dis- 

I'll  get  admittance  for  this  second  suitor. 
And  we'll  play  out  this  gambol  at  cross  pur- 
poses. 

But  see,  your  father  has  prevented  me. 
O*io.  1  seems  to  have  spoken  with  those  without, 
anil  answers  )  Well.  I  will  ope  the  door; 

one  guest  already, 

Driven  by  the  storm. has  elaim'd  my  hospitality. 
And  you,  if  you  were  neuds,  were  scarce  less 

welcome 

To  this  my  mouldering  roof,  than  empty  igno- 
rance 
And  rank  conceit — I  hasten  to  admit  you. 

lExit. 

Ele.  (to  Flo.)  The  tempest  thickens.    By 
that  winded  bugle. 

1  guess  the  guest  that  next  will  honour  us. 

Little  deceiver,  that  didst  mock  my  troubles, 
'Tis  now  thy  turn  to  fear! 

Flo.  Mother,  if  1  knew  less  or  more  of  this 
Unthought  of  and  most  perilous  visitation, 


642 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


I  would  your  wishes  were  fulfill'd  on  me, 
And  I  were  wedded  to  a  thing  like  you. 
Gul.  (approaching.)  Come,  ladies,  now  you 

see  the  jest  is  threadbare. 
And  you  must  own  that  same  sow's  face  and 

sausages 

Re-enter   Oswald    with    Leonard,    supporting 
Bauldie  Durward.     Oswald  takes  a  view  of 
them,  as  formerly  of  Gullcrammer,  then  speaks. 
Osa.  (to  Leo.)  By  thy  green  cassock,  hunt- 
ing-spear and  bugle, 
I  guess  thou  art  a  huntsman  ? 
Leo.  (bowing  with  respect.)  A  ranger  of  the 

neighbouring  royal  furest. 
Under  the  good  Lord  >iithsdale;   huntsman. 

therefore. 

In  time  of  peace,  and  when  the  land  has  war, 
To  my  best  powers  a  soldier. 

Osut.  Welcome,  as  either.    I  have  loved  the 

chase, 

And  was  a  soldier  once.— This  aged  man, 
What  may  he  be? 
OUT.  (recovering  his  breath  )  Is  but  a  beggar, 

sir,  an  humble  mendicant. 
Who  feels  it  passing  strauge.that  from  this  roof. 
Above  all  others,  he  should  now  crave  shelter. 
Osw.  Why  so  ?    Vou're  welcome  both — only 

the  word 
Warrants   more    courtesy   than  our  present 

means 

Permit  us  to  bestow.  A  huntsman  and  a  soldier 
May  be  a  prince's  comrade, much  more  mine; 
And  for  a  beggar— friend,  there  little  lacks. 
Save  that  blue  gown  and  badge,  and  clouted 

pouches, 

To  make  us  comrades  too :  then  welcome  both. 
And  to  a  besgar's  feast.  I  fear  brown  bread. 
And  water  from  the  spring,  will  be  the  best 

on'l; 

For  we  had  cast  to  wend  abroad  this  evening, 
And  left  our  larder  empty. 

Gul.  Yet,  if  some  kindly  fairy, 

In  our  behalf,  would  search  its  hid  recesses, — 
(Apart)  We'll  not  go  supperless  now  —  we're 

three  to  one. — 

Still  do  I  say  ,that  a  soused  face  and  sausages — 

Osw.  (looks  sternly  at  him,  then  at  ha  wife  ) 

There's  something  under  this,  but  that  the 

present 
Is  not  a  time  to  question.    ( To  Ele.)  Wife,  my 

mood 

Is  at  such  a  height  of  tide,  that  a  turn'd  feather 
Would  make  me  frantic  now,  with  mirth  or 

fury! 

Tempt  me  no  more — but  if  thou  hast  the  things 
This  carrion  crow  so  croaks  for,  bring  them 

forth ; 

For,  by  my  father's  l>eard,  if  I  stand  caterer, 
"Twill  be  a  fearful  banquet! 
Ele.  Your  pleasure  be  obey'd  — Come,  aid 

me,  Flora.  \_Exeunt. 

\_Uurtng  the  following  speeches  the  Women 

place  dishes  on  the  table. 
Osw.  (to  Dur. )  How  did  you  lose  your  path  ? 
Dur.  E'en  when  we  thought  to  find  it,  a 

wiid  meteor 

Danced  in  the  moss,  and  led  our  feet  astray. — 
1  give  small  credence  to  the  tales  of  old, 
Of  Friar's-lantern  told,  and  Will-o'-Wisp, 
Else  would  I  say,  that  some  malicious  demon 
Guided  us  in  a  round  ;  for  to  the  moat. 
Which  we  had  pass'd  two  hours  since,  were 

we  led. 


And  there  the  gleam  flicker'd  and  disappear'd. 
Even  on  your  drawbridge.      I  was  so  worn 

down. 
So  broke  with  labouring  through  marsh  and 

moor, 

That,  wold  I  nold  I,  here  my  young  conductor 
Would  needs  implore  fur  entrauce  ;  else,  be- 
lieve me, 
I  had  not  troubled  you. 

Osw.  And  why  not,  father? — have  you  e'er 

heard  auglit. 

Or  of  my  house  or  me,  that  wanderers. 
Whom  or  their  roving  trade  or  sudden  circum- 
stance 

Obliged  to  seek  a  shelter,  should  avoid 
The  House  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Dur.  Sir.  I  am  English  born — 

Native  of  Cumberland     Enough  is  said 
Why  I  should  >huu  those  bowers,  whose  lords 

were  hostile 

To  English  blood,  and  unto  Cumberland 
Most  h'>.»til«  and  most  fatal. 

Osw.  Ay,  father.  Once  my  graudsire  plough 'd, 

and  harrow'd. 
And  sow'd  with  salt,  the  streets  of  your  fair 

towns ; 

But  what  of  that!— you  have  the  'vantas-e  now. 
Dur.   True,  Lord  of   Devorgoil,  and   well 

believe  I, 

That  not  in  vain  we  sought  these  towers  to- 
night. 

So  strangely  guided,  to  behold  their  state. 
Osw.  Ay,  thou  wouldst  say,  'twas  fit  a  Cum- 
brian begaar 

Should  sit  an  equal  guest  in  his  proud  halls 
Whose  father  beggar'd  Cumberland  — Grey- 
beard, let  it  be  so. 
I'll  not  dispute  it  with  thefi. 

[2'o  Leo  ,u>ho  teas  speaking  to  Flora,  but. 
on  being  surprised,  occupied  himself  with 
the  suit  of  armour.) 
What  makest  thou  there,  young  man  ? 

LfO.  I  niarvell'd  at  this  harness ;  it  is  larger 
Than  arms  of  modern  days.  Ho\y  richly  carved 
With  guld  inlaid  on  steel  —  how  close  the 

rivets — 

How  justly  lit  the  joints!   I  think  the  gauntlet 
Would  swallow  twice  my  hand. 

[He  is  about  to  take  down  some  part  of  the 

Armour ;  Oswald  mturjeres 
Osw.  Do  not  displace  it. 

My  grandsire.  Erick, doubled  human  strength, 
And  almost  human  size — and  human  know- 
ledge, 

And  human  vice,  and  human  virtue  also, 
As  storm  or  sunshine  chanced  to  occupy 
His  mental  hemisphere     After  a  fatal  deed. 
He  hung  his  armour  on  the  wall,  forbidding 
It  e'er  should  be  ta'en  down.    There   is  a 

prophecy. 

That  of  itself 'twill  fall,  upon  the  night 
When,  in  the  fiftieth  year  from  his  decease, 
Devorgml's  feast  is  lull.     This  is  the  era ; 
But,  as  too  well  you  see,  no  meet  occasion 
Will  do  the  downfall  of  the  armour  justice, 
Or  grace  it  with  a  feast.    There  let  it  bide. 
Trying  its  strength  with  the  old  walls  it  hangs 

on. 

Which  shall  fall  soonest. 
Dur.  (looking  at  the  trophy  with  a  mixture  of 

feeling. ) 
Then  there  stern  Brick's  harness  hangs  un- 

touch'd, 
Since  his  last  fatal  raid  on  Cumberland  ! 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


643 


One.  Ay,  waste  and  want,  and  recklessness 

—a  comrade 
Still  yoked  with  waste  and  want — havestripp'd 

ilie-e  walls 

Of  every  other  trophy.     AntlerM  skulls, 
Whose  branches  vouch' d  the  tales  old  vassals 

told 

Of  desperate  chases— partisans  and  spears — 
Knights'  barred  helms  and  shields— the  shafts 

and  bows. 

Axes  ami  breast  plates.of  the  hardy  yeomanry — 
The  banners  of  the  vanquish'd  —  signs  these 

aims 

Were  not  assumed  in  vain,  have  disappear'd. 
Yes,  one  by  one  thev  all  have  disappear'd  ; 
And  MOW  bird  Enr.k's  harness  hangs  alone, 
'Vidst  implement  of  vulgar  husbandry 
And  mean  economv  ;  as  some  old  warrior. 
Whom  want  hath  made  an  inmate  of  an  alms- 
house. 
Shows,   mil   the   beggar'd  spendthrifts,  base 

merhanie-s. 
And  bankrupt  pedlars,  with  whom  fate  has 

nnx'd  him 
Dur.  Or   rather  like   a  pirate,  whom  the 

prison  house. 
Prime  leveller  next  the  grave,  hath  for  the 

first  lime, 

Mingled  with  peaceful  captives,  low  in  for- 
tunes, 

But  fair  in  mnncenre. 
Osia    (looking  at  Dur.  with  surprise.)  Friend 

thou  art  bitter! 
Dur.  Plain  truth,  sir,  like  the  vulgar  copper 

coinage, 

Despised  among  the  gentry,  still  finds  value 
And  currency  with  beggars. 

Osu>.  Be  it  so. 

I  will  not  trench  on  the  immunities 
1  soon   may  claim   to  share.    Thy  features 

ton. 
Though   weather-beaten,  and  thy  strain  of 

language. 

Relish  of  better  times.     Come  hither,  friend. 
{They  speak  apart 
And  let  me  ask  thee  of  thine  occupation. 

[Leonard  looks  round, ami  stri»o()svta\ 
ert'ingeit  with  Durward.  antt  Gullcram 
mer  Kith  Eleanor,  approaches  tmoards 
Flora,  who  must  give  him  an  opportn 
nity  of  doing  so  with  obvious  attention 
on  her  port  to  give  it  the  air  of  chance 
The  by-play  here  will  rest  with  the 
Lady,  who  must  engage  tht  alienlio, 
of  thf  audimce  by  playing  off  a  little 
female  hypocrisy  and  simple  coquetry 

Jse.  Flora 

Flo.  Ay.  eallant   huntsman,  may  she  deign 

to  question 
Why   Leonard  came    not  at    the    appomtei 

hour; 

Or  why  he  came  at  midnight? 
Leo.   Love  has  no  certain   loadstar,  gentl 

Flora, 
And  oft  gives  up  the  helm  to  wayward  pilot 

aee. 

To  sav  the  sooth— A  begsar  forced  me  hence 
Anil  Will-o'-wisp  did  guide  us  back  ajrain 
Flo.    Ay.  ay,  your  beggar  was  the  fade 

spectre 

Of  Poverty,  that  sits  upon  the  threshold 
Of  these  our  rnin'd  walls.     I've  been  unwise 
I*onard.  to  let  you  speak  so  oft  with  me ; 
And  you  a  fool  to  say  what  you  have  said. 


'en  let   us   here  break  short ;  and.  wise  at 

length, 
[old   each   our  separate  way  through  life's 

wule  ocean. 

Leo.  Nay,  rather  let  us  join  ourcourse  toge- 
ther, 
nd   share   the   breeze  or  tempest,  doubling 

joys. 

.elieving  sorrows,  warding  evils  off 
V  ith  mutual  effort,  or  enduring  them 
Vrh  mutual  patience. 
Flo.  This  is  but  flattering  counsel  — sweet 

and  baneful ; 

Jut  mine  had  wholesome  In:  ter  in  't. 
K'lt.  Ay,  ay :  but  like  the  slv  ajiothecary, 
"ou'll  be  the  last,  lo  take  the  bitter  drug 
That  you  prescribe  to  others. 

[Thru  whisper.     Eleanor  ndwmcrs  to 
to  interrupt  them,  fcllouftt  by  Gull- 
crammer. 
Ele.  What,  maid. no  household  cares?  Leave 

to  your  elders 

The  task  of  filling  passing  strangers'  ears 
ith  the  due  notes  of  welcomes 
Gut.  Be  it  thine, 

),  Mistress  Flora,  the  more  useful  talent 
Of  filling  si  langiTs'  stomachs  with   substan- 
tial* ; 

That  is  to  say. — for  learn'd  commentators 
>o  so  expound  substantial?  in  some  places, — 
With  a  sows'd  bacon-face  .ind  sausages. 
Flo.  (apart  )  Would  ihou  wert  sows'd,  in- 
tolerable pedant. 

Base,  greedy,  perverse,  interrupting  coxcomb ! 
Kat.  Hush.  coz.  Air  we'll  be  well  avenged  on 

him. 

And  ere  this  night  goes  o'er,  else  woman's  wit 
Cannot  o'ertake  her  wishes. 

[She  proceeds  lo  arrange  seats.   Oswald 
and  Durward  come  forward  in  con- 
versulitin. 
Osw.  I  like  thine  humour  well— So  all  men 

beg 

Dur.  Yes — I  can   make  it  good  by  proof. 

Your  soldier 

Begs  for  a  leaf  of  laurel,  and  a  line 
In  the  Gazette.     He  brandishes  his  sword 
To  hack  his  suit,  and  is  a  sturdy  beggar— 
The  courtier  begs  a  riband  or  a  star. 
And.  like  our  gentler  mumpers,  is  provided 
With  false  certificates  of  health  and  fortune 
[jist  in  the  public  service.     Fur  your  lover, 
Who  begs  a  sigh,  a  smile,  or  lock"  of  hair, 
A  buskin-point,  he  niaunds  upon  the  pad. 
With  the  true  cant  of  pure  mendicity, 
"The  smallest  trifle  to  relieve  a  Christian, 

And  if  it  like  your  Ladyship  !'' 

[/»  a  beoaing  tone 
Kat.  (opart  )  This  is  a  cunning  knave,  am 

feeds  the  humour 

Of  my  aunt's  husband,  for  I  must  not  say 
Mine  honour'd  uncle.    I  will  try  a  question— 
Your  man  of  merit,  though,  who  serves  th( 
commonwealth. 

Nor  asks  for  a  requital  ? [To  Durward 

Our.  Is  a  dumb  besgar. 

And  lets  his  actions  speak  like  signs  for  him. 
('hallensmg  double  guerdon  —Now.  I'll  show 
How  your  true  beggar  has  the  fair  advantage 
O'er  all  the  tribes  of  cloak'd  mendicity 
1  have  told  over  to  you.— The  soldier's  laure 
The  statesman's  riband. and  the  lady's  favour 
Once  won  and  gain'd,  are  not  held  worth 
farthing 


644 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Bv  such  as  longest,  loudest,  ranted  for  them  ; 
Whereas  your  charitable  half- penny. 
Which  is  the  scope  of  a  true  beggar's  suit. 
Is  worth  tioo  farthings,  and.  in  times  of  plenty,  i 
Will  buy  a  crust  of  bread. 
Flo.    (interrupting  him,  and  addressing  her 

father. ) 

Sir.  let  me  be  a  beggar  with  the  time, 
And  prav  you  come  to  supper. 
Ele.  (to  Oswald,  apart.)  Must  he  sit  with  us  ? 
[Looking  at  Durward.  i 
Osw  A  v.  ay,  what  else — since  we  are  beggars 

all? 
When  cloaks  are  ragged,  sure  their  worth  is 

equal. 
Whether  at  first  they  were  of  silk  or  woollen. 

Ele.  Thou  art  scarce  consistent. 
This  day  thon  didst  refuse  a  princely  banquet. 
Because  a  new-made  lord  was  placed  above 
thee ; 

And  now 

Osia.  Wife.  I  have  seen,  at  public  executions, 
A  wretch  that  could  not  brook  the  hand  of 

violence 
Should  push  him  from  the  scaffold,  pluck  up 

courage. 
And,  with  a  desperate  sort  of  cheerfulness, 

Take  the  fell  plunge  himself 

W  elcome,  then,  beegars.  to  a  beggar's  feast ! 

Gul.  (who  has  in  the  meanwhile  seated  himself) 
But  this  is  more. — A  better  countenance, — 
Fair  fall  the  hands  that  sows'd  it!— than  this 

hog's. 

Or  prettier  provender  than   these  same  sau- 
sages, 
(By  whiit  good   friend   sent  hither,  shall  be 

nameless. 
Doubtless  some  youth  whom  love  hath  made 

profuse.) 

[Smiling  significantly  at  Eleanor  and  Flora. 
No  prince   need  wish   to  peck   at.     Long,  1 

ween. 
Since  that  the  nostrils   of  this   house,  (by 

metaphor, 
I  mean  the  chimneys)  smell'd  a  steam  so 

grateful — 
By  your  good  leave  I  cannot  daily  longer 

(Helps  himself. 
Osw   (places  Durward  above  Gullcrarumer.) 

Meanwhile,  sir. 

Please  it  your  faithful  learning  to  give  place 
To  grey  hairs  and  to  wisdom  :  and.  moreover. 

If  yon  had  tarried  for  the  benediction 

Gut   (somewhat  abashed.)    I  said  grace   to 

myself. 
Osw.  (not  minding  him  ) — And  waited  for  the 

company  of  others. 

It  had  been  better  fashion.     Time  has  been, 
I  should  have  told  a  guest  at  Devorgoil, 
Bearing  himself  thus  forward,  he  was  saucy. 
[He  seats  himself,  and  helps  the  company 
and  himself  in  dumb-show       There 
should  be  a  contrast  between  the  prea 
sion  of  his  aristocratic  civility,  and 
the  rude  under-breeding  o/Gullcram- 
mer. 
Osw    (having  tasted  the  dish  next  him  )  Why, 

this  is  venison.  Eleanor! 
Gul.   Eh!  What!  Let's  see— 

[Pushes  across  Oswald  and  helps  himself. 

It  may  he  venison — 

I'm  sure  'tis  not  beef,  veal,  mutton,  lamb,  or 

pork. 
Eke  I  am  sure,  that  be  it  what  it  will. 


It  is  not  half  so  eoofl  as  sausages, 
Or  as  a  sow's  face  sows'd. 

Oslo.  Eleanor,  whence  all  this? 

Ele  Wait  till  to-morrow, 

You  shall  know  all.     It  was  a  happy  chance 
That  furnish'd  us  to  meet  so  many  guests. 

[Fills  wine. 

Try  if  your  cup  be  not  as  richly  garmsh'd 
As  is  your  trencher.1 
Kai.  (apart  )  My  aunt  adheres  to  the  good 

cautious  maxim 
Of, — "  Kat  your  pudding,  friend,  and  hold  your 

tongue.'' 
Osw    (tastes  the  wine.)  It  is  the  grape  of 

Bordeaux. 

Such  dainties,  once  familiar  to  my  board, 
Have  been  estranged  from't  long. 

[He  orjoin  fills  his  glass,  and  continues 

to  speak  as  he  holds  it  up. 
Fill  round,  my  friends  —  here  is  a  treacherous 

friend  now 
Smiles   in  your  face,  yet  seeks  to  steal  the 

jewel. 

Which  is  distinction  between  man  and  brute — 
I  mean  our  reason — this  he  does,  and  smiles. 
But  are  not  all  friends  treacherous  ?— one  shall 

cross  you 
Even   in   your  dearest   interests  —  one  shall 

slander  you — 
This  steal  your  daughter,  that  defraud  your 

purse ; 

But  this  eay  flask  of  Bordeaux  will  but  borrow 
Your  sense  of  moral  sorrows  for  a  season, 
And  leave,  instead,  a  gay  delirium. 
Methinks  mv  brain,  unused  to  such  gay  visi- 
tants. ' 

The  influence  feels  already !— we  will  revel  !— 
Our  banquet  shall  be  loud  !— it  is  our  last. 
Katleen.  thy  son". 

Kat.  Not  now,  my  lord  —  I  mean  to  sing  to- 
night 
For  this  same  moderate,  grave,  and  reverend 

clergyman  ; 

I'll  keep  rny  voice  till  then. 
Ele    Your  round  refusal  shows  but  cottage 

breeding. 

Kat.  Ay,  my  good  aunt,  for  I  was  cottage- 
nurtured, 

And  taught.  I  think,  to  prize  my  own  wild  will 
Above  all  sacrifice  to  compliment 
Here  is  a  huntsman — in  his  eyes  I  read  it, 
He  sinas  the  martial  sons  my  uncle  Inves. 
What  time  fierce  Claver'se  wilh  his  Cavaliers, 
Abjuring  the  new  change  of  government. 
Forcing   his   fearless  way   through  timorous 

friends, 

And  enemies  as  timorous,  left  the  capital 
To  rouse  in  James's  c;iuse  the  distant  High- 
lands. 
Have   you   ne'er  heard  the   song,   my  noble 

unc.le  ? 
Osw.  Have  I  not  heard,  wench?  — It  was  I 

rode  next  him, 

'Tis  thiny  summers  since— rode  by  his  rein ; 
We  marc'lied  on  through  the  alarm'd  city, 
As   sweeps    the  osprey   through  a  flock  of 

gulls. 

Who  scream  and  flutter,  but  dare  no  resistance 
Against    the    hold    sea-empress.  —  They    did 

murmur. 
The  crowds  before  us.  in  their  sullen  wrath, 


1  Wooden  trenchers  should  be  used,  and  the  quaic.li,  i 
Scottish  drinkins-cnp. 


THE    DOOM    OF    DEVORGOIL. 


645 


And  those  whom  we  had  passed,  gathering 

fre-li  courage. 

Cried  havor.  in  the  rear — we  minded  them 
t,'en   a.s  me  brave   bark   minds  the  bursting: 

billows. 
Which,  yielding  to  her  bows,  burst  on  her 

HUM, 

And  ripple  in  her  wake.— Sing  me  that  strain. 
[To  Leonard 

And  thou  shalt  have  a  meed  I  seldom  tender, 

Because  they're  all  I  h;ive  tosrive — my  thanks 

Leo.  Nay,  if  you  '11  bear  with  what  1  cannot 

help, 
A  voice  that's  rough  with  hollowing  to  the 

hounds, 
I'll  sing  the  song  even  as  old  Rowland  taught 

me. 

SO  N  O.1 
Air — "  The  Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee." 

To  the   Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Claver'se 

that  spoke, 
Ere   the   King's  crown  shall  fall  there  are 

crowns  lo  be  broke; 

So  let  each  Cavalier  who  loves  honour  and  me, 
Come  follow  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

"Come  fill  up  my  cup.  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your 

men  ; 
Come  open  the  West  Port,  and  let  me  gang 

free, 
And  it 's  room    for   the   bonnets   of   Bonny 

Dundee !" 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street, 
Ttie  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they 

are  beat ; 
But  the  Provost,  douce  man,  said  "  Just  e'en 

let  him  be, 
The  Gude  Town  is  weel  quit  of  that  Deil  of 

Dundee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <tc. 


As  he  rode  down  the  sanctified  bemls  of  the 

Bow,   . 

Ilk  carline  was  fly-tins  and  slukins  her  pow; 
But  the  yi.um?  plan's  of  grace.  th«y  look'd 

coutliie  and  slee. 
Thinking,   luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou   Bonny 

Dundee! 
Come  till  up  my  cup,  &c. 

With  sour-featured  Whigs  the   Grassmarket 

was  crarimfd 
As  if  half   the   West    had   set  tryst    to    be 

hane'd ;  2 
There  was  spite  in  each  look,  there  was  fear 

iu  each  e'e, 
As   they  watch'd   for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny 

Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fec. 

These  cowls  of  Kilmarnock  had  spits  and  had 
spears, 

And  lang-lafted  gullies  to  kill  Cavaliers; 

But  they  shrunk  to  close  heads,  and  the  cause- 
way was  free. 

At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  till  up  my  cup,  <tc. 

He  spurr'd   lo  the   foot  of  the  proud  Castle 

rock. 

And  with  the  Kay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke ; 
"  Let  Minu  Meg  and  her  marrows  speak  twa 

words  or  three. 

For  the  Inveof  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he 

goes— 
"  Where'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Mon- 

tnise! 
Your  Grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings 

of  me. 

Or  that  low  lies  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup.  <tc. 


the  Highlands,  and  I 


prepan 


been  ordered  by  James  to  mak 

"WIvM  Dundee  was  in  this  temper,  information  was 
brought  him.  whether  true  or  false  IK  uncertain,  that  some 

h  m,  in  revenge  for  his  former  severities  agains:  their 
party.  He  new  to  the  Convention  and  demanded  justice. 
The  Duke  of  Hamilton,  who  wished  to  get  rid  of  a  trouble- 

in  order  to  sting  him  in  the  tendered  part,  reflected  upon 
that  courare  which  could  be  alarmed  by  imaginary  dangers. 

with  a  troop  of  fifty  horsemen  who  had  deserted   to  him 

answered,  •  Wherever  the  spirit  of  Monuose  shall  d  rert 
«•<  rambled  up  the  precipice  at  a  place  difficult  aud  danter- 

postern-gate.  them  irks  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen,  though 
the  gate  Iself  is  built  np.  Hopintr.  in  vain,  to  infuae  the 

retire  with  him  into  the  Highland,  raise  his  vaasal«  there. 

command  of  the  Castle  to  Winram.  the  lieutenant  gover- 
nor, an  officer  on  whom  Dundee  could  rely.  The  Duke 
concealed  hia  timidity  under  the  excuse  of  a  soldier.  •  A. 

aMisned  him.'  The  novelty  of  the  sinht  drew  cumbers  to 
the  foot  of  the  rock  upon  which  the  conference  was  held. 
These  numbers  every  minute  increased,  and.  in  the  end, 
were  mistaken  for  Dundee's  adherent*.  The  Convention 
waa  then  sitting:  news  were  carried  thither  that  Dundee 


'  That  there  was  danger  wil 
danger  was  over  :  but  that  the  friends  of  liberty  hod  no- 
drums  to  be  beat  and  the  trumpets  to  sound  through  the 
city  In  an  instant  vast  swarm*  of  (bone  who  had  bien 

the  western  comities  and  who  had  been  hitherto  hid  in 
garrets  and  cellar",  showed  themselves  in  Die  street*  :  not, 


which  the  tumult  arose,  and  caught  contagion  from  the 
were  thrown  open,  and  the  Whig  member*,  at-  they  went 

populace.     Terrified   by    th«    prospect   of    future  alarms, 
many  of  the  adherents  of  James  quitted  the  Convention, 

onlv  a  very  few   of  the   most   resolute  .-ontiinied   their 
attendance."—  Datrjmple-t  Memain,  vol.  11.,  p.  305. 


646 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"There  are  hills  beyond  Penlland,  and  lands 

beyond  Forth. 
If  there's  lords  m  the  Lowlands,  there's  chiefs 

in  the  North; 
There  are  wild  Duniewassals  three  thousand 

times  three, 
Will  cry  huiijh!   for  the   bonnet  of   Bonny 

Dundee, 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 
"  There's  brass  on  the  target  of  barken'd  bull- 
hide  ; 
There's  steel   in  the  scabbard   that  dangles 

beside ; 
The  brass  shall  be  burnish'd,  the  steel  shall 

flash  free. 
At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 
"Away  to    the    hills,    to  the  caves,  to    the 

rocks— 
Ere  I  own  an  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the 

fox; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your 

glee. 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and 

me!" 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 
He  waved  his  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets 

were  blown. 
The  kettle-drums  clash'd,  and  the  horsemen 

rode  on. 
Till  on  Kavelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's 

lee. 
Died   away  the   wild   war-notes   of  Bonny 

Dundee, 

Come  fill  up  my  cnp.  come  fill  up  my  can. 
Come  saddle  the  horses  and  call  up 'the  men, 
Come  open  your  gates  and  let  me  gae  free. 
For  it's  up  wilh  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee  ! 

Ete.  Katleen,  do  thou  sing  now.  Thy  uncle's 

cheerful ; 
We  must  not  let  his  humour  ebb  again. 

Kit.  But  I'll  do  better,  aunt,  than  if  I  sung. 
For  Flora  can  sing;  blithe;  so  can  this  hunts- 
man. 

As  he  has  shown  e'en  now;  let  them  duet  it. 
Osuj.    Wei!,    huntsman,  we    must    give  to 

freakish  maiden 

The  freedom  of  her  fancy. — Raise  the  carol. 
And  Flora,  if  she  can,  will  join  the  measure. 

SONG. 

When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer, 
And  lovely  eves  are  laughing  near, 
And  in  the  goblet's  bosom  clear 

The  cares  of  day  are  drown'd  ; 
When  pnns  are  made,  and  bumpers  qualTd, 
When  wild  Wit  shoots  his  roving  shaft, 
And  Mirth  his  jovial  lausli  has  laugU'd, 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown'd, 
Ah  gay, 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown'd. 
When  glees  are  sung,  and  catches  troll'd. 
And  bnslifiilness  grows  bright  and  bold, 
And  lieautv  is  no  lonser  cold. 

And  ase'no  lunger  dull ; 
When  chimes  are  brief,  and  cocks  do  crow, 
To  tell  us  it  is  time  to  go. 
Yet  how  to  part  we  do  not  know, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 
Ah  gay, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 


Osu>.  (rises  with  the  cup  in  his  hand.}    Devor- 

goii's  feast  is  full- 
Drink  to  the  pletlse! 

[A  tremendous  burst  of  thunder  fallows 
these  words  of  the  Sonq ;  anil  tne 
Liatitnmu  shou'il  seent  to  strike  the 
stiit  of  black  Armour,  which  falls  icith 
a  crash.1  All  rise  tn  surprise  and 
fear  except  Gullcrammer.  whn  tum- 
bles over  bnckwnnls,  ami  lies  stUl. 
Osw.  That  sounded  like  the  judgment-peal 

— the  roof 
Still  trembles  with  the  volley. 

Dtir.  Happy  those 

Who  are  prepared  to  meet  such  fearful  sum- 
mons— 
Leonard,  what  dost  thou  there? 

Leo.  (supporting  Fio.)    The  duty  of  a  man- 
Supporting   innocence.      Were   it   the    final 

call. 
I  were  not  misemploy'd. 

Osw    The   armour  of  my  grandsire    hath 

fall'n  down. 
And  old  saws   have  spoke  truth. — (Musing.) 

The  fiftieth  year— 
Devorgoil's  feast  at  fullest !    What  to  think  of 

it 

Leo.  (lifting  a  scroll  which  had  fallen  wilh  the 

armour. ) 

This  may  inform  us. 
[Attempts  to  read  the  manuscript,  shakes 

his  head,  and  (rives  it  to  Oswald. 
But  not  to  eyes  unleam'd  it  lells  its  tidings. 
Osw.  Hawks.hounds,  and  revelling  consumed 

the  hours 
I  should  have  given  to  study. 

[Looks  at  the  manuscript. 
These  characters  I  spell  not  more  than  thou. 
They  are  not  of  our  day,  and.  as  1  think, 
Not  of  our  language.  —Where's  our  scholar 

now. 

So  forward  at  the  banquet  ?    Is  he  laggard 
Upon  a  point  of  learning7 

Leo.  Here  is  the  man  of  letter'd  dignity, 
E'en  in  a  piteous  case. 

[Drngs  Gullcrammer  forward, 
Osw.  Art  waking,  craven?  canst  thou  read 

this  scroll? 
Or  art  thou  only  learn'd  in  sowsing  swine's 

flesh, 

And  prompt  in  eating  it  ? 
Gul.  Eh— ah  !— oh— ho!— Have  you  no  better 

time 

To  tai  a  man  with  riddles,  than  the  moment 
When  lie  scarce  knows  whether  he's  dead  or 

living? 
Osw    Confound  the  pedant  ?— Can  you  read 

the  scroll. 

Or  can  you  not,  sir  ?     [f  you  can,  pronounce 
Its  meaning  speedily. 

Gul  Can  t  read  it,  quotha  ! 

When  at  our  learned  University, 
I  gnin'cl  fir>t  premium  for  Hebrew  learning.— 
Which  was  a  pound  of  high-dried   Scottish 

snuff. 

And  half  a  neck  of  onions,  with  a  bushel 
Of  curious  oalmeal. — our  learn'd  Principal 
Did   say.  "  Melchisedek,  thou   canst  do  any 

tiling !" 

Now  comes  he  with  his  paltry  scroll  of  parch- 
ment, 


mem, 

1  I  should  think  tbu  may  be  contrived,  by  having  I 
transparent  zig-zag  in  the  flat  seem1,  immediately  above 
the  armour,  suddenly  and  very  strongly  illuminated. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


647 


And,  "  Con  you  read  it?" — After  such  affront, 
The  point  is,  if  I  will. 

Osu>.  A  point  soon  solved, 

Tnlfss  yon  choose  to  sleep  among  tne  frogs; 
For  look  you.  sir.  there  is  the  chamber  window. 
Beneath  it  lies  the  lake. 
Elf.  Kind  master  Gullcrammer,  beware  my 

husband. 

He  brooks  110  contradiction— 'tis  his  fault, 
Ami  in  his  wrath  he's  dangerous. 
Gul.  (looks  at  the  scroll,  and  mutters  as  if 

reading. ) 

Hashyaboth  hotch-piitch — 
A  simple  matter  this  to  make  a  rout  of— 
Ten  rashfrsen  bacon,  mish-mash  venison. 
Sausagian  snwsfd-foce — 'Tis  a  simple  catalogue 
Of  our  small  supper— made  by  the  grave  sage 
Whose  prescience  knew  this  night  that  we 

should  feast 

On  venison,  hash'd  sow's  face,  and  sausages. 
And  buns  his  steel-coat  for  a  supper  bell— 
Urn  let  us  to  our  provender  again, 
For  it  is  written  we  shall  finish  it. 
And  bless  our  stars  the  lightning  left  it  us. 
Osio     This    must   be   impudence   or   igno- 
rance!— 

The  spirit  of  rough  Eriek  stirs  within  me, 
And  I  will  knock  thy  brains  out  if  thou  pal- 

terest ! 
Expound  the  scroll  to  me ! 

(;ul_  You're  over  hasty ; 

And  yet  you  may  be  right  too— 'Tis  Samaritan, 
Now  I  look  closer  on't,  and  I  did  take  it 
For  simple  Hebrew. 

Dur.  'Tis  Hebrew  to  a  simpleton, 
That  we  see  plainly.fi  iend—  Give  me  the  scroll. 
Gul.  Alas,  good  friend !  what  would  you  do 

with  it  I 
Dur   {takes  it  from  him.)  My  best  to  read  it, 

sir — 

The  character  is  Saxon, 
Used  at  no  distant  date  within  this  district ; 
And  thus  the  tenor  runs— nor  in  Samaritan, 
Nor  simple  Hebrew,  but  in  wholesome  Eng- 
lish :— 

Devorgoil.  thy  bright  moon  waneth, 
And  the  rust  thy  harness  staineth; 
Servile  guests  the  banquet  soil 
Of  the  once  proud  Devorgoil. 
But  should  Black  Brick's  armour  fall, 
Look  for  guests  shall  scare  you  all ! 
Tney  shall  come  ere  peep  of  day,— 
Wake  and  watch,  and  hope  and  pray. 
Kat.  (to  Flo.)  Here  is  fine  foolery— an  old 

wall  shakes 

At  a  loud  thunder-clap—down  comes  a  sni* 
Of  ancient  armour,  when  its  wasted  braces 
Wore  all  too  rotten  to  sustain  its  weight— 
A  beggar  cries  out,  Miracle !  and  your  tather 
Weighing  the  importance  of  his  name  and 

Must  needs" believe  the  dotard  ! 
Flo    Mock  not,  I  pray  you ;  this  may  be  too 

Kat.  And  if  I  live  till  morning,  I  will  have 
The  power  to  tell  a  better  tale  of  wonder 
Wrought  on  wise  Gullcrammer.    Ill  go  pre 
pare  me.  i"-  . 

Flo    I  have  not  Katleen's  spirit,  yet  I  hate 
This  Gullcrammer  too  heartily,  to  stop 
Anv  disgrace  that's  hasting  towards  him. 

Osw.    (to  whom  the  Beggar  has  been  agaii 

readina  the  scroll ) 
'Tis  a  strange  prophecy !— The  silver  moon 


waning  slowly,  is  our  ancient  bearing — 
trange*and  unfitting  trues!s — 
Gul.  ( interrupt ini  him . )  Ay.  ay,  the  matter 
,  as  you  say,  all  moonshine  in  the  water. 
Osio.  How  mean  you.  sir  ?  (threatening  ) 
Gul.  To  show  that  I  can  rhyme 

With  yonder  bluegowu.     Give  me  breath  aud 

time, 

ill  maintain,  in  spite  of  his  pretence, 
iline  exposition  hail  the  heller  sense — 
t  spoke  good  victuals  and  increase  of  cheer; 
And  his.more  guests  to  eat  what  we  have  here— 
An  increment  right  needless. 

Osu>.  Get  thce  gone  ; 

To  kennel,  hound! 

Gul.  The  hound  will  have  his  bone 

[  Takes  up  the  platter  of  mrat.  and  a  flask. 

Osw    Flora,  show  him  his  chamber  — take 

him  hence, 

Or.  by  the  name  I  bear,  I'll  see  his  brains. 
Gul.  Ladies,  good  night !— I  spare  you,  sir, 
the  pains. 

(Exit,  lighted  by  Flora  with  a  lamp. 
Osw.  The  owl  is  fled.— I'll  not  to  bed  to- 
night ; 
There  is  some  change   impending  o'er  this 

house, 

'or  good  or  ill.    I  would  some  holy  man 
Were  here,  to  counsel  us  what  we  should  do! 
Yon  witless  thin-laced  gull  is  hut  a  cassock 
StufTd  out  with  chaff  and  straw. 
Dur.  (assuming  an  air  of  dignity.)  I  have  been 

wont, 

[u  other  days,  to  point  to  erring  mortals 
1'he  rock  which  they  should  anchor  on. 

[He  holds  up  a  Cross— the  rest  take  a 
posture  of  devotion,  and  the  Scene 
closes. 


ACT  III.— SCEN  K  r. 

A  ruinous  Anteroom  in  the  Castle.    Enter  Kat- 
leen,  fantastically  drrssrd  to  play  the  Character 
of  Cockledtmoy,  unth  the  vtsor  in  her  hand. 
Kat.  I've  scarce  had  time  to  glance  at  my 

sweet  person. 

Yet  this  much  could  I  see.  with  half  a  glance 
My  elfish  dress  becomes  me  — I'll   not  mask 

Till  I  have  seen  Lance  Blackthorn     lance 
I  say—  [Calls 

Blackthorn,  make  haste ! 

Enter  Blackthorn,  half  dressed  as  Owlspiegle. 

Bla   Here  am  I  — Blackthorn  in  the  uppe 

'half, 

Much  at  your  service :  but  my  nether  parts 
Are  goblmized  and  Owlspiegled.    1  had  much 

ado 
To  get   these  trankums  on.    I  judge   Lord 

Erick 
Kept  no  good  house,  and  starved  his  quondam 

barber. 
Kat.  Pence,  ass.  and  bide  you  —  Gullcram 

mer  is  coming; 

He  left,  the  hall  before,  but  then  took  fright, 
And  e'en   sneak'd    back.      The   Lady  Flor 

lights  him— 

Trim  occupation  for  her  ladyship ! 
Had  you  seen  Leonard,  when  she  left  the  ha 
On  such  line  errand  ! 


648 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Bla.  This  Gullcrammer  shall  have  a  boh 

extraordinary 
For  mv  good  comrade's  sake. —But  tell  me, 

Katleen, 

What  dress  is  this  of  yours  1 
Kat.  A  pace's,  fcsol ! 

Bla  I'm  accounted  no  great  scholar, 

But  'tis  a  page  that  1  would  fain  peruse 


A  little  closer. 


[Approaches  her. 


Kat.  Put  on  your  speciar.les. 

And  try  if  you  can  read  it  at  this  distance, 
For  you  shall  come  no  nearer. 
Bla   But  there  is  nothing,  then,  save  rank 

imposture. 

In  all  these  tiiles  of  goblinry  at  DevorgoiH 
Kat    My  aunt's  grave  lord  tbiuks  otherwise, 

supposing 

That  his  great  name  so  interests  the  Heavens, 
That  miracles  must  needs  bespeak  its  fall— 
I  would  that  I  were  in  a  lowly  cottage 
Beneath  the  greenwood,  on  its  wails  no  ar- 
mour 
To  court  the  levin-bolt 


Bla. 


And  a  kind  husband.  Katleen. 


To  ward  such  dangers  as  must  needs  come 

nigh.  — 

My  father's  cottage  stands  so  low  and  lone, 
That  you  would  think  it  solitude  itself; 
The  greenwood  shields  it  from  the  northern 

blast, 
And,  in  the  woodbine  round  its  latticed  case- 

ment, 

The  linnet's  sure  to  build  the  earliest  nest 
In  all  the  forest. 
Kat.  Peace,  you  fool,  they  come. 

Flora  lights  Gullcrammer  across  the  Stage. 
Kat.  (when  they  have  passed.)  Away  with 

On  with  your  cloak—  be  ready  at  the  signal. 

Bla.  And  shall  we  talk  of  that  same  cottage, 

Katleen, 

At  better  leisure  ?    I  have  much  to  say 
In  favour  of  my  cottiige. 

Kat.  If 

Yon  know  I  can't  prevent  you. 

Bla.  That's  enoush 

(Aside.)  I  shall  have  leave,  I  see,  to  spell  the 

page 
A  little  closer,  when  the  due  lime  comes. 


. 

If  yon  will  be  talking, 


SCENE  n. 

Scene  changes  to  Gullcrammer's  Sleeping 
Apartment.  He  enters,  ushered  in  by  Flora. 
who  sets  on  the  table  a  Hash,  with  the  lamp. 

Flo.  A  flask,  in  case  your  Reverence   be 

athirsty : 

A  lieht.  in  case  your  Reverence  be  afear'd  ;— 
And  so  sweet  slumber  to  your  Reverence. 
Gul.  Kind   Mistress  Flora,  will  you?  — eh! 

eh  !  eh ! 

Flo.  Will  1  what? 
Gul.  Tarry  a  lit'le? 
Flo.  (smiling.)  Kind  Master  Gullcrammer, 


To  this  same  cubicle,  I'm  somewhat  loth 
To  hid  adieu  to  pleasant  company. 

Flo.  A  flatteringrompliment !— In  plain  truth 
you  iire  fristitpn'd. 

Gul.    What,    frigliten'd?  —  I  —  I  —  am   not 
timorous. 

Flo.  Pel-Imps  you've  heard  this  is  our  haunted 

chamber  ? 
But  then   it   is   our  best  —  Your    Reverence 

knows. 

That  in  all  tales  which  turn  tipon  a  ghost. 
Your  traveller  belated  has  the  luck 
To  enjoy  the  haunted  room — it  is  a  rule  : — 
To  some  it  were  a  hardship,  but  to  you, 
Who  are  a  scholar,  and  not  timorous 

Gul.  I  did  not  say  I  was  not  timorous, 
I  said  I  was  not  temerarious  — 
I'll  to  the  hall  again. 

Flo.  You'll  do  your  pleasure. 

But  you   have   somehow  moved   my  father's 

And  you' had  better  meet  our  playful  Owl- 
spiegle— 
So  is  our  goblin  call'd— than  face  Lord  Oswald. 

Gul   Owlspiegle?— 
It  is  an  uncouth  and  outlandish  name, 
And  in  mine  ear  sounds  fiendish. 

Flo.  Hush,  hush,  hush  ! 
Perhaps  he  hears  us  now — (in  an  under  tone) — 

A  merry  spirit : 
None  of  your  elves  that  pinch  folks  black  and 

blue 
For  lack  of  cleanliness. 

Gul.  As  for  that.  Mistress  Flora, 
My  taffeta  doublet  hath  been  duly  brnsh'd. 
My  shirt  hebdominal  put  on  this  morning. 
Flo.  Why.  you   need  fear  no  gobims.     But 

this  Owlspiegle 

Is  of  another  class  ; — yet  has  his  frolics  ; 
Cuts  hair,  trims   beards,  and  plays  amid   his 

antics 

The  office  of  a  sinful  mortal  barber. 
Such  is  at  least  the  runu.ur. 

Gul.  He  will  not  cut  my  clothes,  or  scar  my 

face. 
Or  draw  my  blood  ? 

Flu.  Enormities  like  these, 

Were  never  charged  aeainsl  him. 
Gul.  And.  Mistress  Flora,  would  you  smile 

on  me. 

If.  prick'd  by  the  fond  hope  of  your  approval, 
I  should  endure  this  venture  ? 

Flo.  I  do  hope 

I  shall  have  cause  to  smile. 

Gul.  Well !  in  that  hope 

I  will  embrace  the  achievement  for  thy  sake. 

[She  isgmng. 

Yet,  stay,  stay,  stay  !  —  on  second  thoughts  I 

will  not— 
I've    thoueht   on   it,   and    will    the    mortal 

cudgel 

Rather  endure  than  face  the  ghostly  razor! 
Your    crab-tree's    tough    but    bluut,  — yonr 

razor's  polish'd, 

But.  as  the  proverb  goes,  'tis  cruel  sharp : 
I'll  to  thy  father,  and  unto  his  pleasure 
Submit  these  destined  shoulders 
Flo.  But  you  shall  not, 


.  .  ,          

How  can  you  ask  me  aught  so  unbecoming  ?     I  Believe  me,  sir,  you  shall  not ;  he  is  desperate 
Gul.  Oh,  fie,  fie,  fie  !  — Believe  me,  Mistress  I  And  better  far  be  trimm'd  by  ghost  or  goblin. 

Flora.  I  Than  by  my  sire  in  anger  ;  there  are  stores 

Tis  not  for  that— but  being  guided  through        Of  hidd'en  'treasure,  too,  and  Heaven  knows 
Such  dreary  galleries,  stairs,  and  suites  of  what, 

rooms,  •  Buried  among  these  ruins— you  shall  stay. 


THE   DOOM   OP   DEVORGOIL. 


649 


Apart.)  And  if  indeed  there  be  such  sprite  as 

Owlspiegle, 
And,  lacking;   him,  that  thy  fear  plague  thee 

not 

Worse  than  a  gobhn,  I  have  miss'd  my  pur- 
pose, 

VVhidi  else  stands  good  in  either  case. — Good- 
night, sir. 

[Exit,  and  double-locks  the  door. 
Gul.  Nay.  hold  ye,  hold  !— Nay,  gentle  Mis- 
tress Flora, 
Wherefore  this  ceremony?  — She  has  lock'd 

me  in, 
And  left  me  to  the  goblin !  —  (Listening)  —  So, 

so,  so ! 

I  hear  her  li«ht  foot  trip  to  such  a  distance. 
That  I  believe  the  castle's  breadth  divides  me 
From  human  company.     I'm  ill  at  ease — 
But   if  this  citadel   (Laving  his  hand  on  his 

ftomirh)  were  better  victual'd, 
It  would  be  better  mamfd 

[Sils  down  and  drinks. 
She  has  a  footstep  light,  and  taper  ancle. 

[Chuckles. 

Aha!  that  ankle  !  yet,  confound  it  too. 
But  tor  I  hose  cliarms  Melchisedek  had  been 
Snus  in  his  hed  at  Mncklewhame— I  say, 
Confound  her  footstep  and  her  instep  too. 
To   use   a  cobbler's  phrase.  — There   1  was 

quaint. 

Now,  what  to  do  in  this  vile  circumstance, 
To  watch  or  go  to  bed,  1  can't  determine ; 
Were  I  a-bed,  the  ghost  might  catch  me  nap- 
ping. 

And  if  I  watch,  mv  terrors  will  increase 
As  ghostly  hours  approach.    I'll  to  my  bed. 
E'en  in  mv  taffeta  doublet,  shrink  my  head 
Beneath  the  clothes  —  leave  the  lamp  burning 
there,  [Sets  it  on  the  table 

And  trust  to  fate  the  issue. 

[He  lays  his  clonk  aside,  and  brushes  it 
as  from  hahit,  starling  at  every  mo- 
ment; ties  a  napkin  over  his  head 
then  shrinks  beneath  the  bed-clothes 
He  starts  once  or  twice,  and  at  Itngt, 
seems  to  go  to  sleep.  A  bell  tolls  one 
He  leaps  up  in  his  bed 
Gul.  I  had  just-  coax'd  myself  to  sweet  for 

getfulness. 

And  that  confounded  bell— I  hate  all  bells, 
Ex-ept  a  dinner  bell— and  yet  I  lie.  too,— 
I  love  the  bell  that  soon  shall  tell  the  parish 
Of  Gabblesoosc.  Melchisedek's  incumbent— 
And  shall  the  future  minister  of  Gabhlegoose 
Whom  his  parishioners  will  soon  require 
To  exorcise  their  ghosts,  detect  their  witches 
Lie  shivering  in  his  bed  for  a  pert  goblin, 
Whom,  be  he  switch'd  or  cocktail'd,  horn'd  o 

poll'd, 
A  few  tight  Hebrew  words  will  soon  sent 

packing? 
Tush  !  I  will  rouse  the  parson  up  within  me, 

And  bid  defiance (A  distant  noise  )    In  th 

name  of  Heaven. 
What  sounds  are  these !— 0  Lord  !  this  come 

of  rashness ! 
[Draws  his  head  down  under  the  bed-clothes 

Duet  without,  between  Owlspiegle  and  Cockle 
demoy. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My  boy,  my  boy 


Myboy^ 


COCKLEDEMOY. 

Here,  father,  here. 
OWLSHEGLE. 

Now  the  pole-star  's  red  and  burning, 
And  the  witch's  spindle  inrning. 
Appear,  appear! 

Gul.  ( who  has  again  raised  himself,  and  listened 
with  great  terror  to  the  Lntet.)    I  have 
heard  of  the  devil's  dam  before, 
ut  never  of  his  child.    Now,  Heaven  deliver 

me! 

he  Papists  have  the  better  of  us  there, — 
hey  have  their  Latin  prayers,  cut  and  dried, 
nd  pat  for  such  occasion — I  can  thiuk 
n  nought  but  the  vernacular. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 
Cockledemoy ! 
y.  my  boy. 
We'll  sport  us  here — 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Our  gambols  play. 
Like  elve  and  fay; 

OWLSPIEOLE. 

And  domineer, 
BOTH. 
Laugh,  frolic,  and  frisk,  till  the  morning  appear. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Lift  latch— open  clasp — 
Shoot  bolt— and  burst  hasp ! 
[The  door  opens  with  violence.  Enter 
Blackthorn  as  Owlspiegle.  fantasti- 
cally dressed  as  a  Spanish  Harder 
tall,  thin,  emaciated,  and  ghostly, 
Katleen  as  Cockledemoy,  attends  as 
his  Page.  AU  their  manners,  tones, 
and  motions,  are  fantastic,  as  those  of 
Goblin*.  They  make  two  or  three 
times  the  circuit  of  the  Room,  without 
seeming  to  see  Gnllcrariimer  They 
then  resume  their  Chant,  or  Recitative. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 
Cockledemoy! 
My  boy,  my  boy, 
What  wilt  thou  do  that  will  give  thee  joy? 
Wilt  thou  ride  on  the  midnight  owl  ? 
COCKLEDEMOY. 

No ;  for  the  weather  is  stormy  and  foul. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My  boy,  my  boy, 

What  wilt  thou  do  that  can  give  thee  joy? 
With  a  needle  for  a  sword,  »nd  a  thimble  for 

Wilt  thou  fight  a  traverse  with  the  castle  catt 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Oh,  n*!  she  has  claws,  and  I  like  not  that. 

Gul.  I  see  the  devil  is  n  doting  father, 
And  spoils  his  children— 'tis  the  surest  way 
To  make  cursed  imps  of  them.    They  see  me 

What  will  they  think  on  next?    It  must  be 

own'd, 
They  have  a  dainty  choice  of  occupations. 


650 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My  boy.  my  boy, 

What  shall  we  do  ihat  can  give  thee  joy  ? 
Shall  we  go  seek  for  a  cuckoo's  nest? 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

That's  best,  that's  best. 

BOTH. 

About,  about. 
Like  an  elvish  scout. 

The  cuckoo's  a  gull,  and  we'll  soon  find  him 
out. 

{They  search  the  room  Kith  mnps  and 
mows.  At  lenuth  Cockledemoy  jitmps 
on  the  bed.  Gullcrammerrmsfs  him- 
self half  up,  supporting  himself  by  his 
hands.  Cockledemoy  does  the  same, 
and  grins  at  him.  then  skips  from  trie 
bed,  and  runs  to  Owlspiegle. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

I've  found  the  nest. 

And  in  it  a  guest. 

With  a  sahle  cloak  and  a  taffeta  vest; 
He  must  be  wash'd.  and  trimm'd.  and  dress'd. 
To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 
That's  best,  that's  best. 


He  must  be  shaved,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress  d, 
To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

[Trtey  arrange  shaving  things   on  the 
table,  and  sing  as  they  prepare  them. 

BOTH. 
Know  that  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and 

the  buz, 
Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit 

to  us. 

OWLSPIEGLE  (fhirpanxg  to  ritor.) 

The  sword  this  is  made  of  was  lost  in  a 
fray 

By  a  fop.  who  first  bullied  and   then   ran 
away; 

And  the  strap,  from  the  hide  of  a  lame  racer, 
sold 

By  Lord  Match,  to  his  friend,  for  some  hun- 
dreds in  gold. 

BOTH. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz. 

Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit 
to  us. 

COCKLEDEMOY  (placixe  tte  nofHn.) 
And  this  cambric  napkin,  so  white  and  so  fair, 
At  an  usurer's  funeral  I  stole  from  the  heir. 

[Drops  something  from  a  vinl,  as  going 

to  make  sittls. 
This  dewdrop  [  caught  from  one  eyt  of  his 

mother. 

Which  wept  while  she  ogled  the  parson  with 
t'other. 

BOTH. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  bnz, 
Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit 
to  us. 


OWLSPIEGLE  (irrmri*f  the  latter  <a>d  He  tut*.) 
Mv  soap-hall  is  of  the  mild  alkali  made. 
\\  hicli  the  soft  dedicator  employs  in  his  trade  ; 
And  it  froths  with  the  pith  of  a'promise,  that's 

sworn 
By  a  lover  at  night,  and  forgot  on  the  morn. 

BOTH. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz. 
Of  the   make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit 
to  us. 

Halloo,  halloo, 
The  hlackcock  crew. 
Thrice  shriek'd  hath  the  owl,  thrice  croak'd 

hath  the  raven, 

Here,  ho!   Master  Gullcrammer,  rise  and  be 
shaven ! 

Da  cnpo. 
Gul.  (mho  has  been  observing  them.)  I'll  pluck 

a  spirit  up;  they're  merry  eoblins. 
And   will  deal    mildly.    I   will  soothe   their 

humour ; 
Besides,  niv  beard  lacks  trimmin?. 

[He  rises  from  his  bed.  anil  arlmnfes  with 
great  symptoms  of  tremriahon,  btit 
affrctinq  an  air  of  compo.mre.  The 
Goblins  receive  him  with  fantastic 
ceremony. 

Gentlemen,  'tis  your  will  I  should  be  trimm'd — 
E'en  do  your  pleasure.    (They  point  to  a  seat 
—he  sits  ) 

Think,  howso'er, 

Of  me  as  one  who  hates  to  see  his  blood ; 
Therefore  I  do  beseech  thee.  sisnior, 
Be  gentle  in  your  craft.   I  know  those  barbers. 
One  would    have   harrows  driven  across   his 

visnomy. 
Rather  than  they  should  touch  it  with  a  razor. 

Owlspiegle  shaves  Gullcrammer,  while  Cockle- 

demoy  sings. 

Father  never  started  hair. 
Shaved  too  close,  or  left  too  bare — 
Father's  razor  slips  as  glib 
As  from  courtly  tonsue  a  fib. 
Whiskers,  mustache,  he  can  trim  in 
Fashion  meet  to  please  the  women  ; 
Sharp's  his  blade,  perfumed  his  lather! 
Happy  those  are  trimm'd  by  father ! 

Gul.  That's  a  good  boy.    I  love  to  hear  a 

child 
Stand  for  his  father,  if  he  were  the  devil. 

[He  motions  to  rise. 

Craving  your  pardon,  sir. — What !  sit  again  ? 
My  hair  lacks  not  your  scissors 

[Owlspieele  insists  on  his  sitting. 
Nay.  if  you're  peremptory.  I'll  ne'er  dispute  it, 
Nor  eat  the  cow  and  choke  upon  the  tail — 
E'en  trim  me  to  your  fashion. 

[Owlspieatle  cuts  his  hair,  and  sJiaves 

his  head,  ridiculously. 
COCKLEDEMOY  (tingt  a  lefort.) 
Hair-breadth 'scapes,  and  hair-lireadth  snares, 
Hair-brain'd  follies,  ventures,  cares, 
Part  when  father  clips  your  hairs. 
If  there  is  a  hero  frantic, 
Or  a  lover  too  romaii'ic ; — 
If  threescore  seeks  second  spouse, 
Or  fourteen  lists  lover's  vows. 
Bring  them  here — for  a  Scotch  boddle, 
Owlspiegle  shall  trim  their  noddle. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


651 


[They  take  the  napkin  from  about  Gull- 

crainmer's  neck     He  mikes  bows  of 

acknowledgment,   wh-c.h    then    return 

fantastically,  and  sing— 

Thrice    crow'd    hath    the   lilackcock,   thrice 

croak'd  hath  the  raven, 
And      Master     Melchisedek     Gullcrammer's 

shaven! 

GuL  Mv  friends,  you  are  too  musical  for  me ; 
But  thouiii  I  cannot  cope  with  you  in  snug, 
I  wnuld.  in  humble  prose,  inquire  nf  you, 
If  that  you  will  permit  me  in  acquit 
E'en  with   the   barber's   pence   the  barber's 
service?  [They  shake  their  heads. 

Or  if  there  is  anghf  else  that  1  can  do  for  you. 
Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  or  your  laving  child, 
The  hopeful  Cockle'inoy  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Sir,  you  have  been  trimm'd  of  late. 
Smooth's  your  chin,  and  bald  your  pate ; 
Lest  cold  rheums  should  work  you  harm, 
Here's  a  cap  to  keep  you  warm. 

Gul    Welcome,  as  Fortnnatus'  wishing  cap. 
For  'twas  a  cup  that.  I  was  wishinz  for. 
(There  I  was  quaint  in  suite  of  mortal  terror  ) 
[As  he  puts  on  the  crrp.  a  pair  of  ass's 

ears  disengage  themselves 
Upon  my  faith,  it  is  a  dainty  head-dress. 
And   might   become  an  alderman.  —  Thanks, 

sweet  Monsieur, 
Thou'rt  a  considerate  youth. 

[Both  Gnblins  Itow  with  ceremony  to 
Gtillcrammer.  who  returns  thrir  salu- 
tation. Owlspiegle  descends  by  the 
trap-door.  Cockledemoy  springs  out 
at  wimloio. 

SONG  (without.) 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy,  my  hope,  my  care. 
Where  art  thou  now,  O  teil  me  where  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

l'p  in  the  sky, 
On  the  bonny  dragonfly. 
Come,  father,  come  you  too— 
She  has  four  wings  and  strength  enow, 
And  her  long  body  has  room  for  two. 

Gul.  Cockledemoy  now  is  a  naughty  brat — 
Would    have  the  poor  old  stiff-rump'd  devil, 

his  lather. 

Peril  his  fiendish  neck.     All  boys  are  thought- 
less. 

SON  O. 
OWLSPIEOLE. 

Which  way  didst  thou  take  1 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
I  have  fall'n  in  the  lake- 
Help,  father,  for  Beelzebub's  sake. 
Gul.  The  imp  is  drown'd  —  a  strange  death 

for  a  dnvil.— 

O.  may  all  boys  take  warning,  and  tie  civil ; 
Respect  their  loving  sires,  endnre  a  chiding. 
Nor  roam  by  night  on  dragonflies  a-riding! 


COCKLEDEMOY  (ringi. ) 
Now  merrily,  merrily,  row  I  to  shore. 
My  bark  is  a  bean-shell,  a  straw  for  on  oar. 

OWSPIEOLE  (tmft.) 

My  life,  mv  joy. 

My  Cockle'demoy  1 

Gul.  I  can  bear  this  no  longer —thus  children 

are  spoil'd.  [Strikes  ittto  the  tune. 

Master  Owlspiegle.  hoy  ! 
He  deserves  to  he  whipp'd  little  Cockledemoy  ! 

[  Thrir  voices  are  heard,  as  if  tlytno  atoay 
Gul.  They're  gone  !  —  Now,  am  I  scared,  or 

am  I  not  ? 

I  think  the  very  desperate  ecstasy 
Of   fear   has  given    me    courage.'      This   is 

strange,  now. 
When   they   were  here,   I  was  not  half   so 

frighten'd 
As  now  they're   gone  — they  were  a  sort  of 

company. 

What  a  s' range  thing  is  use— A  horn,  a  claw, 
I  he  tip  of  a  fiend's  tail,  was  wont  to  scare  me. 
Now  am  I  with  the  devil  hand  and  glove: 
His  soap  has  lather'd,  and  his  razor  shaved 

me ; 

I've  joined  him  in  a  catch,  kept  time  and  tune. 
Could  dine  with  him,  nor  ask  fora  long  spoon; 
And  if  I  keep  not  better  company 
What  will  become  of  me  when  I  shall  die? 

[Exit. 


SCENE  in. 

A  Gothic  Hall,  waste  and  ruinous.  The  raoon- 
tiyht  is  at  times  fren  through  the  shafted 
windows.*  Enter  Katleen  and  Blackthorn— 
They  have  thrown  off  the  more  ludicrous  parts 
of  their  disguise. 

Kat    This  way — this  way  ;  was  ever  fool  so 

gull'd ! 
Bla.  I   play'd   thu   barber  better   than    I 

thought  for. 

Well,  I've  an  occupation  in  reserve, 
When   the  long-bow  and  merry  musket  fail 

me  — 

But.  hark  ye,  pretty  Katleen. 
Kat  What  should  I  hearken  to  T 

Bla.   Art  thou  not  afraid. 
In   these   wild   halls  while    playing   feigned 

goblins. 
That  we  may  meet  with  real  ones  ? 

Kat.  Not  a  jot. 

My  spirit  is  too  light,  my  heart  too  bold, 
To  fear  a  visit  from  the  other  world. 

Bla.  But  is  not  this  the  place,  the  very  hall 
In  which  men  say  that  Oswald's  grandfather. 
The  black  l.ord  Brick,  walks  his  penance 

round  ? 
Credit    me,    Katleen,   these    half-moulder'd 

columns 

Have  in  their  ruin  something  very  fiendish. 
And.  if  you'll  take  an  honest  friend's  advice. 
The  sooner  that  you  change  their  shatter'd 

splendour 

For  the  snug  cuttnge  that  I  told  yon  of. 
Believe  me.  it  wilf  prove  the  blither  dwelling 


652 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Kat.  If  I    e'er    see    that    cottage,    honest 

Blackthorn. 

Believe  me.  it  shal!  he  from  other  motive 
Than  fear  of  Enck's  sued  re 

[A  rustling  sound  is  heard. 
Bla.  I  heard  a  rustling  sound — 

Upon  my  life,  there's  something  in  the  hall, 
Katleen,  besides  as  two! 

Kat.  A  yeoman  thou, 

A  forester,  and  frighten'd !     1  am  sorry 
I  gave  the  fool's  cap  to  poor  Gullcrammer, 
And  let  tby  head  go  bare. 

[The  same  rushing  sound  if  repeated. 
B'a.  \Vhy.  are  you  mad,  or  hear  you  not  the 

sound  ? 

Kat.  And  if  I  do.  I  take  small  heed  of  it. 
Will  you  allow  a  maiden  to  be  bolder 
Than  yon,  with  beard  ou  chin  and  sword  at 

girdle? 
Bla.  Nay,  if  1  had  my  sword,  I  would  not 

care; 

Thoush  I  ne'er  h  eard  of  master  of  defence, 
So  active  at  his  weapon  as  to  brave 
The  devil,  or  a  ghost.— See  !  see  !  see  yonder ! 
[A  Figure  is  imperfectly  seen  between  two 

of  the  pillars. 

Kat.  There's  something  moves,  that's  cer- 
tain, and  the  moonlight. 
Chased  by  the  flitting  gale,  is  too  imperfect 
To  show  its  form ;  hut.  in  the  name  of  God, 
I'll  venture  on  it  boldly. 

Bla.  Wilt  thon  so  ? 

Were  I  alone,  now.  I  were  strongly  tempted 
To  trust  my  heels  for  safety :  but  with  thee. 
Be  it  fiend  "or  fairy,  I'll  take  risk  to  meet  it. 
Kat.  It  stands  full  in  our  path,  and  we  must 

pass  it, 

Or  tarry  here  all  night. 
Bla.  In  its  vile  company? 

[As  they  advance  towards  the  Figure.,  it 
is  more  plainly  dishnauishrd,  which 
might,  1  think,  be  contrived  bu  raising 
successive  screens  of  crape.  The 
Figure  is  wrapped  in.  a  long  robe, 
like  the  mantle  of  a  Hermit,  or 
Palmer. 
Pal.  Ho !  ye  who  thread  by  night  these 

wilderihg  scenes. 

In  garb  of  those  who  long  have  slept  in  death. 
Fear  ye  the  company  of  those  you  imitate  ? 
Bla.  This  is  the  devil.  Katleen,  let  us  fly  ! 

[Runs  off. 
Kat.  I  will  not  fly — why  should  11  My  nerves 

shake 

To  look  on  this  stranse  vision,  but  my  heart 
Partakes  not  the  alarm.— If  thou  dost  come  in 

Heaven's  name, 

In  Heaven's  name  art  thou  welcome  ! 
Pal.  I  come,  by  Heaven  permitted.    Quit 

this  castle : 

There  is  a  fate  on't — if  ftn^rood  9^  evil. 
Brief  space  shall  soon  determine.    In  that 

fate. 

If  good,  by  lineage  thon  canst  nothing  claim  ; 
If   evil,  much   mayst   suffer.  —  Leave    these 

precincts 
Kat.    Whate'er    thou    art,   be    answer'd  — 

Know.  I  will  not 

Desert  the  kinswoman  who  train'd  my  youth  ; 
Know,  that  I  will  not  quit  my  friend,  my 

Flora; 

Know  that  I  will  not  leave  the  aged  man 
Whose  roof  has  shelter'd  me.    This  is  my 
resolve — 


If  evil  come.  I  aid  mv  friends  to  bear  it; 
If  good,  my  part  shal]  he  to  see  lliem  prosper, 
A  portion  in  their  happiness  from  which 
No  fiend  can  bar  me. 

Pal.  M:iid.  before  thy  courage. 

Firm  built  on  innocence,  even  lieinas  of  nature 
More  powerful  far  than  thine,  give  place  and 

Take  then  this  key,  and  wait  the  event  with 
courase. 

[He    dnijts    the    key  —  He    disappears 
gradually  —  the  moonlight  failing  at 
the  same  lime. 
Kat.  (after  a  pause.)   Whate'er  it  was,  'tis 

gone!     My  head  turns  round — 
The  blood  that  lately  fortified  my  heart 
Now  eddies  in  full  torrent  to  my  brain, 
And   makes  wild  work  with   reason.    I  will 

haste. 

If  that  my  steps  can  bear  me  so  far  safe. 
To  living  company.     What  if  I  meet  it 
A»ain  in  the  long  aisle,  or  vaulted  passase  ? 
And  if  I  do.  the  strung  support  that  bore  me 
Through  this  appalliner  interview,  again 
Shall  strengthen  and  uphold  me. 
[As  she  steps  forward  she  stumhles  over  the  kry. 
What's  this  ?    The  key  ?  —  there  may  he  mys- 
tery in't. 

I'll  to  my  kinswoman,  when  this  dizzy  fit 
Will  give  me  leave  to  choose  my  way  arieht. 
•      [Ste  sits  down  exhausted. 

Re-enter  Blackthorn,  with  a  drawn  sword  and 
torch. 

Bla.  Katleen!    What,  Katleen! —What  a 

wretch  was  I 
To  leave  her!  —  Katleen,  —  I  am  weapon'd 

And  fear  nor  Am  nor  devil  — She  replies  not ! 

Beast  that  I  was — nay,  worse  than  beast ;  the 
stag. 

As  timorous  as  he  is.  Hen's  for  his  hind. 

What's  to  be  done?  —  I'll  search  this  cursed 
castle 

From  dungeon  to  the  battlements ;  if  I  find  her 
not, 

111  fling  me  from  the  highest  pinnacle 

Kat.  (who  has  snmrwknt  atjtherfd  her  spirits,  in 
consequence  of  his  mtrnnce,  comes  behind 
and  touches  him ;  he  starts. )  Brave  sir  ! 

I'll  spare  you  that  rash  leap  —  You're  a  bold 
woodsman ! 

Surely  I  hope  that  from  this  night  hencefor- 
ward 

you'll  never  kill  a  hare,  since  you're  akin  to 
them ; 

0  I  could    laugh  — bat    that   my   head's  so 

dizzy. 

Bla.  Lean  on  me,  Katleen  —  By  my  honest 
word, 

1  thouEht  von  close  behind — I  was  surprised, 
Not  a  jot  frighten'd. 

Kat.  Thou   art  a  fool   to  ask  me  to  thy 

cot  rage. 

And  then  to  show  me  at  what  slieht  expense 
Of  manhood  I  might  master  thee  and  it. 
Bla.  I'll  take  the  risk  of  that—  This  goblin 

business 

Came  rather  unexpected  ;  the  best  horse 
Will  start  at  sudden  sights.    Try  me  again. 
And  if  I  prove  not  true  to  bonny  Katleen, 
Hang  me  in  mine  own  bowstring. 

[Exeunt. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


653 


SCENE  IV. 

The  Scene  returns  to  the  Apartment  at  the 
beginning  of  Act  Srcond.  Oswald  nnd  Dur- 
waril  are  discovered  with  Eleanor.  Fli>ra,  and 
Leonard  —  Durward  shuts  a  Prayer-book, 
which  he  seems  to  have  been  reading. 

Dur.  'Tis  true  —  the  difference  betwixt  the 

churches, 

Which  zealots  love  to  dwell  on.  to  the  wise 
Of  either  flock  are  of  far  less  importance 
Than  those  great  truths  to  which  all  Christian 

men 
Subscribe  with  equal  reverence. 

Osu>.  We   thank  thee,  father,  for  the  holy 

office, 

Still  hest  performed  when  the  pastor's  tongue 
Is  echo  to  his  breast ;  of  jarring  creeds 
It  ill  beseems  a  layman's  tongue  to  speak. — 
Where  have  you  stowed  yon  prater  ? 

[To  Flora. 

Flo.  Safe  in  the  goblin-chamber. 

Ele.  The  goblin-chamber! 

Maiden,  wert  thou  frantic? — if  his  Heverence 
Have  suffer'd  harm  by  waspish  Owlspiegle, 
Be  sure  thou  shall  abye  it. 

Flo.  Here  he  comes, 

Can  answer  for  himself! 

Enter  Gullcrammer,  in  the  fashion  in  which 
Owlspieale  had  put  him:  having  the  font' s-cap 
on  his  head,  nnd  towel  about  his  neck.  <fc  His 
manner  through  the  scene  is  wild  and  extrava- 
gant, as  if  the  fright  had  a  tittle  affected  his 
brain. 

Dur.  A  goodly  spectacle  !  —  Is  there  such  a 

goblin. 

(To  Osw.)  Or  has  sheer  terror  made  him  such 
figure  ? 

Osw.  There  is  a  sort  of  wavering  tradition 
Of  a  malicious  imp  who  teazed  all  strangers; 
My  father  wont  to  call  him  Owlspiegle. 

Gul.  Who  talks  of  Owlspiegle  ? 
He  is  an  honest  fellow  for  a  devil. 
So  is  his  sou,  the  hopeful  Cockle'moy. 

(Sings.) 

"  Mjr  hope,  my  joy, 
My  Cocklederuoy !" 

Leo.  The  fool's  bewitch'd— the  goblin  hath 

furniyli'd  him 

A  cap  which  well  befits  his  reverend  wisdom. 
Flo.  If  I  could  think  he  had  lost  his  slender 

wiis, 

I  should  be  sorry  for  the  trick  they  play'd  him. 
Leo.  O  fear  him  not;  it  were  a  foul  reflec- 
tion 

On  any  fiend  of  sense  and  reputation. 
To  filch  such  petty  wares  as  his  poor  brains. 
Dur.  Wnat  saw'st  thou,  sir?   What  heard'st 

thou  < 

Gul.  What  was't  I  saw  and  heard  7 
That  which  old  greybeards. 
Who  conjure  Hebrew  into  Anglo-Saxon. 
To  cheat  starved  barons  with,  can  little  guess 

at 

Flo.  If  he  begin  so  roundly  with  my  father, 
Hi.-  madness  is  not  like  to  save  his  bones. 
Gut.  Sirs,  midnight  came,  and  with  it  came 

the  goblin. 
I  had  reposed  me  after  some  brief  study ; 


But  as  the  soldier,  sleeping  in  the  trench, 
Keeps  sword  and  musket  by  him.  so  I  had 
My  little  Hebrew  manual  prompt  for  service. 
Flo.  Saiisauian  sows' d-f ace ;  that  much  of 

your  Hebrew, 
Even  I  can  bear  in  memory. 

Gul-  We  'eounter'd, 

The  goblin  and  myself,  even  in  mid-chamber, 
And  each  stepp'd   back  a  pace,  as  'twere  to 

study 
The  foe  he  had  to  deal  with!  — I  bethought 

me, 
Ghosts  ne'er  have  the  first  word,  and  so  I 

took  it. 

And  fired  a  volley  of  round  Greek  at  him. 
He  stood   his  ground,  and   answer'd  in  the 

Syraic; 

I  flank'd   my  Greek  with  Hebrew,  and  com- 
pel I'd  him—  [A  noise  heard 
Osio.    Peace,   idle    prater!  —  Hark  —  what 

sounds  are  these  ? 

Amid  the  growling  of  the  storm  without, 
I  hear  strange  notes  of  music,  and  the  clash 
Of  coursers'  trampling  feet. 

Voices  (without.) 

We  come,  dark  riders  of  the  night, 

And  flit  before  the  dawning  light ; 

Hill  and  valley,  far  aloof. 

Shake  to  hear  our  chargers'  hoof; 

But  not  a  foot-stamp  on  the  green 

At  morn  shall  show  where  we  have  been. 

Osw.  These  must  be  revellers  belated — 
Let  them  pass  on  ;  the  ruiu'd  halls  of  Devor- 

goil 
Open  to  no  such  guests. — 

[Flourish  of  trumpets  at  a  distance; 
then  nearer. 

They  sound  a  summons : 
What  can  they  lack  at  this  dead  hour  of  night? 
l.onk  out.  and  see  their  number,  and  their 

bearing. 
Leo.  (goes  up  to  the  window. )   'Tis  strange — 

one  single  shadowy  form  alone 
Is  hovering  on  the  drawbridge — far  apart 
Flit  through  the  tempest  banners,  horse,  and 

riders, 

In  darkness  lost,  or  dimly  seen  by  lightning. — 
Hither  the  figure  moves— the  bolts  revolve— 
The  gate  uncloses  to  him. 
Elf.  Heaven  protect  us  ! 

The  Palmer  enters—  Gullcrammer  runs  off. 

Osw.  Whence  and  what  art  thou  ?  for  what 

end  come  hither  ' 
Pal.  I  come  from  a  far  land,  where  the  storm 

howls  not, 

And  the  sun  sets  not.  to  pronounce  to  thee, 
Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  thy  house's  fate. 
Dur  I  charge  thee.  in  the  name  we  late  have 

kneel 'd  to 

Pal.  Abbot  of  Laneroost.  I  bid  thee  peace  ! 
I'nmterrupt'd  let  me  do  mine  errand  : 
Baron    of   Devorgoil,   son    of   the    bold,  the 

proud. 
The  warlike  and  the  mighty,  wherefore  wear'st 

thou 

The  habit  of  a  peasant  ?    Tell  me,  wherefore 
Are  thy  fiur  hails  thus  waste  — thy  chambers 

bare — 

Where  are  the  tapestries,  where  the  conquer'd 
banners, 


654 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Trophies,  and  gilded   arms,  that  deck'd  the 

walls 
Of  once  proud  Devorgoil  ? 

[He  advances,  and  places  himself  where 
the  Armour  hung,  so  as  to  be  nearly 
in  the  centre,  of  the  Scene. 
Dur.  Whoe'er  thou  art  —  if  thou  dost  know 
so  much. 

Needs  must  thou  know 

Osw.  Peace!  I  will  answer  here;  to  me  he 

spoke. — 

Mysterious  straneer.  briefly  I  reply  : 
A  peasant's  dress  befits  a  peasant's  fortune  ; 
And  'twere  vain  mockery  to  array  these  walls 
In  trophies,  of  whose  memory  nought  remains. 
Save  that  the  cruelty  outvied  the  valour 
Of  those  who  wore  them. 

Pal.  Degenerate  as  thou  art, 

Know'st  thou  to  whom  thou  say'st  this? 

[He  drops  his  mantle,  and  is  discovered 
armed  as  nearly  as  may  be  to  the  suit 
which  hung  on  the  wall ;  alt  express 
terror. 

Osw.  It  is  himself— the  spirit  of  mine  Ances- 
tor! 
Eri.  Tremble  not,  son.  hut  hear  me ! 

[He  strikes  the  wall ;  it  ovens,  and  dis- 
covers the  Treasure-Chamber. 

There  lies  piled 

The  wealth  I  brought  from  wasted  Cumber- 
land. 

Enoneh  to  reinstate  thy  ruin'd  fortunes  — 
Cast  from  thine  high-born  brows  that  peasant 

bonnet. 
Throw  from  thy   noble  grasp  the  peasant's 

staff; 
O'er  all.  withdraw  thine  hand  from  that  mean 

mate. 

Whom  in  an  hour  of  reckless  desperation 
Thy  fortunes  cast  thee  on.     This  do. 
And  he  as  great  as  e'er  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  richest ! 
Dur.  Lord  Oswald,  thou  art  tempted  by  a 

fiend, 

Who  doth  assail  thee  on  thy  weakest  side, — 
Thy  pride  of  lineaee.  and  thy  love  of  grandeur. 
Stand  fast— resist — contemn  his  fatal  offers  ! 
Ele.  Vrse  him  not.  father;  if  the  sacrifice 
Of  such  a  wasted  woe- worn  wretch  as  I  am, 
Can  save  him  from  the  abyss  of  misery, 
Upon   whose    verge    he's    tottering,    let    me 

wander 

An  unacknowledged  outcast  from  his  castle. 
Even  to  the  humble  cottage  I  was  horn  in. 

Osic   No.  Ellen,  no — it  is  not  thus  they  part. 
Whose   hearts  and  souls,  disasters  borne  in 

common 

Have  knit  together,  close  as  summer  saplings 
Are  twined  in  union  hy  the  eddying  tempest.. — 
Spirit  of  Knck.  while  thou  bear'st  his  shape, 
I'll  answer  with  no  ruder  conjuration 
Thy   impious  counsel,  other  than  with  these 

words. 

Depart,  and  tempt  me  not ! 
Eri.  Then  fate  will  have  her  course. — Fall, 

massive  erate, 
V'ield  them  the  tempting  view  of  these  rich 

treasures, 
But  bar  them  from  possession  ! 

[A  portcullis  fulls  before  the  door  of  the 
Treasure-Chamber. 

Mortals,  hear! 

No  hand  may  ope  that  grate,  except  the  Heir 
Of  pluuder'd  Aglionhy,  whose  mighty  wealth 


|  Ravish'd  in  evil  hour,  lies  vonder  piled  ; 
I  And  not  his  hand  prevails'wi'.hout  the  key 
Of  Black  Lord  Erirk  :  brief  space  is  eriven 
To  save  proud  Devorgoil  —So  wills  hish  Hea- 
ven [  Thunder ;  he  disappears 
Dur.  Gaze  not  so  wildly;   you   have  stood 

the  trial 

That  his  commission  bore,  and   Heaven  de- 
signs. 

If  I  may  spell  his  will,  to  rescue  Devoreoil 
Even  hy  the  Heir  of  Aglionby— Behold  him 
In  that  young  forester,  unto  whose  hand 
Those  bars  shall  yield  the  treasures  of  his 

house. 
Destined  to  ransom  yours.  —  Advance,  young 

Leonard. 

And  prove  the  adventure. 
Leo.  (advances  and  attempts  the  grate.)    It  is 

fast 

As  is  the  tower,  rock-seated. 
Osw    We  will  fetch  other  means,  and  prove 

its  strength. 

Nor  starve  in  poverty  with  wealth  before  us. 
Dur.  Think  what  the  vision  spoke; 

The  key — the  fated  key 

Enter  Gullcrammer. 

Gul    A  key  ?— I  say  a  quay  is  what  we  want. 
Thus  hy  the  learn'd  o'rthographized— Q,  u,  a,  y. 
The  lake  is  overflow'd ! — A  quay,  a  boat, 
Oars.  punt,  or  sculler,  is  all  one  to  me  ! — 
We  shall  be  drown'd,  good  people  ! ! ! 
Enter  Katleen  and  Blackthorn. 
Kat.  Deliver  us ! 

Haste,  save  yourselves  —  the   lake   is   rising 

fast,  i 
i     Bla.  'T  has  risen  my  bow's  height  in  the 

last  five  minutes. 
And  still  is  swelling  stransely. 
Gul.  (who  has  stood  astonished  upon  seeing 

them.) 

We  shall  he  drown'd  without  your  kind  as- 
sistance. 

Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle.  your  dragonfly — 
Your  straw,  your  bean-stalk,  gentie  Co'ckle'- 

moy ! 
Leo.  (looking  from  the  shot-hole.)    Tis  true, 

by  all  that's  fearful !  The  proud  lake 
Peers,  like  ambitious  tyrant,  o'er  his  hounds, 
And  soon  will  whelm  the  castle  —  even  the 

drawbridge 
Ts  under  water  now. 
Kat.    I^et  us  escape  !    Why  stand  you  gazing 

there  ? 

Dur.  Upon  the  opening  of  that  fatal  grate 
Depends  the  fearful  spell  that  now  entraps  us, 
The  key  of  Black  Lord  Erick— ere  we  find  it. 
The    castle   will    be   whelm'd    beneath    the 

waves. 
And  we  shall  perish  in  it! 

Kat    (yiviiiQ  the  kry. )     Here,  prove  this  ; 
A  chance  most  strange  and  fearful  eave  it  me 
Osw.  (puts  it  into  the  lock,  and  attempts  to 

turn  tt— a  loud  clap  of  thunder. ) 
Flo.  The  lake  still  rises  faster.—  Leonard, 

Leonard, 
Canst  thou  not  save  us ! 

[I.epnard  tries  the  lock— it  opens  with  a 
violent  noise,  and  the  portcullis  rises 
A  loud  strain  of  wild  music. — There 
may  be  a  Chorus  here. 


i  ir  i 


uM  be  managed  I 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.   655 


[Oswald    enters    the    apartment,    and 

brings  out  a  scroll. 
Leo.  The  lake  is  ebbing  with  as  wondrous 

haste 

5  late  it  rose — the  drawbridge  is  left  dry  ! 
Osw.  This  may  explain  the  cause. — 
lullc'raminer  vffers  to  take  it.)    But  soft  you, 

sir, 

Ve'll  not  disturb  your  learning  for  the  matter; 
"et,  since  you've  borne  a  part  in  this  strange 

drama, 
'ou    shall    not    go    unguerdon'd.     Wise    or 

learn'd, 

rlodest  or  gentle.  Heaven  alone  can  make  thee, 
lemg   so    much    otherwise ;    but  from  this 

abundance 

Thou  shalt  have  that  shall  gild  thine  igno- 
rance, 

Jxalt  thy  base  descent,  make  thy  presumption 
Seem  modest  confidence,  and  find  thee  hun- 
dreds 

teady  to  swear  that  same  fool's-cap  of  thine 
s  reverend  as  a  mitre. 
Out.  Thanks,  mighty  baron,  now  no  more  a 
bare  one ! — 


[  will  tie  quaint  with  him,  for  all  his  quips. 


Osw    Nor  shall  kinJ  Katlecii  lack 
Her  portion  in  our  happiness 
Kat.  Thanks,  my  good  lord,  but  Katleen's 

fate  is  fix'd— 

There  is  a  certain  valiant  forester, 
Too  much  afear'd  of  ghosts  to  sleep  anights 
In   his  lone  collage,   without  one  to  guard 

Inm.— 
Leo.  If  I  forget  my  comrade's  faithful  friend- 

ship. 

May  I  be  lust  to  fortune,  hope,  and  love  ! 
Dur.   Pence,  all  !    and    hear    the    blessing 

which  this  scroll 
Speaks  unto  faith,  and  constancy,  and  virtue. 

No  more  this  castle's  troubled  guest, 
Dark  Erick's  spirit  hath  found  rest. 
The  storms  of  anzry  Fate  are  past  — 
For  Constancy  defies  I  heir  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  free 
Shall  wed  the  Heir  of  Aelionby; 
Nor  ever  more  dishonour  soil 
The  rescued  house  of  Devorgoil! 


lurjjinhati?; 

OK, 

THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


Cur  aliqnid  vidi  T  cur  noxia  lumina  feci 
Cur  imprudent!  cognita  culpa  mihi  est  ? 

Ovid  11  Tristium,  Liber  Secundta. 


PREFACE. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  upon  record,  a  tale 
of  horror  which  gives  us  a  more  perfect  pic- 
ture than  is  afforded  by  the  present,  of  the 
violence  of  our  ancestors,  or  the  complicated 
crimes  into  which  they  wore  hurried,  by  what 
their  wise,  but  ill-enforced,  laws  termed  the 
heathenish  and  accursed  practice  of  Deadly 
Feud.  The  author  has  tried  to  extract  some 
dramatic  scenes  out  of  it ;  but  he  is  conscious 
no  exertions  of  his  can  increase  the  horror 
of  that  which  is  \n  itself  so  iniquitous.  Yet, 
if  we  look  at  modern  events,  we  must  not  too 
hastily  venture  to  conclude  that  our  own 
times  have  RO  much  Hie  superiority  over  for- 
mer days  as  we  misht  at  first  he  tempted  to 
infer.  One  great  object  has  indeed  been  ob- 
tained. The  power  of  the  laws  extends  over 
the  country  universally,  and  if  criminals  a 
present  sometimes  escape  punishment,  this 
can  only  be  by  eluding  justice ,— not,  as  of  old. 
bv  defying  it. 

'But 'the  motives  which  influence  modern 
ruffians  to  commit  actions  at  which  we  pause 
with  wonder  and  horror,  arise,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, from  the  thirst  of  gain.  For  the  hope 


of  lucre,  we  have  seen  a  wretch  seduced  to 
lis  fate,  under  the  pretext  that  he  was  ti 
share  in  amusement  and  conviviality ;  and 
"or  gold,  we  have  seen  the  meanest  o; 
wretches  deprived  of  life,  and  their  uu&erabli 
remains  cheated  of  the  grave. 

The  loftier,  if  equally  cruel,  feelings  o 
pride,  ambition,  and  love  of  vengeance,  wer 
:he  idols  of  our  forefathers,  while  the  caitif) 
if  our  day  bend  to  Mammon,  the  meanest  o 
the  spirits  who  fell.'  The  criminals,  there 
fore,  of  former  times,  drew  their  hellish  in 
spiration  from  a  loftier  source  than  is  know 
to  modern  villains.  The  fever  of  ansate 
ambition,  the  frenzy  of  ungratified  reveug' 
the  ptrfen-iitum  inyrnium  Scolorum,  stigma 
tized  by  our  jurists  and  our  legislators,  hel 
life  but  as  passing  breath;  and  such  enorm 
ties  as  now  sound  like  the  acts  of  a  madman 
were  then  the  familiar  deeds  of  every  offended 
nobie.  VViih  these  observations  we  proceed 
to  our  story. 


656 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


John  Muir.  or  Mure,  of  Auchindrane,  the 
contriver  and  executor  of  the  following  cruel- 
ties, was  a  gentleman  of  an  ancient  family 
and  good  estate  in  the  west  of  Scotland  ; 
bold,  ambitious.  treacherous  to  the  last  de- 
gree, and  utterly  nnconscientious, — a  Richard 
tue  Third  in  private  life,  inaccessible  alike  to 
pity  and  to  remorse.  His  view  was  to  raise 
the  power,  and  extend  the  grandeur,  of  his 
own  family.  This  gentleman  had  married  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Bar- 
ganie, who  was,  excepting  the  Earl  of  Cas- 
silis,  the  most  important  person  in  all  Carrick. 
the  district  of  Ayrshire  which  he  inhabited, 
and  where  the  name  of  Kennedy  held  so 
great  a  sway  as  to  give  rise  to  the  popular 
rhyme. — 

"  Twjit  Wigton  and  the  town  of  Air, 

Portpatnck  and  the  Cruives  of  Cree, 
No  man  need  think  for  to  bide  there, 
Unless  he  court  Saint  Kennedie." 

Now,  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  who  had  pro- 
mised himself  high  advancement  by  means 
of  his  father-in-law  Barganie,  saw.  with  envy 
and  resentment,  that  his  influence  remained 
second  and  inferior  to  the  House  of  Cassilis, 
chief  of  all  the  Kennedys.  The  Earl  was 
indeed  a  minor,  but  his  authority  was  main- 
tained, and  his  affairs  well  managed,  by  his 
uncle,  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne,  the 
brother  of  the  deceased  Earl,  and  tutor  and 
guardian  to  the  present.  This  worthy  gentle- 
man supported  his  nephew's  dignity  and  the 
credit  of  the  house  so  effectually,  that  Bar- 
:  panic's  consequence  was  much  thrown  into 
the  shade,  and  the  ambitious  Auchindrane, 
his  son-in-law,  saw  ho  better  remedv  than  to 
remove  so  formidable  a  rival  as  Cullayne  by 
violent  means. 

For  this  purpose,  in  the  year  of  God  1597, 
he  came  with  a  party  of  followers  to  the  town 
of  Maybole,  (where  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of 
Cullayne  then  resided.)  and  lay  in  ambush  in 
an  orchard,  through  which  he  knew  his  des- 
tined victim  was  to  pass,  in  returning  home- 
wards from  a  house  where  he  was  engaged  to 
sup.  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  came  alone,  and 
unattended,  when  he  was  suddenly  fired  upon 
by  Auchindrane  and  his  accomplices,  who. 
having  missed  their  aim,  drew  their  swords, 
and  rushed  upon  him  to  slay  him.  But  the 
party  thus  assailed  at  disadvantage,  had  the 
good  fortune  to  hide  himself  for  that  time  m 
a  ruinous  house,  where  he  lay  concealed  till 
the  inhabitants  of  the  place  came  to  his  as- 
sistance. 

Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  prosecuted  Mure  for 
this  assault,  who,  finding  himself  in  danger 
from  the  law,  made  a  sort  of  apology  and 
agreement  with  the  Lord  of  Cullayne,  to 
whose  daughter  he  united  his  eldest  son,  in 
testimony  of  the  closest  friendship  in  future. 
This  agieement  was  sincere  on  the  part  of 
Kennedy,  who,  after  it  had  heen  entered  into, 
showed  himself  Auchindrane's  friend,  and 
assistant  on  all  occasions.  But  it  was  most 
false  and  treacherous  on  that  of  Mure,  who 
continued  to  nourish  the  purpose  of  murder- 
ing his  new  friend  and  ally  on  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. 

Auchindrane's  first  attempt  to  effect  this 
was  by  means  of  the  young  Gilbert  Kennedy 


of  Barganie,  (for  old  Barganie,  Auchindrane's 
father-in-law,  was  dead.)  whom  he  persuaded 
to  hrave  the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  as  one  who 
usurped  nn  undue  influence  over  the  rest  of 
the  name.  Accordingly,  this  hot-headed 
youth,  at  the  instigation  of  Auchindrane.  rode 
past  the  gate  of  the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  without 
waiting  on  his  chief,  or  sending  him  any  mes- 
sage of  civility.  This  led  to  mutual  defiance, 
being  regarded  by  the  Earl,  according  to  the 
ideas  of  the  time,  as  a  personal  insult.  Both 
parties  took  the  field  with  their  followers,  at 
the  head  of  about  250  uien  on  each  side.  The 
action  which  ensued  was  shorter  and  less 
bloody  than  might  have  been  expected.  Young 
Bargauie,  with  the  rashness  of  headlong  cou- 
rage, and  Auchindrane,  fired  by  deadly  en- 
mity to  the  House  of  Cassilis.  made  a  preci- 
pitate attack  on  the  Earl,  whose  men  were 
strongly  postetl  and  under  rover.  They  were 
received  by  a  heavy  fire.  Barganie  was  slain 
Mure  of  Auchindrane,  severely  wounded  in 
the  thigh,  became  unable  to  sit  his  horse,  and, 
the  leaders  thus  slain  or  disabled,  their  party 
drew  off  without  continuing  the  action  It 
must  lie  particularly  observed,  that  Sir  Tho- 
mas Kennedy  remained  neuter  in  this  quarrel, 
considering  his  connexion  with  Auchindrane 
as  too  intimate  to  be  broken  even  by  his  de- 
sire to  assist  his  nephew. 

For  this  temperate  and  honourable  conduct 
he  met  a  vile  reward ;  for  Auchindrane,  in 
resentment  of  the  loss  of  his  relative  Bar- 
ganie, and  the  downfall  of  his  ambitious 
hopes,  continued  his  practices  against  the  life 
of  t-ir  Thomas  of  Cullayne,  though  totally 
innocent  of  contributing  to  either.  Chance 
favoured  his  wicked  purpose. 

The   Knight  of  Cullayne.  finding  himself 
obliged  to  go  to  Edinburgh  on  a  particular 
day,  sent  a  message  by  a  servant  to  Mure,  in 
which  he  told  him,  in  the  most  unsuspecting 
confidence,  the  purpose  of  his  journey,  and 
named  the  road  which  he  proposed  to  take, 
inviting  Mure  to  meet  him  at  Duppill.  to  the 
I  west  of  the  town  of  Ayr.  a  place  appointed, 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  him  any  commissions 
I  which  he  might  have  for  Edinburgh,  and  as- 
suring his  treacherous  ally  he  would  attend 
to  any  business  which  he  might  have  in  the 
Scottish   metropolis    as   anxiously   as  to  his 
own.     Sir  Thomas  Kennedy's  message   was 
carried  to  the  town  of  Maybole,  where   his 
.  messenger,  tor  some  trivial'  reason,  had  the 
!  import  committed    to  writing  by   a  school- 
j  master  in  that  town,  and  despatched  it  to  its 
destination  by  means  of  a  poor  student,  named 
Dalrymple.  instead  of  carrying  it  to  the  house 
j  of  A'uchmdraue  in  person. 
:     This  suggested  to  Mure  a  diabolical  plot. 
Having  thus  received  tidings  of  Sir  Thomas 
Kennedy's  motions,  he  conceived  the  infernal 
purpose  of  having  the  confiding  friend  who 
sent  the  information,  waylaid  and  murdered 
at  the  place  appointed  to  meet  with  him,  not 
only  in  friendship,  but  for  the  purpose  of  ren- 
dering him  service.     He  dismissed  the  .mes- 
senger Dalrymple,  cautioning  the  lad  to  carry 
back  the  letter  to  Maybole.  and  to  say  that  he 
had  not  found  him,  Auchindrane. in  his  hor.se. 
i  Having  taken  this  precaution,  he  proceeded  to 
(instigate  the  brother  of  the  s'.am  Gilbert  of 
liargiinie,  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Drumurghie 
l,y  name,  and  Waiter  Mure  of  Cloncaird.  a 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      657 


kinsman  of  his  own.  to  take  Ihis  opportunity 
of  revenging  Bargains'*  death.  The  fiery 
young  nten  \vert;  easi.v  induced  to  undertake 
the  crime.  They  waylaid  the  unsuspecting 
Sir  Thomas  (if  Cnllnyiie  at  the  place  appointed 
to  meet  the  traitor  Auchindrane,  and  the 
nurderers  having  in  company  five  or  six  ser- 
vants, well  mounted  and  armed,  assaulted 
and  cruelly  murdered  him  wilh  many  wounds. 
Thev  then  plundered  the  dead  corpse  of  his 
parse,  containing  a  thousand  merks  in  gold, 
cut  off  the  gold  buttons  which  he  wore  on  his 
coat,  and  despoiled  the  body  of  some  valuable 
rings  and  jewels.  I 

The  revenge  due  for  his  uncle's  murder  was 
keenly  pursued  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  As 
the  murderers  fled  from  trial,  they  were  de- 
clared outlaws;  which  doom,  being  pro- 
nounced by  three  bla-ts  of  a  horn,  was  called 
being  put  to  the  horn,  and  declared  the 
king's  rebel."  Mure  of  Auchindrane  was 
strongly  su-pected  of  having  been  the  insti- 
gator of  the  crime.  But  he  conceived  then 
could  be  no  evidence  to  prove  his  emit  if  h 
could  keep  the  boy  Dalrymple  out  of  the  way, 
who  delivered  the  letter  which  made  him  ac- 
quainted with  Cullayne's  journey,  and  the 
place  at  which  lie  meant  to  halt.  On  the 
contrary,  he  saw.  that  if  the  lad  could  be 
produced  at  the  trial,  it  would  afford  ground 
of  fatal  presumption,  since  it  could  be  then 
proved  that  persons  so  nearly  connected  with 
him  as  Kennedy  and  CUmcaird  had  left,  his 
house,  and  committed  the  murder  at  the  very 
spot  which  Cullayne  had  fixed  for  their  meet- 
1112. 

To  avoid  this  imminent  danger.  Mure  brough 
Dalrymple  to  his  house,  and  detained  hin 
there  for  several  weeks.  But  the  youth  tiring 
of  this  confinement,  Mure  sent  him  to  reside 
with  a  friend,  Montgomery  of  Skellmorly,  wh 
maintained  him  under  a  borrowed  name,  ami 
the  desert  regions  of  the  then  almost  savage 
island  of  Arran  Being  confident  in  the  al 
sence  of  this  material  witness.  Auchindratie 
instead  of  flying,  like  his  agents  Drnmiirghi 
and  Clunrainl.  presented  himself  boldly  a 
the  bar,  demanded  a  fair  trial,  and  oilerei 


1  "  No  papenj  which  have  hitherto  been  (Uncovered  aj- 
penr  to  afford  to  striking  a  picture  of  Ihe  savage  utale 
barbarism  into  which  tliat  country  must  have  sunk,  _ 
,-.  ;i*J  Bond  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  to  his  brothe 
ami  hrir-:,j.,i.r,.|,t.  Il.u.  Muster  of  Ca»silis.  The  unci 
of  Ihe«e  young  men,  Bir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Culzeai 
lator  of  Cassiiis,  as  the  reader  will  recollect,  was  mu 
dcred,  Muv  llth,  1602,  by  Auchindraue's  accomplices. 

"  The  Master  of  Chilis,  for  many  year,  previous  I 
that  even',  was  in  open  hostility  lo  hi»  brother.  Durii 
all  thai  period,  however,  the  Master  maintained  habits  c 
the  closes!  intimacy  with  Auchindrane  and  his  diraolu 
associates,  and  actually  joined  him  in  various  hostile  e, 
lerprises  against  his  brother  Ihe  Earl.  The  occurrence  c 
the  Laird  of  Cuizean's  murder  was  embraced  by  the 
mutual  friends,  as  a  filling  opportunity  to  effect  a,  perm 
nent  reconciliation  between  the  brothers  :•  bot,'  (as  •  th 
Historic  of  Ihe  Kennedies,'  p.  69,  quaintly  informs  « 
1  the  cuotry  tbocht  that  he  wald  not  be  eirneat  in  I 
cause  for  Ihe  auld  luift"  betaix  him  and  Auchindrayi 
The  unprincipled  Earl,  (whose  io4r,?iK(,  and  that  of  BO 
of  bis  ancestors,  was  Xrtj  of  Carrie*,  to  denote 
boundless  sway  which  he  elercised  over  hi«  own  vaa 
and  the  inhabitants  of  thai  dintritt.)  relying  on  his  b 
liier's  necessities,  held  out  the  infamous  bribe  conlai 
in  the  following  bond,  to  induce  his  brother,  the  Mastei 
Cassilis,  to  murder  his  former  friend,  Ihe  old  L«ird 
Aachiodrane.  Though  there  be  honour  among  thievei 
would  seem  that  there  is  none  among  assassins ;  for 
youuger  brother  insisted  upon  having  the  price  of  bloc 


person  in  combat  to  the  death  against  any 
l.on]  i'assilis's  friends  who  might  impugn 
innocence.  This  audacity  -VMS  successful, 
ml  he  was  dismissed  without  trial, 
still,  however,  Mure  did  not  consider  him- 
:lf  safe,  so  long  as  D;»lryrnple  w:is  within 
le  realm  of  Scotland  ;  and  the  danger  grew 
ore  pressing  when  he  learned  that  the  lad 
ul  become  impatient  of  the  restraint  which 
e  sustained  in  the  island  of  Arran,  and  re- 
irned  to  some  of  his  friends  in  Ayrshire. 
ure  no  sooner  heard  of  this  thvm  he  again 
Jtained  possession  of  the  boy's  person,  and  a 
econd  time  concealed  him  at  Anchindrane, 
ntil  he  found  an  opportunity  to  transport  him 
>  the  1  ow  Countries,  where  he  contrived  to 
ave  him  enlisted  in  Buccleuch's  regiment ; 
rusting,  doubtless,  that  some  one  of  the 
timeroiis  chances  of  war  might  destroy  the 
oor  young  man  whose  life  was  so  dangerous 
o  him. 

But  after  five  or  six  years'  uncertain  safety, 
ought  at  the  expense  of  so  much  violence 
ud  cunning.  Anchimlrane's  fears  were  exas- 
erated  into  frenzy,  when  he  found  this  dan- 
erous  witness,  having  escaped  from  all  the 
erils  of  climate  and  battle,  had  leit,  or  been 
ischarged  from,  the  Legion  of  Borderers,  and 
.ad  again  accomplished  his  return  to  Ayr- 
hire.  There  is  ground  to  suspect  that  Dal- 
ymple  knew  the  nature  of  the  hold  which  he 
(osscssed  over  Auchindrane.  and  was  desirous 
if  extorting  from  his  fears  some  better  provi- 
iou  than  lie  had  found  either  in  Arran  or  the 
Netherlands.  But  if  so,  it  was  a  fatal  experi- 
.nent  lo  tamper  with  the  fears  of  such  a  man 
as  Auchmdrane,  who  determined  to  rid  him- 
self effectually  of  this  unhappy  young  man. 

Mure  now  lodged  him  in  a  house  of  his 
own,  called  Chapeidiman,  tenanted  by  a  vassal 
and  connexion  of  his  called  James  Bannatyne. 
T  his  man  he  commissioned  to  meet  him  at 
ten  o'clock  at  night  on  the  sea-sands  near 
Girvari,  and  bring  with  him  the  unfortunate 
Dalrymple,  the  object  of  his  fear  and  dread. 
1'he'victnn  seems  to  have  come  with  Banua- 
tyne  without  the  least  suspicion,  though  such 
ight  have  been  raised  by  the  time  and  place 


eg  uli 

Judging  by  the  K 
he  probably  though' 


nd  : 


BUbsequa 
it,  bu 


up  in  the 


.hat, 

would  be  attained,  by  •  killing  two  birds  with  one  si 
he  other  hand,  however,  it  is  but  doing  justice  I 
Master's  acuteness,  and  the  elperieuce  acquired  und, 
quondam  preceptor,  Auchindi 


On 

•nil 

ihould  likewi* 
ild  hold  firm  possessioi 

if  the  bond,  to  be  used  cs  a  checkmate  against  hit  bro 
her,  should  he  think  tit  afterwards  to  turn  his  heel  nj^i 
lim,  or  attempt  to  betray  him  into  the  hands  of  justice. 

«*  The  following  is  a  correct  copy  of  the  bond  granted  by 
he  Earl  :-•  We,  Johne,  Earle  of  Ca.s.llis,  Lord  Kennedy, 
etc.,  bindis  and  oblis*is  ws,  that  howsovne  our  broiler, 


if  Bro 

he  Laird  of  Aochind 
hankfull  pa 


eU  :. 


to    li 

__ kls,! 

y  and  qnliill  2 
•  self:  Beeinnn 


s  lyf,  tha 


hil 


.,11  i 


iii  i." 


Imlkll 


we  rcs»aw3   tha 
,g  Ihe  first  payn 


in  honshakl 


ild'deid.     Allour,4  how- 

«vnew"resi."wVh.,ne  in  hou.hald,  we  sail  pay  to 
twa  terwing  gentillmen  the  fein,  yeirlie,  as  our  a' 
honshald  aerwandis.     And  bcirlo  we  obli™  ws.  vpoun 
honour.    Subscryvit  with  our  hand,  at  Maybole,  the  ferd 
day  of  September,        -•  _„  r.KSIT_Tig  ,w 


Pitcair 


•ol    i 
'  4  Mo 


658 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


appointed  for  the  meeting.  When  Bannatyne 
and  Dalrymple  came  to  the  appointed  spot. 
Auchindrane  met  them,  accompanied  t>y  his 
eMest  son.  James.  Old  Auchiniirane,  having 
taken  Bannatyne  aside,  imparted  his  bloody 
purpose  of  ridding  himself  of  Dalrymple  for 
ever,  by  murdering  him  on  the  spot.  His  own 
life  and  honour  were,  lie  said.  endangered  by 
the  manner  in  which  this  inconvenient  wit- 
ness repeatedly  thrust  himself  back  into  Ayr- 
shire, and  not  Inns  could  secure  his  safety  but 
taking  the  lad's  life,  in  which  action  he  re- 
quested James  Bannatyne's  assistance.  Ban- 
naiyne  felt  some  compunction,  and  remon- 
strated against  the  cruel  expedient,  saying,  it 
would  be  better  to  transport  Dalrymple  to 
Ireland,  and  take  precautions  against  his  re- 
turn. While  old  Auchindrane  seemed  dis- 
posed to  listen  to  this  proposal,  his  sou  con- 
cluded that  the  time  was  come  fur  accom- 
plishing the  purpose  of  their  meeting,  anil. 
without  wailing  the  termination  of  his  father's 
conference  with  Bannatyne,  he  rushed  sud- 
denly on  Dalrymple,  beat  him  to  the  ground, 
and,  kneeling  down  on  him,  with  his  father's 
assistance  accomplished  the  crime,  by  stran- 
gling the  unhappy  object  of  their  fear  and  jea- 
lousy. Bannatyne,  the  witness,  and  partly  the 
accomplice,  of  the  murder,  assisted  them  in 
their  attempt  to  make  a  hole  in  the  sand,  with 
a  spade  which  they  had  brought  on  purpose, 
in  order  to  conceal  the  dead  body.  But  as  the 
tide  was  corning  in,  the  holes  which  they  made 
filled  with  water  before  they  could  get  the 
body  bu lied,  and  the  ground  seemed,  to  their 
terrified  consciences,  to  refuse  to  be  accessory 
to  concealing  their  crime.  Despairing  of  hiding 
the  corpse  iii  the  manner  they  proposed,  the 
murderers  carried  it  out  into  the  sea  as  deep 
as  they  dared  wade,  and  there  abandoned  it 
to  the  billows,  trusting  that  a  wind,  which 
was  blowing  off  the  shore,  would  drive  these 
remains  of  their  crime  out  to  sea,  where  they 
would  never  more  be  heard  of.  But  the  sea. 
as  well  as  the  laud,  seemed  unwilling  to  con- 
ceal their  cruelty.  After  floating  for  some 
hours,  or  days,  the  dead  Vxxly  was,  by  the 
wind  and  tide,  again  driven  on  shore,  near  the 
very  spot  where  the  murder  had  been  com- 
mitted. 

This  attracted  general  attention,  and  when 
the  corpse  was  known  to  be  that  of  the  same 
V\  illiam  Palrymple  whom  Auchindrane  had 
so  often  spirited  out  of  the  country,  or  con- 
cealed when  he  was  in  it,  a  strong  and  general 
suspicion  arose,  that  this  young  person  had 
met  with  foul  play  from  the  hold  bad  man 
who  had  shown  himself  so  much  interested 
in  his  absence.  It  was  always  said  or  sup- 
posed, that  the  dead  body  had  bled  at  ihe 
approach  of  a  grandchild  of  Mure  of  Auchin- 
drane, a  girl  who,  from  curiosity,  had  come  to 
look  at  a  sight  which  others  crowded  to  see. 
The  bleeding  of  a  murdered  corpse  at  the 
touch  of  the  murderer,  was  a  thing  at  that 
time  so  much  believed,  that  it  was  admitted 
as  a  proof  of  guilt ;  but  I  know  no  case,  save 
that  of  Aiichiiidrane,  in  which  the  phenome- 
non was  supposed  to  he  extended  to  the  ap- 
proach of  the  innocent  kindred:  nor  do  1 
think  that  the  fact  itself,  though  mentioned 
by  ancient  lawyers,  was  ever  admitted  to 
proof  in  the  proceedings  against  Auchin- 
drane. 


It  is  certain,  however,  that  Anchindrane 
found  himself  so  much  the  object  nf  suspicion 
from  this  new  crime,  that  he  resolved  to  tlv 
from  justice,  and  suffer  himself  to  be  declared 
a  rebel  and  outlaw  rather  than  face  a  trial. 
But  his  conduct  in  preparing  to  cover  his 
flight  with  another  motive  than  the  real  one, 
is  a  curious  picture  of  the  men  and  manners 
of  the  times.  He  knew  well  Hint  if  he  were 
to  shun  his  trial  for  the  murder  of  Dalrymple, 
the  whole  country  would  consider  him  as  a 
man  guilty  of  a  mean  and  disgraceful  crime 
in  putting  to  death  an  obscure  lad.  against 

horn  he  had  no  personal  quarrel.  He  knew, 
besides,  that  his  powerful  friends,  who  would  j 
have  interceded  for  him  had  his  offence  been 
merely  burning  a  house,  or  killing  a  neigh- 
bour, would  not  plead  for  or  stand  hy  him  in 
so  pitiful  a  concern  as  the  slaughter  of  this 
wretched  wanderer. 

Accordingly,  Mure  sought  to  provide  him- 
self with  some  ostensible  cause  for  avoiding 
law,  with  which  the  feelings  of  his  kindred 
and  friends  miL-ht  sympathize;  and  none  oc-  i 
curied  to  him  so  natural  as  an  assault  upon 
some  fnend  and  adherent  of  the  Earl  of 
Cassilis.  Should  he  kill  such  a  one,  it  would 
be  indeed  an  unlawful  action,  but  so  far  from 
being  infamous,  would  be  accounted  the  na- 
tural consequence  of  the  avowed  quarrel  be- 
tween the  families  With  tins  purpose.  Mure, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  relative,  of  whom  he 
seems  always  to  have  had  some  ready  to  exe- 
cute his  worst  purposes,  beset  Hugh  Kennedy 
of  Garriehorne,  a  follower  of  the  Earl's,  against 
whom  they  had  especial  ill-will,  fired  their 
pistols  ut  him,  and  used  other  means  to  put 
him  to  death.  But  Garriehorne.  a  stout- 
hearted man,  and  well  armed,  defended  him- 
self in  a  very  different  manner  from  the  un- 
fortunate Knight  of  Culluyne.  and  hen  I  off  the 
assailants,  wounding  young  Auchiadrane  in 
the  right  hand,  so  that  he  welluigh  lost  the. 
use  of  it. 

But  though  Auchindrane *s  purpose  did  not 
entirely  succeed,  he  availed  himself  of  it  to 
circulate  a  report,  that  if  he  could  obtain  a 
pardon  for  firing  upon  his  feudal  enemy  wiih 
pistols,  weapons  declared  unlawful  by  act  of 
Parliament,  he  would  willingly  stand  his  trial 
for  the  death  of  Dalrymple.  respecting  which 
he  protested  his  total  innocence.  The  King, 
however,  was  decidedly  of  opinion  that  the 
.Mures,  both  father  and  son,  were  alike  guilty 
of  both  crimes,  and  used  intercession  with 
the  Earl  of  Abercorn,  as  a  person  of  power  in 
those  western  counties,  as  well  as  in  Ireiand, 
to  arrest  and  transmit  them  prisoners  to  Edin- 
burgh. In  consequence  of  the  Earl's  exer- 
tions, old  Aucliindraue  was  made  prisoner, 
and  lodged  in  the  toibooth  of  Edinburgh. 

Young  Auchmdrane  no  suoner  heard  that 
his  fathtr  was  in  custody,  than  he  became  ;is 
apprehensive  of  Banuatyne,  the  accomplice 
in  Da'rymple's  murder,  telling  taies.  as  ever 
his  lather  had  been  of  Dalrymple.  He.  there- 
fore, hastened  lo  him.  and  prevailed  on  him 
to  pass  over  for  a  while  to  the  neighbouring 
coast  of  Ireland,  finding  him  money  and 
means  to  accomplish  tiie  voyage,  and  en- 
gaging in  the  meantime  to  take  care  of  his 
affairs  in  Scotland.  Secure,  as  they  thougut. 
in  this  precaution,  old  Auchindrane  persisted 
in  his  innocence,  and  his  son  found  security 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.   659 


to  stand  Iws  trial.  Both  appeared  with  the 
same  confidence  at  the  day  appointed,  and 
braved  the  public  jnsticn.  hoping  to  he  put  to 
a  formal  trial,  in  winch  Auohindraue  reckoned 
upon  an  acquittal  lor  want  of  tlie  evidence 
winch  lie  Had  removed.  The  trial  was,  how- 
ever, postponed,  and  Mure  Uie  elder  was  dis- 
missed, under  high  security  to  return  when 
called  fur. 

But  King  James,  being  convinced  of  the 
guilt  of  the  accused,  ordered  young  Auchin- 
drane. instead  of  being  sent  to  trial,  to  he 
examined  under  the  f.>rce  of  torture,  in  order 
to  compel  him  to  tell  whatever  he  knew  of 
tlie  things  charged  against  him.  He  was  ac- 
cordingly severely  tortured;  hut  the  result 
only  served  to  show  that  such  examinations 
are  as  useless  as  they  are  cruel.  A  man  of 
weak  resolution,  or  a  nervous  hahit.  would 
prnh.ihly  have  assented  to  any  confession. 
however  false,  rather  lhan  have  endured  the 
extremity  of  fear  and  pain  to  which  Mure 
was  subjected.  But  younz  Auchindrane.  a 
strong  and  determined  ruffian,  endured  the 
torture  with  the  utmost  firmness,  and  by  the 
constant  audacity  with  which,  in  spite  of  the 
intolerable  pain,  he  continued  to  assert  his 
innocence,  lie  spre.id  so  favourable  an  opinion 
of  his  case,  that  the  detaining  him  in  prison, 
instead  of  bringing  him  to  open  trial,  was  cen- 
sured as  severe  and  oppressive.  James,  how- 
ever, remained  firmly  persuaded  of  his  guilt, 
and  by  an  exertion  of  authority  quite  incon- 
sistent with  our  present,  laws,  commanded 
young  Auchindrane  to  be  still  detained  in 
close  custody  nil  further  light  could  be  thrown 
on  these  dark  proceedings.  He  was  detained 
accordingly  by  the  King's  express  personal 
commnnd.  and  against  the  opinion  even  of  his 
privy  counsellors.  This  exertion  of  authority 
was  much  murmured  against. 

In  the  meanwhile,  old  Auchindrane,  being, 
as  we  have  seen,  at  liberty  on  pledges,  skulked 
about  in  the  west,  feeling  how  little  security 
lie  had  gained  by  Dalrymple's  murder,  and 
that  he  had  placed  himself  by  that  crime  in 
the  power  of  Bannatyne,  whose  evidence  con- 
cerning the  death  of  Dalrymple  could  not  be 
less  fatal  than  what  Dalrymple  might  have 
told  concerning  Auchmdrane's  accession  to 
the  conspiracy  against  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy 
of  Cullayne.  But  though  the  event  had  shown 
the  error  of  his  wicked  policy,  Auchindrane 
could  think  of  no  better  mode  in  this  case 
than  that  which  had  failed  in  relation  to  Dal- 
rymple. When  any  man's  life  became  incon- 
sistent with  his  own  safety,  no  idea  seems  to 
have  occurred  to  this  inveterate  ruffian,  save 
to  murder  the  person  by  whom  he  might  him- 
self be  in  any  wav  endangered.  He  therefore 
attempted  the  life  of  James  Banna'yne  by 
more  agents  than  one.  Nay,  he  had  nearly 
ripened  a  plan,  by  which  one  Pennycuke  was 
to  be  employed  to  shiy  Bammtync.  while,  after 


the  deed  was  done,  it  was  devised  that  Mure 
of  Auchnull,  a  connexion  of  Bannatyne.  should 
be  instigated  to  slay  Pennycuke;  and  thus 
close  up  this  train  of  murders  by  one,  which. 
flowing  m  tlie  ordinary  course  of  deadly  feud, 
should  have  nothing  in  it  so  particular  as  to 
attract  much  attention. 

But  the  justice  of  Heaven  would  bear  this 
complicaied  train  of  iniquity  no  longer.  Ban- 
natyue.  knowing  with  what  sort  of  men  he 
had  to  deal,  kept  on  his  guard,  and.  by  his 
caution,  disconcerted  more  than  one  attempt 
to  take  his  life,  while  another  miscarried  by 
the  remorse  of  Heniiycuke,  the  agent  whom 
Mure  employed.  At  length  Bannaiyne,  tiring 
of  this  state  of  insecurity,  and  in  despair  of 
escaping  such  repeated  plots,  and  also  reeling 
remorse  lor  the  crime  to  which  he  had  been 
access-try,  resolved  rather  to  submit  himself 
to  the  severity  of  tlie  law,  than  remain  the 
object  of  the  principal  criminal's  practices. 
He  surrendered  himself  to  the  Karl  of  Aber- 
corii,  and  was  transported  to  Kdiuburgh. where 
he  confessed  before  the  King  and  council  all 
the  particulars  of  the  murder  of  Dalrymple, 
and  the  attempt  to  hide  Ins  body  by  commit!  ing 
it  to  the  sea. 

When  Bannatyne  was  confronted  with  the 
two  Mures  before  the  Privy  Council,  they  de- 
nied with  vehemence  every  part  of  the  evi- 
dence he  had  given,  and  affirmed  that  the 
witness  had  been  bribed  to  destroy  them  by  a 
false  tale  Bannatyne's  behaviour  seemed 
sincere  and  simple,  ihat  of  Auchindrane  more 
resolute  and  crafty.  The  wretcned  accom- 
plice fell  upon  his  knees,  invoking  God  to 
witness  that  all  the  land  m  Scotland  could  not 
have  bribed  him  to  bring  a  false  accusation 
against  a  master  whom  he  had  served,  loved, 
I  and  followed  m  so  many  dangers,  and  calling 
I  upon  Auchindrane  to  honour  God  by  conlcss- 
!  ing  the  crime  he  had  committed.  Mure  the 
I  elder,  on  the  other  hand,  boldly  replied,  that 
he  hoped  God  would  not  so  far  forsake  him  as 
]  to  permit  him  to  confess  a  crime  of  which  he 
was  innocent,  and  exhorted  Baunatyne  in  his 
turn  to  confess  the  practices  by  which  he  had 
been  induced  to  devise  such  falsehoods  against 
i  him 

|     The  two  Mures,  father  and  son,  were  there- 
!  fore  put  upon  their  solemn  trial,  along  with 
!  Bannatyne.  in  1611.  and,  after  a  great  deal  of 
I  evidence  had  been  brought  in  support  of  Ban- 
|  natyue's    confession,   all    three   were    found 
guilty'     The  elder  Auchindrane   was  con- 
victed of  counselling  and  directing  the  mur- 
der of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne.  and 
|  also  of  the  actual  murder  of  the  lad  Dalrym- 
ple.    Bannatyne  and  the  younger  Mure  were 
found  guilty  of  the  latter  crime,  and  all  three 
were  sentenced  to  he  beheaded.     Bunnatyne, 
however,  the  accomplice,  received  the  King's 
i  pardon,  in  consequence  of  his  voluntary  sur- 
i  render  and  confession     The  two  Mures  were 


1  "  Efter  pronunceing  and  drrlairing  of  the  qubiik  de-  ;  pnwteuiones.  teymlis,  coirnr*,  cattrll,   irmirht  pleniMinf, 
Awyse, '  The  Justice,  in  respect  tbairof,  be  the  mouth  of  i  quhatgumeuir,  direrllie  or   iudirertlie  pertrniug  to  tbame, 

Jameit  Mure  of  .Vichiiidrsuie  younger,  hi»  eMettl  none  and  nf  ihame,  had  richt. claim,  or  actiouu,  lobe  forfait,  eacheif, 

appeiraud   air,   and  Jame»  Biinnatyue,  culled  of  Chapel-,  and  iaiirocht  to  our  wjuerane   lordiine;  u  culpable  and 

Doiiauc,  and  ilk  aue  of  Ihame,  to  be   taue  to   the   mercat  convict  of  the  Midi*  trexHonabil]  crymea  ' 

croc*-  of  the  burcht  of  Edinburgh,  and  tbair,  upon  ane  "Qubil 

And  all  thair  laudis  heritages,  takii,  .teidingis,  rowmea, 


660 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


both  executed.  The  younsrer  was  ;iffecteil  by 
the  remonstrances  c>f  the  clergy  who  attended 
him,  and  he  confessed  the  guilt  of  which  he 
was  accused.  Tlie  father,  also,  was  at  length 
brought  to  avow  the  fact,  hut  in  other  re- 
spects died  as  impenitent  as  he  had  lived  ; — 
and  so  ended  this  dark  and  extraordinary  tra- 
gedy. 

The  Lord  Advocate  of  the  day,  Sir  Thomas 
Hamilton,  afterwards  successively  Earl  of 
Melrose  and  of  Haddington.  seems  to  have 
busied  himself  much  in  drawing  up  a  state- 
ment of  this  foul  transaction,  for  the  purpose 
of  vindicating  to  the  people  of  Scotland  the 
severe  course  of  justice  observed  by  King 
James  VI.  He  assumes  the  task  in  a  high 
tone  of  prerogative  law,  and.  cm  the  whole, 
seems  at  a  loss  whether  to  attribute  to  Provi- 
dence, or  to  his  most  sacred  Majesty,  tlie 
greatest  share  in  bringing  to  light  these  mys- 
terious villames.  but  rather  inclines  to  the 
latter  opinion.  There  is.  I  believe,  no  printed 
copy  of  the  intended  tract,  whicli  seems  never 
to  have  been  published;  but  the  curious  will 
be  ennbled  to  judge  of  it,  as  it  appears  in  the 
next  fasciculus  of  Mr.  Robert  Pitrairn's  very 
interesting  publications  from  the  Scottish 
Criminal  Record.' 

The  family  of  Auchindrane  did  not  become 
extinct  on  the  death  of  the  two  homicides. 
The  last  descendant  existed  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  a  poor  and  distressed  man  The  fol- 
lowing anecdote  shows  that  he  had  a  strong 
feeling  of  his  situation. 

There  was  in  front  of  the  old  castle  a  huge 
ash-tree  called  the  Dule.-tree  (mourning  tree) 
of  Auchindrane,  probably  because  it  was  the 
place  where  the  Baron  executed  the  criminals 
who  fell  under  his  jurisdiction.  It  is  described 
as  having  been  the  finest  tree  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. This  last  representative  of  the 
family  of  Auchindrane  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  arrested  for  payment  of  a  small  debt;  and, 
unable  to  discharge  it,  was  prepared  to  ac- 
company the  messenger  (bailiff)  to  the  jail  of 
Ayr.  Tue  servant  of  the  law  hail  compassion 
for  his  prisoner,  and  offered  to  accept  of  this 
remarkable  tree  as  of  value  adequate  to  the 
discharge  of  the  debt.  "  What !"  said  the 
debtor,  •' Sell  the  Dule-tree  of  Auchindrane  ! 
1  will  sooner  die  in  the  worst  dunzeon  of  your 
prison."  In  tins  luckless  character  the  line 
of  Auchindrane  ended.  The  family,  blacken- 
ed with  the  crimes  of  its  predecessors,  became 
extinct,  and  tlie  estate  passed  into  other 
hands. 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

John  Mure  of  Auchindraue,  oil  Ayrshire  Baron. 
He  lias  been  a  follower  of  the  Regent.  Earl  of 


1  See  an  article  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  February.  1WI. 
on  Mr.  Pitcairn'i  valuable  collection,  where  Sir  Walter 
Scott  particularly  dwells  on  the  orieinal  documents  con- 
neclfd  with  the  Mory  of  Auchimlrane :  and  where  Mr. 
Pitrairn's  important  services  lo  the  history  of  hn  profes- 
sion, and  of  Scolbuid,  are  justly  characterised.  (1633.) 

"Sir  Walter's  renewal  of  the  early  parts  of  Mr  Pit- 

tiaed  the 'editor,  who  s.-nt  him.  on  hi.  arrival  in  Edin- 
burgh, the  proof  sheets  of  the  Number  then  in  hand,  and 
directed  his  attention  particularly  to  its  details  on  thr 
extraordinary  cue  of  Mure  of  Auchindrane.  A.  D.  1611 
Scott  wan  no  much  interested  with  these  documents,  that 


Morton,  during  the  Civil  Wars,  and  hides  an 
oppressive,  ferocious,  and  unscrupulous  dispo- 
sition, under' some  prettnces  to  strictness  of 
life  and  doctrine,  which,  however,  never  influ- 
ence Ins  conduct.  He  is  in  danuer  from  the 
low.  oiinnti  to  his  hnvina  been  formerly  active 
in  the  assassination  of  the  Enrl  of  CafSilis. 

Philip  Mure,  hii  Son.  a  wild,  debauched  Profli- 
gate, professing  and  practising  a  contempt  Jor 
his  Father's  hypocrisy,  while  he  is  as  fierce  and 
licentious  as  Auchindrane  himself. 

Gifford,  their  Rflalion.  <.  Courtier 

Qtientin  Blane,  a  Youth,  educated  for  a  Clergy- 
man, but  sent  by  Aurhindiane  to  serve  in  a 
Band  of  AuxiliurifS  in  the  Wars  of  the  Ne- 
therlands, and  lately  tmplnyrd  as  Cl/rk  or 
Comptroller  to  the  Regiment—  Disbanded,  how- 
ever, and  on  his  return  to  his  native  Country. 
He  is  o.l  a  mild,  gentle,  and  rather  feeble  cha- 
racter, liable  to  tie  mfl.ww.eil  by  any  person  of 
stronger  mind  who  ici!l  lake  the  trouble  to 
direct  him.  He  is  somewhat  of  a  nervous  tem- 
perament, varying  from  sadness  to  gaiety,  ac- 
cording to  the  impulse  of  the  moment ,  an 
amiable  hypochondriac. 

Hildebrand,  a  stout  old  Englishman,  who.  by 
feats  of  couraae,  has  raised  himself  to  the  rank 
of  Sergtant-Mojor,  (then  of  greater  conse- 
quence than  at  present.)  He.  too.  has  been 
disbanded,  but  cannot  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  he  has  lost  his  cnmmmd  over  his  Regi- 
ment. 

\  Privates  dismissed  from  the  same 

Abraham,       i      RegimfntinwhichQaeittiitand 

Williams,      j      Hiidehrand  had  served.    These 

Jenkm,  |      are  mutinous,  and  are  much 

And  Othersi         disposed  to  remember   former 
I     quarrels  with  Ihrir  late  Officers. 

Niel  MacLellan,  Keeper  of  Auchindrane  Forest 
and  Game 

Earl  of  Dunbar,  commanding  an  Army  as  Lieu- 
tenant of  James  1 ,  for  execution  of  Justice  on 
Offenders. 

Guards,  Attendants,  cfc.  fa. 

Marion,  Wife  o/Niel  MacLellan. 

Isabel,  Ihrir  Daughter,  a  Girl  of  six  years  old. 

Other  Children  and  Peasant  Women. 


OR, 

THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 

ACT  I  — SCEN  E  I. 

A  rocky  Bay  on  the  Coast  of  Carrick.  in  Ayr- 
shire, not  far  from  the  Point  of  Turnberry. 
The  Sea  comes  in  upon  a  bold  rocky  Shore. 
The  remains  of  a  small  half-ruined  Tower 
are  sren  on  the  right  hand,  overhanging  the 


AUCIIINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


661 


Sea.  There,  is  a  Vessel  at  a  dut'inre  in  the 
offiw.  A  Boat  at  the  holtnm  of  the.  Stage 
lands  eti/ht  or  t,n  Pfsons.  i/rcssfd  ti/tt  dis- 
banded, and  in  nnf  or  two  casrs  like  disabled 
Sobliirs.  Tiiry  conie  slra<j,jltn<i  forward  with 
their  knapsacks  and  bunlles.  Hihlebrand.  the 
Senjeant.  brlnnying  to  the  Party,  a  stout  elderly 
man  stands  by  the  boat,  as  if  superinlmdiny 
the  disembarkation.  Qucntin  remains  apart. 

Abraham.  Farewell,  the  flats  of  Holland, 
and  right  welcome 

The  cliffs  of  Scotland  !    Fare  thee  well,  black 
beer 

And  Schiedam  ein  !  and  welcome  twopenny 

Oatcakes,  and  usquebaugh  ! 

Willitims  (who  wants  an  arm  )  Farewell, 
the  eallant  field,  and  "Forward,  pike- 
men  !" 

For  I  lie  bridge-end,  tlie  suburb,  and  the  lane  ; 

And,  "  Bless  your  honour,  noble  gentlemen. 

Remember  a  poor  soldier!" 
Abr.  My  tongue  shall  never  need  to  smooth 
itself 

To  such  poor  sounds,  while  it  can  boldly  say, 

"Stand  and  deliver!" 

Wil.  Hush,  thf  sereeant  hears  you ! 
Abr.  And  let  him  hear;  he  makes  a  bustle 
yonder. 

And  dreams  of  his  authority,  forgetting 

We  are  disbanded  men,  o'er  whom  his  halberd 

Has  not  such  influence  as  the  beadle's  baton. 

We  are  no  soldiers  now,  but  every  one 

The  lord  of  his  own  person. 

Wil  A  wretched  lordship  — and  our  free- 
dom .such 

As  that  of  the  old  cart-horse,  when  the  owner 

Turns  him  upon  the  common.     I  for  one 

Will  still  coniinue  to  respect  the  sergeant. 

And   the   comptroller,  too,  —  while  the  cash 

lasts 

Abr.  I  scorn  'hem  both.  I  am  too  stout  a 
Scotsman 

To  bear  a  Sou  liron's  rule  an  instant  longer 

Than  discipline  obliges  ;  and  for  Quenttn, 

Quentin  the  quilliiiau,  Queniin  the  comptrol- 
ler. 

We  have  no  resriment  now ;  or,  if  we  had, 

Quentin's  no  longer  clerk  to  it. 

Wil.  For  shame!  for  shame!  What, shall 
old  comrades  jar  thus. 

And  on  the  verge  of  parting,  and  for  ever! — 

Nay,  keep  tliy  temper,  Abraham,  though  a 
bad  on*-. — 

Good  Master  i^ucntin,  let  thy  song  last  night 

Give  us  once  more  our  welcome  to  old  Scot- 
land. 

Abr.  Ay,  they  sing  light  whose  task  is  tell- 
ing' money. 

When  dollars  clink  for  chorus. 
Que.  I've  done  with  counting  silver,  honest 
Abraham, 

As  thou,  I  fear,  with  pouching  thy  small  share 
on't. 

But  lend  your  voices,  lads,  and  I  will  sing 

As  blithely  yet  as  if  a  town  were  won; 

As  if  upon  a  field  of  battle  gam'd, 

Our  banners  waved  victorious. 

[He  sings,  and  the  rest  bear  chorus. 

SON  o. 

Hither  we  come, 

Once  slaves  to  the  drum. 


But  no  longer  we  list  to  its  rattle; 

Adieu  lo  the  wars. 

Wuli  their  slashes  and  scars, 
The  march,  and  the  storm,  and  the  battle. 

There  are  some  of  us  maim'd, 

And  some  that  are  lamed. 
And  some  of  old  aches  are  complaining; 

But  we'll  take  up  the  tools. 

Winch  we  flung  by  like  fools, 
'Gainst  Don  Spaniard  to  go  a-campaigning. 

Dick  Hawthorn  doth  vow 

To  return  to  the  plough. 
Jack  Steele  to  his  anvil  and  hammer; 

The  weaver  shall  find  room 

At  the  wight.-wap|>inx  loom. 
And  your  clerk  shall    teach   writing  and 
g  rammer. 

Abr.  And  this  is  all  that  thou  canst  do,  gay 
Quentin? 

To  swagger  o'er  a  herd  of  parish  brats. 

Cut  cheese  or  dibble  onions  with  thy  poniard, 

And  turn  the  sheath  into  a  ferula? 
Que.  I  am  the  prodigal  in  holy  writ: 

I  cannot  work,— to  bpg  I  am  ashamed. 

Besides.  gmnl   mates,   I  care   not   who  may 
know  it, 

I'm  e'en  as  fairly  tired  of  this  same  fighting, 

As  the  poor  cur  that's  worried  in  the  shambles 

By  all  the  mastiff  dogs  of  all  the  butchers ; 

Wherefore,  farewell  sword,  poniard,  petronel, 

And  welcome  poverty  and  peaceful  labour. 
Abr.  Clerk  Quentiu,  if  ol  fighting  thou  art 
tired. 

By  my  good  word,  thou'rt  quickly  satisfied, 

For  thou'st  seen  but  little  on't. 

Wil   Thou  dost  belie  him— I  have  seen  him 
fight 

Bravely  enough  for  one  in  his  condition. 
Abr.  What  he?  that  counter-casting,  smock- 
faced  boy  ? 

What   was    he  but  the  colonel's  scribbling 
drudge, 

With  men  of  straw  to  stuff  the  regiment  roll; 

With  ciphering*  unjust  to  cheat  his  comrades, 

And  cloak  false  musters  for  our  noble  cap- 
tain? 

He  bid  farewell  to  sword  and  petronel ! 

He  should   have  said,  farewell   my  pen  and 
stand  ish. 

These,  with  the  rosin  used  to  hide  erasures. 

Were  the  best  friends  he  left  in  camp  behind 

him. 

Que  The  sword  you  scoff  at  is  not  far,  but 
scorns 

The  threats  of  an  unmanner'd  mutineer. 
Her.  (interposes  )   We'll  have  no  brawling— 
Shall  it  e'er  be  said. 

That  being  comrades  six  long  years  together. 

While  gulping  down  the  frowsy  fogs  of  Hol- 
land, 

We  tilted  at  each  other's  throats  so  soon 

As  the  first  draught  of  native  air  refreshed 
them? 

No !  by  Saint  Dunstan,  1  forbid  the  combat. 

You  all.  melhmks,  do  know  this  trusty  hal- 
berd ; 

For  I  opine,  that  every  back  amongst  you 

Hath  felt  the  weight  of  the  tough  ashen  staff; 

Endlong  or  overthwart.    Who  is  it  wishes 

A  remembrancer  now  ?        [Raises  his  halberd. 


662 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Like  wiser  men,  from  thy  authority. 

Tis  ended,  howsoe'er.  and  we'll  not  suffer 


Abr.  Comrades  have  you  ears 

To  hear  the  old  man  bully  ?  Eyes  to  see 
His  staff  rear'd  o'er  your  heads,  as  o'er  the 

hounds 
The  huntsman  cracks  his  whip? 

WU   Well  said  —  stout  Abraham   has  the 

right  oii't.— 

I  tell  thee,  sergeant,  we  do  reverence  thee. 
And   pardon   the   rash    humours    thou    hast 

caught, 
l.il 

A  word  of  sergeantry,  or  halberd-staff. 
Nor  the  most  petty  threat  of  discipline. 
If  thou  wilt  lay  aside  thy  pride  of  office, 
And  drop  thy  wont  of  swaggering  and  com- 
manding, 

Thou  art  our  comrade  still  for  good  or  evil. 
Else  take  thy  course  apart,  or  with  the  clerk 

there— 

A  sergeant  thou,  and  he  being  all  thy  regi- 
ment. 
Ser    Is't  come  to  this,  false  knaves !     And 

think  you  not, 

That  if  you  bear  a  name  o'er  other  soldiers, 
It  was  because  you  follow 'd  to  the  charge 
One  that  had  zeal  and  skill  enough  to  lead 

you 

Where  fame  was  won  by  danger  t 
WU.  We  grant  thy  skill  in  leading,  noble 

sergeant ; 
Witness    some    empty    boots    and     sleeves 

amongst  us, 

Which  else  had  still  been  tenanted  with  limbs 
In  the  full  quantity;  and  for  the  arguments 
With  which  you  used  to  back  our  resolution. 
Our  shoulders  do  record  them.     At  a  word. 
Will  you  conform,  or  must  we  part  our  com- 
pany ? 
Ser.  Conform  to  you'    Base  dogs  !  I  would 

not  lead  you 

A  bolt-flight  farther  to  be  made  a  general. 
Mean  mutineers!   when  you  swill'd  off  the 

dregs 

my  poor  sea- stores,  it  was,  "Noble  Ser- 
geant- 
Heaven  bless  old  Hildebrand  — we'll  follow 

him, 

At  least,  until  we  safely  see  him  lodged 
Within   the   merry  bounds  of  his  own  Eng- 
land !" 
WU,  Ay.  truly,  sir ;  but,  mark,  the  ale  was 

nuglity. 

And  the  Geneva  potent.    Such  stout  liquor 
Makes  violent  pro'estations.     ^kmk  it  round, 
If  you  have  any  left,  to  the  same  tune, 
And  we  may  find  a  chorus  for  it  still. 
Abr.  We  lose  our  time. — Tell  us  at  once. 

old  man, 
If  thou   wilt  march  with  us,  or  stay  with 

Quentin? 
Ser.  Out,  mutineers!  Dishonour  dog  your 

heejs ! 

Abr.  Wilful   will    have    his  way.     Adieu, 
stout  Hildebrand  ! 

[  The  Soldiers  go  off  laughing,  and  taking 

leave,  with  mockery,  of  the  Sergeant 

and    Quentiu,  w/io    remain    on    the 

Stage. 

Ser.  (after  a  pause.)    Fly  you  not  with  the 

rest  t— fail  you  to  follow 
Yon  goodly  fellowship  and  fair  example,  ? 
Come,  take   your  wild-goose  flight.     I  know 
you  Scots, 


I  Of 


Like  your  own  sea-fowl,  seek  your  course  to- 
gether. 
Que    Faith,  a  poor   heron  I,  who  wing  my 

In  loneliness,  or  with  a  single  partner; 
And  right  it  is  that  I  should  seek  for  solitude, 
Bringing  but  evil  luck  on  them  I  herd  with. 
Ser.  Thon'rt  thankless.     Had  we  landed  on 

the  coast. 
Where  our  course  bore  us,  thou  wert  far  from 

home : 
But  the  fierce  wind  that  drove  us  round  the 

island. 

Barring  each  port  and  inlet  that  we  aim'd  at, 
Hath  wafted  thee  to  harbour;  for  I  judge 
This  is  thy  native  land  we  disembark  on. 
Que.  True,  worthy  friend.     Each  rock,  each 

stream  1  look  on, 

Each  bosky  wood,  and  every  frowning  tower, 
Awakens  some  young  dream  of  infancy. 
Vet  sucli  is  my  hard  hap.  I  might  more  safely 
Have  look'd  on  Indian  cliffs,  or  Afric's  desert, 
Than  on  my  native  shores.     I'm  like  a  babe, 
Doom'd  to  draw  poison  from  mv  nurse's  bo- 
som. 
Ser.  Thou   dream'st,  young  man.     Unreal 

terrors  haunt. 

As  I  have  noted,  giddy  brains  like  thine— 
Flighty,  poetic,  and  imaginative— 
To  whom  a  minstrel  whim  gives  idle  rapture, 
And,  when  it  fades,  fan'astin  misery. 
Que    But  mine  is  not  fantastic.     I  can  tell 

lh«e. 
Since   I   have   known  thee  still   my  faithful 

friend. 
In  part  at  least  the  dangerous  plight  I  stand 

in. 
Ser.  And   I   will   hear  thee   willingly,   the 

rather 

That  I  would  let  these  vagabonds  march  on. 
Nor  join   their  troop  again.     Besides,  good 

sooth. 

I'm  wearied  with  the  toil  of  yesterday, 
And  revel  of  last  night.— And  I  may  aid  thee. 
Yes,  I  may  aid  thee,  comrade,  and  perchance 
Thou  mayst  advantage  me. 

Que.  Mav  it  prove  well  for  both  !— But  note, 

my  friend. 

I  can  but  intimate  my  mystic  story. 
Some  of  it  lies  so  secret, — even  the  winds 
That  whistle   round   us  must  not  know  the 

whole- 
Ail  oath  !— ail  oath  ! 

Ser.  That  must  be  kept,  of  course 

I  ask  but  that  which  thou  mayst  freely  tell. 
Que.  1  was  an  orphan   boy.  and   first  saw 

light 
Not  far  from  where  we  stand  —  my  lineage 

low, 

But  honest  in  its  poverty     A  lord, 
The  master  of  the  soil  for  many  a  mile. 
Dreaded  and  powerful,  took  a  kindly  charge 
For  my  advance  in  letters,  and  the  qualities 
Of  the  poor  orphan  lad  drew  some  applause. 
The  knight  was  proud  of  me.  and,  in  his  halls, 
I  had  such  kind  of  welcome  as  the  great 
Give  to  the  humble,  whom  they  love  to  point 

to 

As  objects  not  unworthy  their  protection. 
Wrhose  progress  is  some  honour  to  their  pa- 
tron— 

A  cure  was  spoken  of.  which  I  might  serve. 
My  manners,  doctrine,  and  acquirements  fit- 
ting. 


AUCHINDRANE; 


AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      663 


Ser.  Hitherto  thy  luck 

Was  of  the  best,  good  frietid.  Few  lords  had 
cared 

If  thou  couldst  read  thy  grammar  or  thy  psal- 
ter. 

Thou  hadst  been  valued  couldst  thou  scour  a 
harness, 

And  dress  a  steed  distinclly. 


Qiie. 


My  old  master 


Held  different  doctrine,  at  least  it  seem'il  so — 

But  he  was  mix'd  in  many  a  deadly  feud — 

And  here  my  tale  grows  mvstio.    I  became, 

rnwjtting  and  nnwi.ling,  the  depositary 

Of  a  dread  secret,  an.l  the  knowledge  on't 

Has  wrerk'd  mv  peace  for  ever.     It  became 

My  patron's  will,  that  I.  as  one  who  knew 

More  than  1  should,  must  leave  the  realm  of 
Scotland. 

And  live  or  die  within  a  distant  land. 
Ser.  Ah  !  thou  hast  done  a  fault  in  some 
wild  raid. 

As  vou  wild  Scotsmen  call  them. 
Que •  Comrade,  nay , 

Mine   was  a   peaceful    part,  and   happ'd   by 
chance. 

I  must  not  tell  you  more.    Enough,  my  pre- 
sence 

Brought  danger  to  my  benefactor's  house. 

Tower  after  tower  conceal'd  me,  willing  still 

To  hide  my  ill-omen'd  face  wiih  owls  and 
ravens. 

And  let  my  patron's  safety  be  the  purchase 

Of  my  severe  and  desolate  captivity. 

So  thought  I.  when  dark  Arran,  with  its  walls    I  can  do  better  for  thee.     Mark  me,  Quentin. 

Of  native  rock,  enclosed  me.    There  I  lurk'd,    I  took  my  license  from  the  noble  regiment 

A  peaceful  stranger  amid  armed  clans, 

Without  a  friend  to  love  or  to  defend  me. 


And  whatsoe'er  of  service  I  could  do  them 
Ihev  gneid.in d  with  ingratitude  and  envy— 
sacft  my  strange  doom,  that  if  I  serve  a  man 
At  deepest  risk,  he  is  my  foe  forever! 
Aer.  Hast  thou  worse  fate  than  others  if  it 

were  so  ? 

Worse  even  than  me.  thy  friend,  thine  officer, 
Whom   yon   ungrateful   slaves    have   pitch 'd 

ashore, 
As  wild   waves  heap  the  sea-weed   on   the 

beach. 

And  left  him  here,  as  if  he  had  the  pest 
Or  leprosy,  and  death  were  m  his  company  ? 
Que   They  think  at  least  you  have  the  worst 

of  plagues, 

The  worst  of  leprosies.— they  tlrnk  you  poor 
Ser.  They  think  like  lying  Villains  "then.  I'm 

ncli, 
And  they  too   might   have   fell  it      I've   a 

thought  — 
But  stay  —  what  plans  your  wisdom  for  yonr- 

Que.  My  thoughts  are  wellnigh  desperate 

But  I  purpose 

Return  to  my  stern  patron— there  to  tell  him 
I  hat  wars,  and  winds,  and  waves,  have  cross'd 

his  pleasure, 
And  cast  me  on  the  shore  from  whence  he 

banish'd  me. 

Then  let  him  do  his  will,  and  destine  for  me 
A  dungeon  or  a  grave. 
Scr.  Now,  by  the  rood,  thou  art  a  simple 


Where  all  beside  were  link'd  by  close  alli- 
ances. 

At  length  1  made  my  option  to  take  service 
In  that  same  legion  of  auxiliaries 
In  which  we  lately  served  the  Belgian. 
Our  leader,  stout  Montgomery,  hath  been  kind 
six  years  of  warfare,  and  as- 


Through  fu 

sign'd  me  Quentin. 

More  peaceful  tasks  than  the  rough  front  of    This  copyhold  can  keep  two  quiet  inmates, 
war.  And  I  am  childless.     Wilt  thou  be  my  son  ? 

For  which  my  education  little  suited  me. 
Ser.  Ay.  therein  was  Montgomery  kind  in- 
deed; 

Nay,  kinder  than  yon  think,  my  simple  Quen- 


tm 


The  letters  which  you  brought  to  the  Mont- 
gomery, 
Pointed  to  thrust  thee  on  some  desperate  ser- 


Que.   Bore   I  such   letters?  —  Surely,  com- 
rade, no. 

Full  deeply  was  the  writer  bound  to  aid  me. 

Perchance  he  only  meant  to  prove  my  mettle ; 

And  it  was  but  a  trick  of  my  bad  fortune 

That  gave  his  letters  ill  interpretation. 
Ser.  Ay.  but  thy  better  angel  wrought  for 
good. 

Whatever  ill  thy  evil  fate  designed  thee. 

Montgomery  pitied  thee,  and  changed  thy  ser- 
vice 

In  the  rough  field  for  labour  in  the  tent. 

More  fit  for  thy  green  years  and  peaceful 

habits. 

Que.  Even  there  his  well-meant  kindness 
injured  me. 

My  comrades  hated,  undervalued  me, 


Partly  that  1  was  worn  with  age  and  warfare, 
Partly  that  an  estate  of  yeomanry. 
Of  no  great  purchase,  but  enough  to  live  on. 
Has  call'd  me  owner  since  a  kinsman's  death. 
It  lies  in  nrerry  Yorkshire,  where  the  wealth 
Of  fold  and  furrow,  proper  to  Old  England, 
Stretches  by  streams  which  walk  no  sluggish 

pace. 
But  dance  as  light  as  yours.    Now,  good  friend 


Que    Nav,  you  can  only  jest,  niy  worthy 

friend ! 

What  claim  have  I  to  be  a  burden  to  yon  7 
Ser.  The  claim  of  him  that  wants,  and  is  in 
danger. 


On  him  that  has,  and  can  afford  protection  : 

Thou  wouldst  not  fear  a  foeman  in  my  cot- 
tage. 

Where  a  stout  mastiff  slumber'd  on  the 
hearth. 

And  this  good  halberd  hung  above  the  chim- 
ney? 

But  come  — I  have  it  — thou  shall  earn  thy 
bread 

Duly,  and  honourably,  and  usefully. 

Our  village  schoolmaster  hath  left  the  parish. 

Forsook  the  ancient  schoolhouse  with  its  yew- 
trees, 

That  lurk'd  beside  a  church  two  centuries 
older  — 

So  long  devotion  took  the  lead  of  knowledge  ; 

And  since  his  little  flock  are  shepherdless, 

Tis  thou  shaft  be  promoted  in  his  room  ; 

And  rather  than  thou  wantest  scholars,  man, 

Myself  will  enter  pupil.     Better  late, 

Our  proverb  says,  than  never  to  do  well. 

And  look  you,  on  the  holydays  I'd  tell 


664 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  all  the  wondering  boors  and  gaping  chil- 
dren, 
Strange  tales  of  what   the   regiment  did   in 

Flanders. 

And  thnu  shouldst  say  Amen,  and  be  my  war- 
rant. 
That  1  speak  truth  to  them. 

Que.  Would   1  might  take  thy  offer !    But, 

alas! 

Thou  art  the  hermit  who  compell'd  a  pilgrim, 
In  name  of  Heaven  and  heavenly  chanty, 
To  share  his  roof  and  meal,  but  found  too  late 
That  he  had  drawn  a  curse  on  him  and  his. 
By  sheltering  a  wretch  foredoom'd  of  heaven ! 
Str.  Thou  talk'st  in  nddles  to  ine. 
Que.  If  1  do, 

Tis  that  I  am  a  riddle  to  myself. 
Thou  know'st  I  am  by  nature  horn  a  friend 
Togleeand  merriment ;  can  make  wild  verses; 
The  jest  or  laugh  has  never  stopp'd  with  me, 
When  once  'twas  set  a  rolling 

Ser.  1  have  known  thee 

A  blithe  companion  still,  nnd  wonder  now 
Thou  shouldst  become  thus  crest-fallen. 
Que.  Does  the  lark  sing  her  descant  when 

the  falcon 
Scales  the  blue  vault  with  bolder  wing  than 

hers. 
And  meditates  a  stoop?    The  mirth  thou'st 

noted 

Was  all  deception,  fraud — Hated  enough 
For  other  causes.  1  did  veil  my  feelings 
Beneath  the  mask  of  mirth,  —  laugh'd,  sung, 

and  caroU'd, 

To  gain  some  interest  in  my  comrades'  bo- 
soms. 
Although  mine  own  was  bursting. 

Ser.  Thou 'it  a  hypocrite 

Of  a  new  order. 

Que.  But  harmless  as  the  innoxious  snake. 
Which  bears  the  adder's  form,  lurks  in  his 

haunts, 

Yet  neither  hath  his  fang-teeth  nor  his  poison 
Look  you,  kind   Hildebrand,   1  would   seem 

merry, 

Lest  other  men  should,  tiring  of  my  sadness. 
Expel  me  from  them,  as  the  hunted  wether 
Is  driven  from  the  fleck. 

Ser.  Faith,  thou  hast  home  it  bravely  out. 
Had  I  been  ask'd  to  name  the  merriest  fellow 
Of  all  our  muster-roll — that  man  wert  thou. 
Que.  See'st  thou.  my  friend,  you  brook  dance 

down  the  valley. 

And  sing  blithe  carols  over  broken  rock 
And  tiny  waterfall,  kissing  each  shrub 
And  eacli  gay  flower  it  nurses  in  its  passage, — 
Where,  think'st  thou,  is  its  source,  the  bonny 

brook  ?- 

It  flows  from  forth  a  cavern,  black  and  gloomy. 
Sullen  and  sunless,  like  this  heart  of  mine. 
Which  others  see  in  a  false  glare  of  gaiety, 
Which  I  have  laid  before  you  in  its  sadness. 
Ser.  If  such  wild  fancies  dog  thee,  where- 
fore leave 
The  trade  where  thou  wert  safe  'midst  others' 

dangers. 

And  venture  to  thy  native  land,  where  fate 
Lies  on  th .<•.  watch,  for  thee  ?    Had  old  Mont- 
gomery 
Been  with  the  regiment,  thou  hadst  had  no 

conge. 

Que.  No,  'tis  most  likely— Bnt  1  had  a  hope, 
A  poor  vain  hope,  that  I  might  live  obscurely 
In  some  far  corner  of  my  native  Scotland, 


Which,  of  all  others,  splinter'd  into  districts. 
Differing  in  manners,  families,  even  lansuage, 
Spem'd  a  safe  refuge  for  the  humble  wretch. 
Whose  highest  hope  was  to  lemain  unheard 

But  fate  has  baffled  me — the  winds  and  waves, 
With  force  resistless,  have   impell'd  me  hi- 
ther- 
Have  driven  me  to  the  clime  most  dang'rous 

to  me : 

And  I  obey  the  call,  like  the  hurt  deer, 
Which  seeks  instinctively  his  native  lair. 
Though   his  heart  tells  him  it  is  but  to  die 

there. 
Ser.  'Tis  false,  by  Heaven,  young  man!  This 

same  despair. 

Though  showing  resignation  in  its  banner. 
Is  hut  a  kind  of  covert  cowardice. 
Wise  men  have  said,  that  though  our  stars  in- 
cline. 

They  cannot  force  us — Wisdom  is  the  pilot. 
And  if  he  cannot  cross,  he  may  evade  them. 
You  lend  an  ear  to  idle  auguries, 
The  fruils  of  our  last  revels — still  most  sad 
Under  the  gloom  that  follows  boisterous  mirth, 
As  earth  looks  blackest  after  brilliant  sun- 
shine. 
Que.  No,  by  my  honest  word.    I  juin'd  the 

revel, 

And  aided  it  with  laugh,  and  sons,  and  shout. 
But  my  heart  reveil'd   not;  and,  when  the 

mirth 

Was  at  the  loudest,  on  yon  galliot's  prow 
I  stood  unrnarkM.  and  gazed  upon  the  land, 
Mv  native  land — each  cape  and  clitFl  knew. 
"  Behold  me  uow,"  1  said.  "  your  destined  vic- 
tim !" 

So  greets  the  sentenced  criminal  the  heads- 
man, 

Who  slow  approaches  with  his  lifted  axe. 
"  Hither  I  come,"  1  said,  "ye  kindred  hills, 
Whose  darksome  outline  in  a  distant  land 
Haunted   my  slumbers;   here   I   stand,  tbou 

ocean, 
Whose  hoarse  voice,  murmuring  in  my  dreams, 

required  me ; 
See  me  now  here,  ye  winds,  whose  plaintive 

wail. 
On  yonder  distant  shores,  appear'd  to  call 

me— 
Summon'd,  behold  me."    And  the  winds  and 

waves, 

And  the  deep  echoes  of  the  distant  mountain, 
Made  answer— "Come,  and  die  !" 
Ser.  Fantastic  all !    Poor  boy,  thou  art  dis- 
tracted 

With  the  vain  terrors  of  some  feudal  tyrant. 
Whose   frown  hath   been  from  infancy   thy 

hiiKbear. 
Why  seek  his  presence  ? 

Que.  Wherefore  does  the  moth 

Fly  to  tlie  scorching  taper?     Why  the  bird. 
Dazzled  by  lights  at  midnight,  seek  the  net? 
Why  does  the  prey,  which  feels  the  fascina- 
tion 

Of  the  snake's  glaring  eye,  drop  in  his  jaws? 
Ser.  Such  wild  examples  but  refute  them- 
selves. 

Let  bird,  let  moth,  let  the  coil'd  adder's  prey, 
Resist  the  fascination  and  be  safe 
Thou  goest  not  near  this  Baron — if  thou  goest, 
I  will  go  with  thee.     Known  in  many  a  field. 
Which  he  in  a  whole  life  of  petty  feud 
Has  never  dream'd  of,  I  will  leach  the  knight 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.   665 


To  rule  him  in  this  matter— be  thy  warrant. 
That  far  from  him,  and  from  his  petty  lord- 
ship, 
You  shall  henceforth  tread  English  land,  and 

never 

Thy  presence  shall  alarm  his  conscience  more. 
Que.  'Twere  desperate  risk  for  both.    I  will 

far  rather 
Hastily  guide   thee  through   this  dangerous 

province. 
And  seek  thy  school,  thy  yew-trees,  and  thy 

church-yard ; — 
The  last,  perchance,  will  be  the  first  I  find. 

Ser.  1  would  rather  lace  him. 
Like  a  bold  Englishman  that  knows  his  right. 
And  will  stand   by  his  friend.    And   yet  'tis 

folly— 

Fancie-  lixe  these  are  not  to  be  resisted; 
'Tis  better  to  escape  them.     Many  a  presage, 
Too  rashly  braved,  becomes  its  own  accom- 
plishment. 

Then  let  us  en— but  whither?    My  old  head 
As  little  knows  where  it  shall  lie  to-night, 
As  yonder  mutineers  thai  left  their  officer. 
As  reckless  of  his  quarters  as  these  billows, 
That   leave    the  withered    sea-weed   on   the 

beach, 

And  care  not  where  they  pile  it. 
Que.  Think  not  for  that,  good  friend.     We 

are  in  Scotland, 

And  if  il  is  not  varied  from  its  wont, 
Kach  cot,  that  sends  a  curl  of  smoke  to  hea- 
ven. 

Will  yield  a> stranger  quarters  for  the  night, 
Simply  because  he  needs  them. 
Ser.  But   are   there   none   within  an  easy 

walk 

Give  lodgings  here  for  hire?  for  lhave  left 
Some  of  the  Don's  piastres,  (though  I  kept 
The  secret  from  yon  gulls.)  and  I  had  rather 
i'ay  the  fair  reckoning  I  can  well  afford. 
And  my  host   takes  with   pleasure,  than  I'd 

cumber 
Some  poor  man's  roof  with  me  and  all  my 

wants, 

And  tax  Ins  charity  beyond  discretion. 
Que.  Some  six  miles  hence  there  is  a  town 

and  hostelry — 

But  you  are  wayworn,  and  it  is  most  likely 
Our  comrades  must  have  fill'd  it. 

Ser.  Out  upon  them  ! — 

Were  there  a  friendly  mastiff  who  would  lend 

me 

Half  of  his  supper,  half  of  his  poor  kennel, 
I  would  help  Honesty  to  pick  his  bones, 
And  share  his  straw,  far  rather  than  Id  sup 
On  jolly  fare  with'  these  base  varlets. ! 

Que.  We'll  manage  better;  for  our  Scottish 

dogs, 

Though  stout  and  trusty,  are  but  ill-instructed 
In  hospitable  rights  — Here  is  a  maiden, 
A  little  maid,  will  lell  us  of  the  country, 
And  sorely  it  is  changed  since  I  have  left  it, 
If  we  should  fail  to  find  a  harbourage. 

Enter  Isabel  Macallan,  a  girl  of  about  six  years 
old,  'tearmy  a  milk-pail  on  her  head ;  s>ie  slops 
on  seeing  the  Sergemn  and  Quentin. 
Que.  There's  something  iu  her  look   tha£ 

doth  remind  me — 
But  'tis  not  wonder  1  find  recollections 

In  all  that  here  1  look  on.— Pretty  maid 

Ser.  You're  slow,  and  hesitate.    1  will  be 
spokesman. — 

=         56« 


Good  even,  my  pretty  maiden— canst  thou  tell 

us. 

Is  there  a  Christian  house  would  render  stran- 
gers. 

For  love  or  guerdon,  a  night's  meal  and  lodg- 
ing? 
Isa    Full  surely,  sir;  we  dwell  in  yon  old 

house 
Upon  the  cliff-they  call  it  Chapeldonan. 

[Points  to  the  building. 

Our  house  is  large  enough,  and  if  our  supper 
Chance  to  be  scanl,  you  shall  have  half  of 

mine, 

For,  as  I  think,  sir,  you  have  been  a  soldier. 
Up  yonder  lies  our  house  ;  I'll  trip  before. 
And  tell  my  mother  she  has  guests  a-coming ; 
The  path  is  something  steep,  but  you  shall  see 
I'll  be  there  tirst.    I  must  chain  up  the  dogs, 

too; 

Nimrod  and  Bloodylnss  are  cross  to  strangers, 
But  gentle  when  you  know  them. 

{.Exit,  arid  is  sten  partially  ascending 

to  the  Castle. 

Ser.  You  have  spoke 

Your  country  folk  aright,  both  for  the  dogs 
And  for  the  people  —We  had  luck  to  light 
On  one  too  young  for  cunning  and  for  selfish- 
ness.— 

He's  in  a  reverie — a  deep  one  sure, 
Since   the   tiiie   ou   his   country  wakes    him 

not.— 

Bestir  thee.  Quentin ! 

Que.  'Twas  a  wondrous  likeness. 

Ser.  Likeness!  of  whom  ?   I'll  warrant  thee 

of  one 

Whom  thou  hast  loved  and  lost.    Such  fanta- 
sies 
Live  long  in  bruins  like  thine,  which  fashion 

visions 
Of  woe  and  death  when  they  are  cross'd  in 

love. 

As  most  men  are  or  have  been. 
Que    Thy  guess  hath  touch'd  me,  though  it 

is  hut  slightly. 

'Monest  other  woes :  I  knew,  in  former  days, 
A  maid  that  view'd  me  with  some  glance  of 

favour; 

But  my  fate  carried  me  to  other  shores. 
And  she  has  since  been  wedded.    I  did  think 

on't 

But  as  a  bubble  burst,  a  rainbow  vamsh'd  ; 
It  adds  no  deeper  shade  to  the  dark  gloom 
Which  chills  the  springs  of  hope  and  life 

within  me. 

Our  guide  hath  got  a  trick  of  voice  and  fea- 
ture 

Like  to  the  maid  I  spoke  of— that  is  all. 
Ser.  She  bounds  before  us  like  a  gamesome 

doe. 

Or  rather  as  the  rock-bred  eaglet  soars 
Up  to  her  nest,  as  if  she  rose  by  will 
Without  an  effort.     Now  a  .Netherlander, 
One  of  our    Froglaud  friends,  viewing    the 

scene. 
Would  take  his  oath  that  tower,  and  rock,  and 

maiden, 

Were  forms  loo  light  and  lofty  to  be  real, 
And  only  some  delusion  of  Ihe  fancy, 
Such  as  men  dream  at  sunset.     I  myself 
Have  kept  the  level  ground  so  many  years, 
I  have  wellnish  forgot  the  art  to  climb, 
Unless  assisted  by  thy  younger  arm. 

[They  oo  off  asij  to  ascend  to  the  Tower, 
the  Sergeant  leaning  upon  Quenlm. 


666 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Which  wont  to  tell  me   there  was  death  in 

loitering — 
Here  stands,  methinks,  our  hostess. 

[He  oofs  fonrnrd  to  arirtrrsa  Jlarinn. 
Quentin.  struck  on  feeing  her,  keeps 
back 
Ser.  Kind  dame,  yon  little  lass  hath  brought 

you  strangers. 

Willing  in  he  a  trouhle.  not  a  charge  to  you. 
W  e  a.re  disbanded  soldiers,  but  have  means 
Ampl«  enough  to  pay  our  journey  homeward. 
Mar.  We  keep  no  house  of  general  enter- 
tainment, 

But  know  our  duty,  sir,  to  locks  like  yours, 
Whiten'd  :uid  thmn'd  by  many  a  long  cam- 
paign. 

Ill  chances  that  my  husband  should  be  ab- 
sent— 

(Apart.)—  Courage  alone  can  make  me  strug- 
gle through  it — 
i  For  in  your  comrade,  though  he  hath  forgot 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  chanaes  to  the  Fiont  of  the  Old  Tower. 
Isabel  comes  forward  ailh  her  Mother, — Ma- 
rion speaking  as  they  advance. 
Mar.  I  blame  thee  not,  my  child,  for  bidding 

wanderers 

Come  share  our  food  and  shelter,  if  thy  father 
Were  here  to  welcome  them  ;  but.  Isabel, 
He  waits  upon  his  lord  at  Auchiudrane, 
And  comes  not  home  to-night. 

Isa.  What  then,  my  mother? 

The  travellers  do  not  ask  to  see  my  father; 
Food,  shelter,  rest,  is  all  the  poor  men  want, 
And   we   can   give  them  these   without  my 

father. 

Mar    Thou  canst  not  understand,  nor  I  ex- 
plain. 

Why  a  lone  female  asks  not  visitants 
What  time  her  husband's  absent.  —  (Apart.) 

My  poor  child. 

And  if  thou'rl  wedded  to  a  jealous  husband, 
Thou'lt  know  too  soon  the  cause. 

Isa    (partly  overhearing  what  her  mother  says.) 
Ay,  but  I  know  already — Jealousy 
Is,  when  my  father  chides,  and  you  sit  weep- 
ing. 

Mar.  Out.  little  spy!  thy  father  never  chides; ,  Hath  not  a  greeting  left  for  Marion  Harkness. 
Or.  if  he  does,  'tis  when  his  wife  deserves  it.—  |      Que.  (with  fffort  )  I  seek,  indeed,  my  native 
But  to  our  strangers ;  they  are  old  men,  Isabel, 
That  seek  this  shelter?  are  they  not? 

Isa.  One  is  old — 

Old  as  this  tower  of  ours,  and  worn  like  that. 
Bearing  deep   marks  of   battles    long   since 

fought 

Mar.  Some  remnant  of  the  wars ;  he's  wel- 
come, surely. 

Bringing  no  quality  along  with  him 
Which  can  alarm  suspicion  — Well,  the  other? 
Isa.  A  young  man,  gentle-voiced  and  gentle- 
eyed. 
Who  looks  and  speaks  like  one  the  world  has 

frown'd  on; 
But  smiles  when  yon  smile,  seeming  that  he 

feels 

Joy  in  your  joy,  though  he  himself  is  sad. 
Brown  hair,  and  downcasl  looks 
Mar.  (alarmed  )  Tis  but  an  idle  thought— it 

cannot  be ! 

I  hear  his  accents — It  is  all  too  tru 
My  terrors  were  prophetic ! 


I  spy  a  friend  whom  I  have  known  in  school- 
days, 

And  whom  I  think  Mac  Lellan  we  II  remembers. 
(She  goes  tip  to  Queutin. 
You  see  a  woman's  memory 
i  faithfuller  than  yours;  for  Quentin  Blane 


land,  good  Marion. 
But  seek  it  like  a  stranger.— All  is  changed, 


And  thou  thyself— 
Mar. 


You  left  a  giddy  maiden. 


And  find,  on  your  return,  a  wife  and  mother. 
i  Thine  old  acquaintance.  Quentin.  is  my  mate— 
Slou1  Niel  Maci-ellan.  ranger  to  our  lord. 
The  Kmgh!  of  Auchindrane.    He's  absent  now, 
But  will  rejoice  to  see  his  former  comrade, 
It",  as  I  trust,  you  tarry  his  return. 
(Apart. )   Heaven    grant    he    understand    my 

words  hy  contraries ! 

He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  rivals; 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  foes; 
He  must  remember  Niel  is  warm  of  temper. 
And    think,    instead    of   welcome,    I  would 

blithely 

Bid  him.  God  speed  you.     But  he  is  as  simple 
And  void  of  guile  as  ever. 

Qiie  Marion.  I  gladly  rest  within  your  cottage, 
And  gladly  wait  return  of  Niel  MacUellan, 
To  clasp  his   hand,  and  wish  him  happiness. 


And  then  accost  him  firmly.    Thus  it  must  be. 


I'll  compose  myself, !  Some  rising  feelings  might  perhaps  prevent 


this— 


[She  retires  hastily  into  the  Tower.    But  'tis  a  peevish  part  to  grudge  our  friends 
[The  voices  of  the  Sergeant  and  Quen-  I  Tiieir    share   of   fort.une    because   we    have 
tin  are  heard  ascending  behind  the  \  miss'd  it ; 

I  can  wish  others  joy  and  happiness, 


Scenes. 
Que.  One  effort  more  —  we  stand  upon  the 

level. 

I've  seen  thee  work  thee  up  glacis  and  cava- 
lier 
Steeper  than  this  ascent,  when  cannon,  cul- 

verine. 
Musket,  and  hackbut,  shower'd    their  shot 

upon  thee, 

And  form'd,  with  ceaseless  blaze,  a  fiery  gar- 
land 

Round  the  defences  of  the  post  you  storm'd. 
[They  come  on  the  Stage,  and  at  the 


Though  I  must  ne'er  partake  them. 
Mar.  But  if  it  grieve  yon — 
Que.  .No!  do  not  fear.    The  brightest  gleams 

of  hope 

That  shine  on  me  are  such  as  are  reflected 
From  those  which  shine  on  others. 

[The  Sergeant  and  Quentin  enter  the 

Tauter  urilh  the  little  Girl. 
Mar.  (comes  forward,  and  speaks  in  agitation  ) 
Even   so!   the  simple  youth   has   miss'd   my 

meaning. 
I  shame  to  make  it  plainer,  or  to  say, 


same  lime  Marion  re-enters  from  the  '  In  one  brief  word,  Pass  on— Heaven  guide  the 
Tower.  bark, 

Ser.  Truly  thou  speak'st.     I  am  the  tardier,    For  we  are  on  the  breakers ! 
That  I,  in  climbing  hither,  miss  the  tire,  I 


AUCHIXDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      667 


ACT  II  — SCEN  K  T. 

A  witMramna  Apartmrnt  in  the  Castle  of  Au- 
chnvlrant  Servants  ,,l,ce  a  Table,  with  a 
Flask  of  Wine  and  Dtinking-Cups. 

Enter  Mare  of  Auchindrane,  with  Albert  Gif 
ford,  Aw  Relation  mid  Visitor.  They  place 
tliemsf.lvts  iiy  the  Table  afttr  some  complimen- 
tary certmony  At  some  distance  is  heard  the 
notse  of  revelling. 

Audi.  We're  better  placed  for  confidential 

talk. 

Than  in  the  hall  fill'd  with  disbanded  soldiers, 
And  fools  and  fiddlers  gather'd  on  the  high- 
way.— 
The  worthy  suests  whom  Philip  crowds  my 

hall  with, 

And  with  them  spends  his  evening. 
Gif.  but  think  you  not,  my  friend,  that  your 

son  Philip 

Should  be  participant  of  these  our  councils, 
Being  so  deeply  mingled  in  the  danger— 
Vour  house's  only  heir— your  only  son  ? 
Auch.  Kind  cousin  Oiflbrd,  if  thou  lack'st 

good  counsel 

At  race,  at  cockpit,  or  at  gambling  table. 
Or  auv  freak  by  which  men  cheat  themselves 
As  well  of  life,  as  of  the  means  to  live, 
Call  for  assistance  upon  Philip  Mure  ; 
But  in  all  serious  parley  spare  invoking  him. 
Gif.  You   speak   too  lightly  of  my  cousin 

Philip; 
All  name  him  brave  in  arms. 

Aur.lt.  A  second  Bevis; 

But  I,  my  youth  bred  up  in  graver  fashions. 
Mourn   o'er  the   mode  of  life  in   which   he 

spends, 

Or  rather  dissipates,  his  time  and  substance. 
No  vagabond  escapes  his  search — The  soldier 
Spurn 'd  from  the  service,  henceforth  to  be 

ruffian 

Upon  his  own  account,  is  Philip's  comrade; 
The   fiddler,  whose  crack'd  crown   has  still 

three  strings  on't: 
The  balladeer,  whose  voice  has  s:ill  two  notes 

left; 

Whate'er  is  roguish  and  whate'er  is  vile. 
Are  welcome  to  the  board  of  Auchindrane, 
And  Philip  will  return  them  shout  for  shout. 
And   pledge  for  jovial  pledge,  and  song  for 

song, 

Until  the  shamefaced  sun  peep  at  our  win- 
dows. 

And  ask,  ••  What  have  we  here  ?" 
Gif.  You  take  such  revel  deeply  — we  are 

Scotsmen, 

Far  known  for  rustic  hospitality, 
That  mind  not  birth  or  titles  in  our  guests; 
The  harper  has  his  seat  beside  our  hearth. 
The  wanderer  must  find  comfort  at  our  hoard, 
His  name  nnask'd.  his  pedigree  unknown; 
So  did  our  ancestors,  and  so  must  we. 
Auch.    All  this  is  freely  granted,   worthy 

kinsm:in ; 

And  prithee  (to  not  think  me  churl  enough 
I  o  count,  how  many  sit  beneath  my  salt. 
I've  wealth  enough  to  fill  mv  father's  hall 
Each  day  at.  noon,  and  feed  the  guests  who 

crowd  it ; 
I  am  near  mate  with  those  whom  men  call 

Lord, 

Though   a   rude  western  knight.     But  mark 
me,  cousin, 


Although  I  feed 
make  them  not 


yfarin?  v;ig:ibc.n's. 

v  comr.tdes.    Such  as  I. 

Who  have  advanced  the  fortunes  of  my  line, 
And  svvell'ii  a  baron's  t,jrrPt  t()  a  |,;ljaoe. 
Have  oft  the  curse  awaiting  on  our  thrift, 
lo  see.  while  yet  we  live,  the  things  which 

must  be 

At  our  decease-the  downfall  of  our  fam.ly. 
I  he  lo«s  of   land    and   lordship,  name  and 

knight  hood 

The  wreck  of  the  fair  fabric  we  have  built, 
By  a  degenerate  heir.     Philip  has  that 
Uf  inborn  meanness  in  him.  that  ne  ioves  not 
1  he  company  of  betters,  nor  of  equals  • 
Never  at  ease,  unless  he  bears  the  bell, 
And  crows  the  loudest  in  the  company 
He  s  mesh'd.  loo.  in  the  snares  of  everv  female 
Who  deigns  to  cast  a  passing  glance  on  him- 
Licentious.  disrespectful,  rash,  and  profligate. 
Gif.  Come,  my  good  coz,  think  we  too  have 

been  young, 

And  1  will  swear  that  in  your  father's  lifetime 
You  have  yourself  been  trapp'd  by  toys  like 

these 
Aueh.  A  fool  I  may  have  been  — but  not  a 

madman; 

I  never  play'd  the  rake  among  my  followers, 
Pursuing  this  man's  sister,  that  man's  wife ; 
And  therefore  never  saw  I  man  of  mine, 
When  summon'd  to  obey  my  best,  crow  restive, 
Talk  of  his  honour,  of  his  peace  destroy'd, 
And,  while  obeying,  mutter  threats  of  ven- 
geance. 

But  now  the  humour  of  an  idle  youth. 
Disgusting  trusted  followers,  sworn  depen- 
dents. 

Plavs  football  with  his  honour  and  my  safety. 

Gif  I'm  sorry  to  find  discord  in  your  house. 

For  I  had  hoped,  while  bringing  you  cold  news, 

To  find  you  arm'd  in  union  'gainst  the  danger. 

Auch.  What  can  man  speak  that  1  would 

shrink  to  hear. 

And  where  the  danger  I  would  deign  to  shun  ? 
[He  rises. 

What  should  appal  a  man  inured  lo  perils. 
Like  the  bold  climber  on  the  crags  of  Ailsa? 
Winds  whistle  past  him.  billows  rage  below, 
The  sea-fowl  sweep  around,  wilh  shriek  and 

clang, 

Dne  single  slip,  one  unadvised  pace, 
One  qualm  of  giddiness  —  and  peace  be  with 

him  ! 
3ut  he  whose  grasp  is  sure,  whose  step  is 

firm. 
Whose  brain  is  constant — he  makes  one  proud 

rock 

The  means  to  scale  another,  till  he  stand 
Triumphant  on  the  peak. 

Gif.  And  so  I  trust 

Thou  wilt  surmount  the  danger  now  approach- 
ing, 
Which  scarcely  can  I  frame  my  tongue  to  tell 

you, 

fhonsh  I  rode  here  on  purpose. 
Auch   Cousin,  I  think  thy  heart  was  never 

coward, 
And  strange  it  seems  thy  tongue  should  take 

such  semblance. 
Ve   heard   of   many  a   loud-mouth'd,  noisy 

braggart, 
Whose    bund    gave    feeble   sanction   to    his 

tongue ; 

But  tli->n  art  one  whose  heart  can  think  bold 
things, 


i  668 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Whose  hand  can  art  them  —  but  who  shrinks 

u>  speak  them ! 
Gif.  And   if  I  speak  them   not,  'tis  that  I 

shame 

To  tell  thee  of  the  calumnies  that  load  thee. 
Things  loudly  spoken  at  the  city  Cross- 
Things  closely  whisper'd  in  our  Sovereign's 

ear — 
Things  which  the  plumed  lord  and  fiut-capp'd 

citizen 

Do  circulate  amid  their  different  ranks — 
Things  false,  no  doubt;  but,  falsehoods  while 

I  deem  them. 

Si  ill  honouring  thee.  I  shun  the  odious  topic. 
Axh.  Shun   it  not,  cousin;  'tis  a  friend's 

best  office 

To  bring  the  news  we  hear  unwillingly. 
The  senunel.  who  tells  the  foe's  approach, 
And  wakes  the  sleeping  camp,  does  but  his 

duly: 

Be  thou  as  bold  in  telling  me  of  danger, 
As  I  shall  he  m  facing  danger  lold  of 
Gif.  I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  death- 
feud 
That  raged  so  long  betwixt  thy  house  and 

Cassilis : 

I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  league. 
When  roval  James  himself  stood  mediator 
Between' thee  and  Earl  Gilbert. 
Auch.  Call  you  these  news?— You  might  as 

well  have  told  me 
That  old   King  Coil  is  dead,  and  graved  at 

Kylesfeld. 
I'll  help  thee  out  —  King  James  commanded 

us 
Henceforth  to  live  in  peace,  made  us  clasp 

hands  too. 

O.  sir.  when  such  an  union  hath  been  made, 
In  heart  and  hand  conjuiiiing  mortal  foes, 
Under  a  monarch's  royal  mediation, 
The  league  is  not  forgotten.     And  with  this 
What  is  Ihere  to  be  told?  — The  king  com- 
manded— 
"Be  friends"     No  doubt  we  were  so  —  Who 

d;ires  doubt  it  f 

Gif.  You  speak  but  half  the  tale 
Auch.  By  eood  Saint  Tnmon,  but  I'll  tell 

the  whole! 

There  is  no  terror  in  the  tnle  for  me — 1 
Go  spe;ik  of  ghosts  to  children!  —  This  Earl 

Gilbert 
(God  sain  him)  loved  Heaven's  peace  as  well 

as  I  did. 
And  we  were  wondrous  friends  whene'er  me 

met 

At  church  or  market,  or  in  burrows  town. 
'Midst  this,  our  good  I.ord  Gilbert,  Earl  of 

Passilis, 
Takes   purpose  he   would   journey   forth   to 

Edinburgh. 

The  Kins  was  doling  gifts  of  abbey-lands. 
Good  things  that  tl.nfty  house  was  wont  to 

fish  for. 
Our  mighty  Earl   orsakes   his  sea-wash'd 

castle. 
Passes   our   borders   some  four  miles  from 

hence ; 

And.  holding  it  unwholesome  to  be  fasters 
l.oiii!  after  sunrise,  lo!  The  Earl  and  train 
Dismount,  to  rest  their  nags  and  eat  their 

breakfast. 


ir.  CajuiiM,  in  yo 


The   morning  rose,  the  small  birds  caroll'd 

sweetly — 

The  corks  were  drawn,  the  pasty  brooks  in- 
cision— 
His  lordship  jests,  his  train  are  choked  with 

laughter 
When. — wondrous  change  of  cheer,  and  most 

nnlook'd  for, 
Strange    epilogue    to    bottle    and    to    baked 

meat ! — 
Flash'd  from  the  greenwood  half  a  score  of 

carabines 

And  the  good  Earl  of  Cassilis,  in  his  breakfast, 
Had  nooning,  dinner,  supper,  all  at  once. 
Even  in  the  morning  that  he  closed  his  jour- 
ney; 

And  the  grim  sexton,  for  his  chamberlain. 
Made  him  the  bed  which  rests  the  head  for 

ever. 
Gif.  Told  with  much  spirit,  cousin  — some 

there  are 

Would  add, and  in  a  tone  resembling  triumph. 
And  would  that  with  these  long  establish'd 

facts 

My  tale  began  and  ended  !  I  must  tell  you 
That  evil-deeming  censures  of  the  events. 
Both  at  the  time  and  now,  throw  blame  on 

thee— 

Time,  place,  and  circumstance,  they  say,  pro- 
claim thee. 
Alike,  the  author  of  that  morning's  ambush. 

Auch.  Ay,  'Us  an  old  belief  in  Oirrick  here, 
Where  natives  do  not  always  die  in  bed, 
That  if  a  Kennedy  shall  not  aitaiu 
Methuselah's    last    span,   a   Mure   has  slain 

him. 

Such  is  the  general  creed  of  all  their  clan. 
Thank  Heaven,  that  they're  hound  to  prove 

the  charge 
They  are  so  prompt  in  making.     They  have 

clarnour'd 

Enough  of  this  before,  to  show  their  malice. 
But  what  said  these  coward  pickthanks  when 

I  came 

Before  the  King,  before  the  Justicers, 
Kebutting  all  their    calumnies,   and    daring 

them 

To  show  that  I  knew  aught  of  Cassilis'  jour- 
ney— 
Which  way  he  meant  to  travel— where  to 

halt- 
Without  which    knowledge    I    possess 'd    no 

means 

To  dress  an  ambush  for  him  ?    Did  1  not 
Defy  the  assembled  clan  of  Kennedys 
To  show,  by  proof  direct  or  inferential, 
Wherefore  they  slander'd  me  with  this  foul 

charge  ? 

My  gauntlet  run?  before  them  in  the  court, 
And  I  did  dare  the  best  of  them  to  lilt  it. 
And  prove  such  charge  a  true  one — Did  I 

not' 

Gif.  I  saw  your  gauntlet  lie  before  the  Ken- 
nedys, 

Who  look'd  on  it  as  men  do  on  an  adder. 
Longing  to  crush,  and  yet  afraid  to  grasp  it. 
Not  an  eye  sparkled — not  a  foot  advanced — 
No  arm  was  stretch'd  to  lift  the  fatal  symbol. 
Auch.    Then,    wherefore   do    the    hildmgs 

murmur  now? 

Wish  they  to  see  again,  how  one  bold  Mure 
Can  baffle  and  defy  their  assembled  valour  ? 
Gif.  No;  but  they  speak  of  evidence  sup- 
press'd. 


AUCHINDRANE:  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      669 

Auch    Suppress'd!  —  what  evidence?  —  by 

What!  can  there  be  within  a  Scottish  bosom 

whom  suppress  'd  ? 

A  feud  so  deadly,  that  it  kept  its  ground 

What  Will-o'-Wisp  —  what  idiot  nf  a  witness, 

When  the  King  said,  Be  friends!    It  is  not 

Is  he  to  whom  they  trace  an  empty  voice, 

credible 

But  cannot  siiow  iiis  person? 

Were  1  KinxJnmes,  I  never  would  believe  it: 

Gif.                                        They  pretend,     i  I'd  rather  think  the  story  all  a  dr«am. 

With  the  King's  leave.  to  bring  it  to  a  trial; 

And  that  there  was  no  friendship,  feud,  nor 

Averring  that  a  lad.  named  Quentin  Blane. 

journey. 

Brought  thee  a  lettt-r  from  the  murder'd  Earl, 

No  halt,  no  ambush,  and  no  Earl  of  Cas-ilis, 

With  friendly  greetings,  telling  of  his  journey, 

I'han  dream  anointed  Majesty  has  wrong!  — 

The   hour  which  he  set  forth,  the  place  lie 

Gif.  Speak  within  door,  cnz. 

halted  at 

Auch.  O,  true  —  (aside)  —  I  shall  betray  my- 

Affording thee  the  means  to  form  the  ambush, 

self 

Of  which  your  hatred  made  the  application. 

5ven  to  this  half-bred  fool  —  [  must  have  room, 

Auch.  A  prudent  Earl,  indeed,  if  such  his 

ioom  for  an  instant,  or  I  suffocate  — 

practice. 

Cousin.  1  prithee  call  our  Philip  hither  — 

When  denim;  with  a  recent  enemy  ! 

forgive  me  ;  'twere  more  meet  1  summon'd 

And  what  should  he  propose  by  such  strange 

him 

confidence 

Myself;  but  then  the  sight  of  yonder  revel 

In  one  who  sought  it  not? 

Would  chafe  my  blood,  and  1  have  need  of 

Gif.  His  purposes  were  kindly,  say  the  Ken- 

coolness 

nedys  — 

Gif.  1  understand  thee  —  I  will  bring  him 

Di'siriug  you  would  meet  him  where  he  halted, 

straight.                                            [Exit. 

Offering  to  undertake  whate'er  commissions 

Auch    And  if  thou  dost,  he's  lost  his  ancient 

You  IMed  trust  him  with,  for  court  or  city  : 

trick 

And,  thus  apprised  of  Cassilis'  purposed  jour- 

To  fathom,  as  he  wont,  his  five-pint  flaeons.  — 

nev, 

This  space  is  mine—  O  for  the  power  to  fill  it, 

And  of  his  halting  place,  vou  placed  the  am- 
bush, 

Instead  of  senseless  rage  and  empty  curses, 
With  the  dark  spell  which  witches  learn  from 

Prepared  the  homicides  
Auch.  They're  free  to  say  their  pleasure. 

fiends. 
That  smites  the  object  of  their  hate  afar. 

Thev  are  men 

Nor  leaves  a  token  of  its  mystic  action, 

Of  the  new  court—  and  1  am  hut  a  fragment 

Stealing  the  soul  from  out  the  Dnscathed  body. 

Of  si  out  old  Morton's  fad  ion      It  is  reason 

As  lightning  melts  the  blade,  nor  harms  the 

That  such  as  I  be  rooted  from  the  earth 

scabbard  ! 

That  they  may  have  full  room  to  spread  their 
branches. 

—  'Tis  vain  to  wish  for  it—  Each  curse  of  mine 
Falls  to  the  ground  as  harmless  as  the  arrows 

No  doubt,  'tis  easy  to  find  strolling  vagrants 

Which  children  shoot  at  stars  !    The  time  for 

To  prove  whate'er  they  prompt.    This  Quen- 

thought. 

tin  Blane  — 

If  thought  could  aught  avail  me,  melts  away, 

Did   you   not  call   him  so?  —  why  comes  he 

Like  to  a  snowball  in  a  schoolboy's  hand, 
That    melts    the    faster  the   more  close  he 

And  wherefore  not  before  ?    This  must  be  an- 
swer'd—  (abruptly)— 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

grasps  it!  — 
{f  I  had  time,  this  Scottish  Solomon. 
Whom  some  call  son  of  David  the  Musician.! 

Gif                  Abroad—  they  say—  kidnapp'd, 

Might  find  it  perilous  work  to  march  to  Car- 

By  you  kidnapp'd,  that  he  might  die  in  Flan- 
ders. 

rick. 
There's  m;my  a  feud  still  slumbering  in  its 

But  order*  have  been  sent  for  his  discharge. 
And  his  transmission  hither. 
Auch   (assuming  an  air  of  composure.)  When 

ashes. 
Whose  embers  are  yet  red.    Nobles  we  have, 
Stout  as  old  Graysteel,  and  as  hot  as  Both- 

they  produce  such  witness,  coasin  Gif- 

well: 
Here  too  are  castles  look  from  crags  as  high 

We'll  be  prepared  to  meet  it.    In  the  mean- 
while. 

On  seas  as  wide  as  Logan's.    So  the  King- 
Pshaw  !   He  is  here  again  — 

The  King  doth  ill  to  throw  his  royal  sceptre 

Enter  Gifford. 

In  the  accuser's  scale,  ere  he  can  know 

Gif.                                  1  heard  you  name 

How  justice  shall  incline  it. 

The  King,  my  kinsman  ;  know,  he  comes  not 

g,/.                                      Our  sage  prince 

hither. 

Resents,  it  may  be,  less  the  death  of  Cassilis, 
Than  he  is  angry  that  the  feud  should,  burn. 

Auch   (aJTectiny  indifference.)  Nay,  then  we 
need  not  broach  our  barrels,  cousin. 

After  his  royal  voice  had  said,  "  Beqiiench'd  : 

Nor  purchase  us  new  jerkins.  —  Comes  not 

Thus  urging  prosecution  less  for  slaughter. 
Than  that,  bemg  done  against  the  King's  com- 

Philip? 
Gif.  Yes.  sir.  He  tarries  but  to  drink  a  ser- 

mand. 

vice 

Treason  is  mix'd  with  homicide. 
Auch.            Hn  !  ha  !  most  true,  my  cousin 

To  his  good  friends  at  parting. 
Auch    Friends  for  the  beadle  or  the  sheriff- 

Why  well  consider'd,  'tis  a  crime  so  great 

officer. 

To  Slav  one's  enemy,  the  King  forbidding  it. 

Well,  l«t  it  pass.    Who  comes,  and  bow  at- 

1 ike  parricide,  it  should  be  held  impossible. 

tended. 

'Tis  just  as  if  a  wretch  retain'd  the  evil. 

Since  James  designs  not  westward  ? 

When  the  King's  touch  had  bid  the  sores  be 
heal'd  • 

1  The  rolomnioua  tale  whkh  ascribed  the  birth  of  JwM 

And  such  a  crime  merits  the  stake  at  least. 

VI.  to  an  intrigue  of  Queen  Mary  with  Rinio. 

670 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gif  O  you  shall    have,   instead,   his   fiery 

functionary, 
George    Home  that  was.  but   now   Dunbar's 

great  Karl ; 

He  leads  a  royal  host,  and  comes  to  show  you 
Huw  he  dis'ributes  justice  on  ihe  Border. 
Where  judge  and  hangman  oft  reverse  their 

office, 

And  the  noose  does  its  work  before  the  sen- 
tence. 

But  I  have  said  my  tMings  best  and  worst. 
None  but  yourself  can  know  what  course  the 

time 

And  peril  may  demand.    To  lift  your  banner, 
If  I  might  be  a  judge,  were  desperate  game  : 
Ireland  and  Galloway  offer  you  convenience 
For  flight,  if  flight  be  thought  the  better  re- 
medy ; 

To  face  the  court  requires  the  consciousness 
And  confidence  of  innocence      You  alone 
Ciin  judge  if  you  possess  the  attributes. 

[A  noise  behind  Ike  scents. 
Aurh.  Philip,  I  think,   has   broken   up  his 

revels; 

His  ragged  regiment  are  dispersing  them, 
Well  hquor'd,  doubtless.    They're  disbanded 

soldiers, 

Or  some  such  vagabonds.  —  Here  comes  the 
gallant 

{Enter  Philip.  He  has  a  buff-rout  and 
hend-ptece.  wears  a  sword  and  danger, 
with,  pistols  at  his  ointle.  He  appears 
to  be  affected  by  liquor,  but  lobe  by  no 
means  intoxicated. 
Auch.  You  scarce  have  teen  made  known 

to  one  anot  her 

All  hough  you  sate  together  at  the  board. — 
Son  Philip,  know  and  prize  our  cousin  Gifford. 
Phi  (tastts  thf  wine  on  the  table  )  If  you  had 

prized  him,  sir,  you  had  bevn  loth 
To  have  welcomed  him  in  bastard  Alicant: 
I'll  make  amends,  by  pledging  his  good  jour- 
ney 

In  glorious  Burgundy — The  stirrup-cup,  ho ! 
And  bring  my  cousin's  horses  to  the  court. 
Auch   (draws  him  aside.)    The  stirrup-cup! 

He  does  not  ride  to-night- 
Shame  on  such  churlish  conduct  to  a  kins- 
man! 

Phi.  (aside  to  his  father.)  I've  news  of  press- 
ing import. 
Send  the  fool  off  — Stay,  I  will  start  him  for 

you. 
(To  Gif.)    Yes,  my  kind  cousin,  Burgundy  is 

better, 
On  a  night-ride,  to  those   who   thread   our 

moors. 

And  we  may  deal  it  freely  to  our  friends, 
For  we  came  freely  by  it.    Yonder  ocean 
Rolls  many  a  purple  cask  upon  our  shore, 
Rough  with  embossed  shells  and  shagged  sea- 
weed. 

When  the  good  skipper  and  his  careful  crew 
Have   had    their    latest  earthly  draught  of 

brine, 

And  gone  to  quench,  or  to  endure  their  thirst, 
Where  nectar's  plenty,  or  even  water's  scarce. 
And  filter'd  to  the  parched  crew  by  dropsfull 
Auch.  Thou'rt  mad,  son  Philip!  —  Gifford's 

no  intruder. 
That  we  should  rid  him  hence  by  such  wild 

rants: 

My  kinsman  hither  rode  at  his  own  danger, 
To  tell  us  that  Dunbar  is  hasting  to  us, 


With  a  strong  force,  and  with  the  Kind's  com- 
mission, 

To  enforce  against  our  house  a  hateful  charge 
1  With  every  measure  of  extremity 

Phi.  And  is  this  all  that  our"  good  cousin 

tells  us? 

I  can  say  more,  thanks  to  the  ragged  regi- 
ment, 

With  whose  good  company  you  have  upbraid- 
ed me. 

On  whose  authority,  I  tell  thee,  cousin, 
Dunbar  is  here  already. 
Gif.  Already? 

Phi.  Yes.  gentle  coz.    And  you,  my  sire,  be 

hasty 

In  what  you  think  to  do. 
Auch.  1  think  thou  darest  not  jest  on  such  a 

subject. 

Where  hadst  thou  these  fell  tidings  ? 
Phi    Where    you.   too.   might    have    heard 

them,  noble  father. 
Save  that  your  ears,  nail'd  to  our  kinsman's 

lips, 

Would  list  no  coarser  accents     O.  my  soldiers, 
My  merry  crew  of  vagabonds,  for  ever  ! 
Scum  of  the  Netherlands,  and  wash'd  ashore 
Upon  this  coast  like  unregarded  sea  weed. 
They  had   not  been  two   hours  on   Scottish 

land, 

When,  lo!  they  met  a  military  friend, 
An  ancient  Courier,  known  to  them  of  old. 
Who,  warm'd  by  certain  stoups  of  searching 

wine, 

Inform'd  his  old  companions  that  Dunhar 
Left  Glasgow  yesterday,  comes  here  to-mor- 
row ; 

Himself,  he  said,  was  sent  a  spy  before, 
To  view  what  preparations  we  were  making. 
Auch   (to  Git.)  If  this  be  sooth,  good  kins- 
man, thou  must  claim 
To  take  a  part  with  us  for  life  and  death. 
Or  speed  from  hence,  and  leave  us  to  our  for- 
tune. 

Gif.  In  such  dilemma. 

Believe  me,  friend,  I'd  choose  upon  the  in- 
stant— 

But  I  lack  harness,  and  a  steed  to  charge  on, 
For  mine  is  overtired,  and,  save  my  page. 
There's  not  a  man  to  back  me.     But  I'll  hie 
To  Kyle,  and  raise  my  vassals  to  your  aid. 

Phi.  'Twill  be  when  the  rats, 
That  on  these  tidings  fly  this  house  of  ours, 
Come  back  to  pay  their  rents. — (Apart ) 

Auch.  Courage,  cousin — 
Thou  goest   not   hence  ill  mounted  for  thy 

need : 

Full  forty  coursers  feed  in  my  wide  stalls, 
The  best  of  them  is  yours  to  speed  your  jour- 
ney. 

Phi.  Maud  not  on  ceremony,  good  our  cou- 
sin. 
When  safety  signs,  to  shorten  courtesy. 

Gif.  (to  Auch.)   Farewell,  then,  cousin,  for 

rny  tarrying  here 

Were  rum  to  myself,  small  aid  to  you  ; 
Yet  loving  well  your  name  and  family, 

I'd  fain 

Phi.  Be  gone  ? — that  is  our  object,  too — 
Kinsman,  adieu. 

[.Exit  Gifford     Philip  calls  after  him. 

You  yeoman  of  the  stahle, 
Give  Master  Gifford  there  my  fleetest  sleed. 
Yon  cut-tail'd  roan  that  trembles  at  a  spear. — 
[  Trampling  of  the  horse  heard  going  off 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      671 


Hark!   he  departs.     How  swift  the  dastard 
rides. 

To  shun  the  neighbourhood  of  jeopardy ! 

[He  Inys  aside  Ike  appearance  of  levity 
which  he  has  hitherto  worn,  and  says 
very  seriously, 

And  now.  my  father— 
Audi.  And  now.  my  son —  thou'st  ta'en  a 
perilous  same 

Into  thine  hands,  rejecting  elder  counsel, — 

How  dost  them  mean  to  play  it? 
Phi.  Sir.  good  gamesters  play  not 

Till  they  review  the  cards  which  fate   has 
dealt  them, 

Computing  thus  the  chances  of  the  game  ; 

And  wofully  they  seem  to  weigh  as-amsl  us. 
Auch.    Exile's  a  passing  ill,  and   may  be 
borne ; 

And  when  Dunbar  and  all  his  myrmidons 

Are   eastward   turn'd,   we'll    seize  our  own 

again. 

Phi.  Would  that  were  all  the  risk  we  had 
to  si  and  to! 

But  more  and  worse,— a  doom  of  treason,  for- 
feiture. 

Death  to  ourselves,  dishonour  to  our  house, 

Is  what  the  stern  Justiciary  menaces; 

And.  fatally  for  us.  he  hath  the  means 

To  make  his  threatening  good. 
Aurh   It  cannot  be.    I  tell  thee,  there's  no 
force 

In  Scottisti  law  to  raze  a  house  like  mine, 

Coeval  witii  the  lime  the  Lurds  of  Galloway 

Submitted  them  unto  the  Scottish  sceptre, 

Kenouncmg  rights  of  I  anistry  and  Brehon. 

Some  dreams  they  have  of  evidence ;  some 
suspicion. 

But    old     Montgomery    knows    my    purpose 
well. 

And  long   before    their  mandate   reach  the 
camp 

To  crave   the   presence  of  this  mighty  wit- 
ness. 

He  will  be  fitted  with  an  answer  to  it. 
Phi.  Father,  what  we  call  great,  is  often 
ruin'd 

By  means  so  ludicrously  disproportion'd. 

They  make  me  think  upon  the  gunner's  lin- 
stock. 

Which,  yielding  forth  a  light  about  the  size 

And  semblance  of  the    glowworm,  yet  ap- 
plied 

To  powder,  blew  a  palace  into  atoms, 

Sent  a  young  King— a  young  Queen's  mate  at 
least— 

Into  the   air,   as   high   as  e'er  flew  night- 
hawk, 

And  made   such  wild  work  in  the  realm  of 
Scotland, 

As  they  can  tell  who  heard,  —  and  you  were 
one 

Who  saw,  perhaps,  the  night-flight  which  be- 
gan it. 

Audi    If   thou  hast  nought  to  speak   but 
drunken  folly, 

I  cannot  listen  longer. 
Phi.  1  will  speak  brief  and  sudden.— There 
is  one 

Whose  tongue  to  us  has  the  same  perilous 
force 

Which   Buthwell's  powder  had  to  Kirk  of 
Field ; 

One  whose  least  tones,  and  those  but  peasant 
accents. 


Could   rend  the   roof  from  off  our  fathers' 
castle. 

Level  its  tallest  turret  with  its  base; 

And    he    that   doth    possess    this   wondrous 
power 

Sleeps  this  same  night  not  five  miles  distant 

from  us. 

Audi,  (who  had  looM  on  Philip  with  much 
appearance  of  astomsfinunt  and  doubt, 
exc/.aitns  )  Then  them  art  mad  indeed  !— 
Ha!  ha!  I'm  glad  on'l. 

I'd  purchase  an  escape  from  what  I  dread. 

Even  by  the  frenzy  of  my  only  son  I 
Phi.  1  thank  you,  but  agree  not  to  the  bar- 
gain. 

You  rest  on  what  yon  civet  cat  has  said  : 

Yon  silken  doublet,  stuff'd  with  rotten  straw. 

'I  old  you   but  half  the  truth,  and  knew  no 
more. 

But  my  good  vagrants  had  a  perfect  tale  : 

They  told  me,  little  judging  the  importance, 

That  Qiientin  Blane  had  been  discharged  with 
them. 

They  told  me,  that  a  quarrel  happ'd  at  land- 
ing, 

And  that  the  youngster  and  an  ancient  ser- 
geant 

Had  left  their  company,  and  taken  refuge 

In  Chapeldonau,  where  our  ranger  dwells ; 

They  saw  him  scale  the  cliff  on  which   it 
stands. 

Ere  they  were  out  of  sight ;  the  old  man  with 
him 

And  therefore  laugh  no  more  at  me  as  mad ; 

But  laugh,  if  thou  hast  list  for  merriment, 

To  think  he  stands  on  the  same  land  with  us, 

Whose    absence    thou    woulust   deem   were 
cheaply  purchased 

With  thy  soul's  ransom  and  thy  body's  dan- 
ger. 

Auch.  'Tis  then  a  fatal  truth !  Thou  art  no 
yelper 

To  open  rashly  on  so  wild  a  scent ; 

Thou'rt  the  young  bloodhound,  which  careers 
and  springs, 

Frolics  and  fawns,  as  if  the  friend  of  man. 

But  seizes  on  his  victim  like  a  tiger 
Phi.  No  matter  what  I  am— I'm  as  you  bred 
me; 

So  let  that  pass  till  there  be  time  to  mend 
me, 

And  let  us  speak  like  men,  and  to  the  pur- 
pose. 

This  object  of  our  fear  and  of  our  dread. 

Since  such  our  pride  must  own  him,  sleeps  to- 
night 

Within  our  power: — to-morrow  in  Dunhar's, 

And  we  are  then  his  victims. 
Auch.  He  is  in  ours  to-night 
Phi.  He  is.  I'll  answer  that  MacLellan's 

trusty. 
Auch    Yet  he  replied    to  you  to-day   full 

rudely. 

Phi.  Yes !  The  poor  knave  has  got  a  hand- 
some wife. 

And  is  gone  mad  with  jealousy. 
Auch    Fool !  —  When  we  need  the  utmost 
faith,  allegiance, 

Obedience,  and  attachment  in  our  vassals. 

Thy    wild    intrigues    pour    gall    iuto   their 
hearts. 

And  turn  their  love  to  hatred  ! 
PTti.  Most  reverend  sire,  you  talk  of  ancient 
morals, 


672                    SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Preach'd  on  by  Knox,  and  practised  by  Glen-       Phi,                               \av  soft  I  nrav  thee 

eairn;i                                                               T  had  not  made  vonr  pietv  n'.v  confessor. 
Respectable,  indeed,  but  somewhat  musty          Nor  rnter'd  in  debate  on  these  sane  councils, 

In  these  our  modern  nostrils     In  our  davs.        Which  vou're  more  like  to  give  than  I  to  pro- 

If  a  young  baron  chance  to  leave  his  vassal                   fit  hv 

Ti.e  sole  |>osses-or  of  a  handsome  wife, 

Could  1  have  used  the  time  more  usefully; 

'Tis  SIKH  lie  loves  iiis  follower;  and.  if  not, 

But  first  an  interval  must  pass  between 

He    loves   his   follower's  wife,   which   often 

The  fate  of  Quentm  and  the  little  artifice 

proves 

That  shall  detach  him  from  his  comrade, 

Tiie  surer  bond  of  patronage.    Take  either 

The  stout  old  soldier  that  1  told  you  of. 

case  : 

Auck.  How  work  a  point  so  difficult  —  so 

Favour  flows  in  of  course,  and  vassals  rise. 

dangerous  ? 

Audi    Philip,  this  is  infamous, 

Phi.  'Tis  cared  for.     Mark,  my  father,  the 

And,  what  is  worse,  impolitic.    Take  exam- 

convenience 

ple: 

Arising  from  mean  company.     My  agents 

Break  not  God's  laws  or  man's  for  each  temp- 

Are at  my  hand,  like  a  good  workman's  tools, 

tation 

And  if  1  mean  a  mischief,  ten  to  one 

That  youth  and  blood  suggest.    I  am  a  man  — 

That  they  anticipate  the  deed  and  guilt. 

A  weak   and   erring  man;  —  full  well  tiiou 

Well  knowing  this,  when  lirst  the  vagrant's 

know'st 

tattle 

That  I  may  hardly  term  myself  a  pattern 

Gave  me  the  hint  that  Quentin  was  so  near  us.    ; 

Even  to  my  son  ;  —  yet  thus  far  will  I  say, 

Instant  I  sen?  Macl.ellan,  with  strong  charges   ' 

I  never  swerved  from  my  integrity. 

To  stop  him  for  the  night,  and  bring  me  word. 

Save  at  the  voice  of  strung  necessity. 

Like  an  accomplish'd  spy.  how  all  things  stood. 

Or  such  o'erpowermg  view  of  high  advantage 

Lulling  the  enemy  into  security. 

As  wise  men  liken  to  necessity. 

Attch.  There  was  a  prudent  general  ! 

In  strength  and  force  compulsive.    No  one 

Phi.  MacLellan  went  and  came  within  the 

saw  me 

hour. 

Exchange  my  reputation  for  my  pleasure. 

The  jealous  bee,  which  buzzes  in  his  night-    [ 

Or  do  the  Devil's  work  without  his  wages. 

cap. 

]  practised  prudence,  and  paid  tax  to  virtue. 

Had   hiimm'd   to  him,  this   fellow,  Quentin    ' 

By  following  her  behesis,  save  where  strong 

Blane, 

reason 

Had  been  in  schoolboy  days  an  humble  lover     '• 

Compell'd  a  deviation.    Then,  if  preachers 

Of  his  own  pretty  wife  — 

At  times  look'd  sour,  or  elders  shook  their 

Auch                                Most  fortunate  ! 

heads. 

The  knave  will  be  more  prompt  to  serve  our 

They  could  not  term  my  walk  irregular; 

purpose. 

For  I  stood  up  still  for  the  worthy  cause. 

Phi    No  doubt  on't.    'Mid   the  tidings  he    i 

A  pillar,  though  a  flaw'd  one.  of  "the  altar. 

brought  back 

Kept  u  strict  walk,  and  led  three  hundred 

W;is  one  of  some  importance     The  old  man     : 

horse.                                                                j  Is  flush  of  dollars:  this  I  caused  him  tell 

Phi    Ah,  these  three  hundred  horse  in  such 

Among  hjs  comrades,  who  became  as  eager 

rough  times 

To  have  him  in  their  company,  as  e'er 

Were  better  commendation  to  a  party 

They  had  teen  wild  to  part  with  him.    And  in 

Than  all  your  efforts  at  hypocrisy. 

brief  space, 

Betray'd  so  oft  by  avarice  and  ambition. 

A  letter's   framed   by  an   old  hand  amongst    j 

And  urasa'd  to  open  shame.    But,  righteous 

them, 

father, 

Familiar  with  such  feats.    It  bore  the  name 

When  sire  and  son  unite  in  mutual  crime, 

And  character  of  old  .Montgomery, 

And  join  their  efforts  to  the  same  enormity. 

Whom  he  might  well  suppose  at  no  great  dis- 

It is  no  time  to  measure  other's  faults. 

tance, 

Or  fix  the  amount  of  each.    Most  moral  fa- 

Commanding his  old  Sergeant  Hildebrand, 

ther, 

By  all  the  ties  of  late  authority, 

Think  if  it  be  a  moment  now  to  weigh 

Conjuring  him  by  ancient  soldiership. 

The  vices  of  the  Heir  of  Auchmdrarie, 

To  hasten  to  his  mansion  instantly, 

Or  take  precaution  that  the  ancient  house 

On  business  of  high  import,  with  a  charge 

Shall  have  another  heir  than  the  sly  courtier 

To  come  alone  

That's  gaping  for  the  forfeiture. 

Auch.  Well,  he  sets  out,  I  doubt  it  not,  — 

Auctt    We'll  disappoint  him,  Philip,  — 

what  follows! 

We'll  disappoint  him  yet.     It  is  a  folly, 

Phi.  I  am   not  curious   into  others'   prac-    | 

A  wilful  cheat,  to  cast  our  eyes  behind, 

tices,  — 

When  time,  and  the  fast  flitting  opportunity. 

So  far  I'm  an  economist  in  guilt, 

Call  loudly,  nay,  compel  us  to  look  forward  : 

As  you  my  sire  udvise.     But  on  the  road 

Why  are  we  not  already  at  MacLe.llan's, 

To  old   Montgomery's    he    meets    his   com- 

Since there  the  victim  sleeps  ? 

rades. 

1  Alexander,  fifth  Ear]  of  Gler,ra;rn.  for  distinction  called 

lies,  entitled  "The  Hermit  of  Allareit,"  (Lorelto.)  —  See 

"  The  Good  Karl."  was  among  the  first  of  th<-  pwr«  of  Scot- 

SibboIJ'i   Chronicle  o/  ScotlM   Poelrj.  —  He  assisted  tbe 

acred  a  conspicuous  part,  in  the  employment  both  of  his 

in  1558;  had  a  principal  command  in  the  armv  embodied 

against  Queen  Mary,  in  June  1567:  and  d,-moli«hed  the     : 

he.  told  her,  that  "  if  she  violated  the  engagements  wbicb 

altar,  broke  Ihe  images,  tor*  down  the  pictures,  ice.  in  the     , 

she  had  come  uudtT  to  her  subjects,  they  would  consider 

Chapel-royal  of  Holyroodhouse,  after  the  Queen  wa«  coa-    . 

themselves  as  absolved  from  their  allegiance  to  her."    He 

ducted  to  Locbleven.     He  died  in  1571. 

was  author  of  a  satirical  poem  against  the  Roman  Catho- 

AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.   673 


They  nourish    grudge   agaiust  him  and   his 

dullars. 
And  things  may  Imp,  which  counsel,  learu'd 

in  law. 

Call  Robbery  and  Murder.    Should  he  live. 
He  has  seen  nought  that  we  would  hide  from 

him. 
Auch.   Who  carries  the  forged  letter  to  the 

veteran? 
Phi.  Why,  Niel  .MacLellan,  who.  return'd 

again 
To  his  own  tower,  as  if  to  pass  the  night 

there. 

They  pass'd  on  him,  or  tried  to  pass  a  story, 
As  if  they  wish'd  the  sergeant's  company, 
Without    the    young   comptroller's  —  that  is 

Quentin's, 

And  he  became  an  agent  of  their  plot. 
That  he  mislit  belter  carry  on  our  own. 
Auch.  There's  life  in  it  —  yes,  there  is  life 

m't; 

And  we  will  have  a  mounted  party  ready 
To  scour  the  moors  in  quest  of  the  banditti 
That  kill'd  the  poor  old  man  — they  shall  die 

instantly. 

Dunhar  shali  see  us  use  sharp  justice  here, 
As  well  as  he  in  Teviotdale.     You  are  sure 
You  gave  no  hint  iior  impulse  to  thtir  pur- 
pose ? 
Phi.  It  needed  not.    The  whole  pack  oped 

at  once 

Upon  the  scent  of  dollars  —But  time  comes 
When  I  must  seek  the  tower,  and  act  with 

Niel 

What  farlher's  to  be  done. 
Auch.  Alone  with  him  thou  goest  not.    He 

bears  grudge — 

Thou  art  my  only  son.  and  on  a  night 
When  such  wild  passions  are  so  free  abroad, 
When  such  wild  deeds  are  doing,  'tis  but  na- 
tural 

I  guarantee  thy  safety. — I'll  ride  with  thee. 
Phi.  E'en  as  you  will,  my  lord.     But,  par- 
don me, — 

If  you  will  come,  let  us  not  hive  a  word 
Of  conscience,  and  of  pity,  and  forgiveness ; 
Fine  words  to-morrow,  out  of  place  to-night. 
Take  counsel  then,  leave  all  this  work  to  me ; 
Call  up  your  household,  make  rit  preparation, 
In  love  and  peace,  to  welcome  this  Earl  Jus- 

ticiar. 
As  one  that's  free  of  guilt.    Go,  deck  the 

castle 

As  for  an  honour'd  guest.     Hallow  the  chapel 
(If  they  have  power  to  hallow  it)  with  thy 

prayers. 

Let  me  ride  forth  alone,  and  ere  the  sun 
Comes  o'er  the  eastern  bill,  thou  shall  accost 

him: 

"  Now  do  thy  worst,  thou  oft-returning  spy, 
Here's  nought  thou  canst  discover." 
Auch.  Yet  eoest  thou  not  alone  with  that 

^facLellan ! 

He  deems  thou  nearest  will  to  injure  him, 
And  seek'st  occasion  suiting  to  such  will. 
Philip,  thou  art  irreverent,  fierce,  ill-nurtured, 
Stain'd  with  low  vices,  which  dissust  a  father ; 
Yet  ndest  thou  not  alone  with  yonder  man.— 
Come  weal  come  woe.  myself  will  go  with  thee 

(Exit,  ami  calls  to  horse  behind  Ihe  scene. 
Phi.  (alone.)  Now  would  I  give  my  fleetest 

horse  to  know 
What  sudden   thought  roused  this  paternal 

care, 


And  if  'tis  on  his  own  account  or  mine : 
'Tis  true,  lie  hath  the  deepest  share  in  all 
That's  likely  now  to  hap,  or  which  has  hap- 

pen'd. 

Yet  sirons  through  Nature's  universal  reign. 
The  link  which  binds  the  parent  to  the  off- 
spring: 
The  she-wolf  knows  it,  and  the  tigress  owns 

So  that  dark  man,  who,  shunning  what  is 

vicious, 

Ne'er  turn'd  aside  from  an  atrocity. 
Hath  still  some  care  left  for  his  hapless  off- 
spring. 
Therefore  'tis  meet,  though  wayward,  light, 

and  stubborn. 

That  I  should  do  for  him  all  that  a  son 
Can  do  for  sire — and  his  dark  wisdom  join'd 
To  influence  my  bold  courses,  'twill  be  hard 
To  break  our  mutual  purpose.— Horses  there! 
lExit. 

ACT  III— SCENE  I. 

It  is  moonlight.  The  scene  is  the  Beach  beneath 
the  Tower  which  was  exhibited  in  the  first 
scene, — the  Vessel  is  gone  from  her  anchorage. 
Auchindrane  and  Philip,  as  if  dismounted 
from  their  horses,  come  Jorward  cautiously. 
Phi.  The  nass  are  safely  stow'd.  Their 

noise  might  scare  him  ; 
Let  them  be  safe,  and  ready  when  we  need 

them. 
The  business  is  but  short.    We'll  call  Mac- 

Lellan, 

To  wake  him,  and  in  quiet  bring  him  forth, 
If  he  he  so  disposed,  for  here  are  waters 
Enough  to  drown,  and  sand  enough  to  cover 

him. 

But  if  he  hesitate,  or  fear  to  meet  ns, 
Bv  heaven  I'll  deal  on  him  in  Chapeldonan 
With  my  own  hand  ! — 
Auch.  Too  furious  boy !— alarm  or  noise  un- 
does us, 

Our  practice  must  be  silent  as  'tis  sudden. 
Bethink  thee  that  conviction  of  this  slaughter 
Confirms  the  very  worst  of  accusations 
Our  foes  can  bring  against  us.    Wherefore 

should  we. 

Who  by  our  birth  and  fortune  mate  with  no- 
bles, 
And  are  allied  with  them,  take  this  lad's 

life,— 

His  peasant  life,  — unless  to  quash  his  evi- 
dence, 

Taking  such  pains  to  rid  him  from  the  world. 
Who  wouid.   if  spared,  have   fi.x'U  a  crime 

upon  us  ! 
Phi.  Well,  I  do  own  me  one  of  those  wise 

folks. 

Who  think  that  when  a  deed  of  fate  is  plann'd, 
The  execution  cannot  be  too  rapid. 
But  do  we  still  keep  purpose?    Is't  deter- 
mined 

He  sails  for  Ireland— and  without  a  wherry  t 
Salt  water  is  his  passport— is  it  not  so  t 
Auch.  I  would  it  could  be  otherwise. 
Might  he  not  go  there  while  in  life  and  limb, 
And  hreaihe  his  span  out  in  another  air? 
Many  seek  Ulster  never  to  return- 
Why  might  tins  wretched  youth  not  harbour 

there  ? 

Phi.  With  all  my  heart.    It  is  small  honour 
to  me 


674 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  he  the  agent  in  a  work  like  this. — 

Yet  this  podr  caitiff,  having  thrust  himself 

Into  the  secrets  of  a  nohle  house. 

And  twined  himself  so  closely  with  our  safety, 

That  we  must  perish,  or  that  he  must  die, 

I'll  hesitate  as  little  on  the  action, 

As  1  would  do  to  slay  the  animal 

Whose    flesh    supplies    my  dinner.    'Tis    as 

harmless. 

That  deer  or  steer,  as  is  this  Quentin  Blane, 
And  not  more  necessary  is  its  death 
To  our  accommodation — so  we  slay  it 
Without  a  moments  pause  or  hesitation. 
Auch.  '  I'is  not,  my  sjn,  the  feeling  call'd 

remorse, 

That  now  lies  tugging  at  this  heart  of  mine. 
Engendering  thoughts  that   stop    the    lifted 

hand. 
Have  I  not  heard  John  Knox  pour  forth  his 

thunders 

Against  the  oppressor  and  the  man  of  blood, 
In  accents  of  a  minister  of  vengeance  ? 
Were  not  his  fiery  eyeballs  turn'd  on  me. 
As  if  he  said  expressly,  "Thou'rt  the  man?" 
Yet  did  my  solid  purpose,  as  I  listeu'd. 
Keinam  unshaken  as  that  massive  rock. 
Phi.  Well,  then,  I'll  understand  'tis  not  re- 
morse,— 

As  'tis  a  foible  little  known  to  thee. — 
That   interrupts   thy   purpose.     What,   then, 

is  it? 
Is't  scorn,  or  is't  compassion?    One  thing's 

certain, 

Either  the  feeling  mnst  have  free  indulgence, 
Or  fully  be  subjected  to  your  reason — 
There  is  no  room  for  these  same  treacherous 

courses. 

Which  men  call  moderate  measures 
We  must  confide  in  Quentin,  or  must  slay 

him. 

Auch.  In  Ireland  he  misht  live  afar  from  us. 

Phi.  Among  Queen  Mary's  faithful  partizans. 

Your  ancient  enemies,  the  haughty  Hamiltons, 

The  stern  MacDounels.the  resentful  Graemes— 

With  these  around  him,  and  with  Cassias' 

death 
Exasperating  them   against   you,  think,  my 

father. 

What  chance  of  Quentin's  silence. 
Auch.  Too  true  —  too  true.    He  is  a  silly 

youth,  too. 

Who  had  not  wit  to  shift  for  his  own  living — 
A  bashful  lover,  whom  his  rivals  lauah'd  at — 
Of  pliant  temper,  which  companions  piay'd 

on — 

A  moonlight  waker,  and  a  noontide  dreamer — 
A  torturer  of  phrases  into  sonnets. — 
Whom  all  might  lead  that  chose  to  praise  his 

rhymes. 

Phi.  I  marvel  that  your  memory  has  room 

To  hold  so  much  on  such  a  worthless  subject. 

Auch.  Base  in  himself,  and  yet  so  strangely 

link'd 

With  me  and  with  my  fortunes,  that  I've  stu- 
died 
To  read  him  through  and  through,  as  I  would 

read 

Some  paltry  rhyme  of  vulgar  prophecy, 
Said  to  contain  the  fortunes  of  my  house ; 
And,  let  me  speak  him  truly  —  He  is  grate- 
ful. 

Kind,  tractable,  obedient— a  child 
Might  lead  him  by  a  thread  —  He  shall  not 

die! 


Phi.  Indeed !  — then  have  we  had  OUT  mid- 
night ride 
To  wondrous  little  purpose. 

Auch.  By  the  blue  heaven. 

Thou  shall  not  murder  him,  cold  selfish  sen- 
sualist ! 
Yon  pure  vault  sneaks  it  —  yonder  summer 

moon. 

With  its  ten  million  sparklers, cries,  Forbear  ! 
The  deep  earth  sighs  it  forth— Thou  shall  not 

murder! — 

Thon  slialt  not  mar  the  imase  of  thy  Maker! 

Thou  shall  not  from  thy  brother  take  the  iife, 

The  precious  gift  which  God  alone  ran  give ! — 

Phi.  Here   is  a  worthy  guerdon   now,  for 

stuffing 

His  memory  with  old  saws  and  holy  sayings ! 
They  come  upon  him  in  the  very  crisis. 
And  when  his  resolution  should  be  firmest, 
They  shake  it  like  a  palsy — Let  it  be. 
He'll  end  at  last  by  yielding  to  temptation. 
Consenting  to  the  thing  which  most  be  done, 
\\llh  more  remorse  the  more  he  hesitates  — 
[To  his  Father,  who  has  stood  fixed  after 

his  last  speech. 

Well,  sir,  'tis  fitting  you  resolve  at  last, 
How  the  younsc  clerk  shall  lie  disposed  upon  ; 
I'nless  you  would  ride  home  lo  Auchmdrane, 
And  bid  them  rear  the  Maiden  in  the  court- 
yard, 
Tliat  when  Dunbar  comes,  he  have  nought 

to  do 

But  bid  as  kiss  the  cushion  and  the  headsman. 
Auch.  It  is  too   true  —  Tliere  is  no  safety 

for  us, 

Consistent  with  the  unhappy  wretch's  life! 
In  Ireland  he  is  sure  to  find  my  enemies. 
Airan  I've  proved — the  Netherlands  I've  tried. 
But  wilds  and  wars  return  him  on  my  hands. 
Phi.  Yet  fear  not,  father,  we'll  ma'ke  surer 

work  ; 

The  land  has  caves,  the  sea  has  whirlpools, 
Where  that  which  they  suck   in   returns  no 

more. 

Auch.  1  will  know  nought  of  it,  hard-heart- 
ed boy  ! 
Phi.  Hard-hearted !    Why— my  heart  is  soft 

as  yours ; 

But  then  they  must  not  feel  remorse  at  once, 
,  We  can't  afford  such  wasteful  tenderness  : 
|  I  can  mouth  forth  remorse  as  well  as  you. 
I  Be  executioner,  and  I'll  be  chaplain. 

And  say  as  mild  and  moving  things  as  yon  can; 
'  But  one  of  us  must  keep  his  steely  temper. 
Auch.  Do  thou  the  deed  —  I  cannot  look 

on  it. 
Phi.  *o  be  it  — walk  with  me  — MacLellan 

brings  him. 
The  boat  lies  moor'd  within  that  reach  of 

rock, 

And  'twill  require  our  greatest  strength  com- 
bined 

To  launch  it  from  the  beach.   Meantime,  Mac- 
Lellan 
Brings  our  man  hither.  —  See  the  twinkling 

light 

That  glances  in  the  tower. 
Auch.   Let  us  withdraw  — for  should  he  spy 

us  suddenly. 

He  may  suspect  us,  and  alarm  the  family. 
Phi.  Fear  not,  MacLellan  has  his  trust  and 

confidence. 

Bought  with  a  few  sweet  words  and  welcomes 
home. 


AUCHINDRANE:  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.   675 


Atich.  But  think  ynu  that  the  Ranger  may    And  you  may  live  with  me  a  month  or  more, 
be  trusted?  And   never  see  me  smile.    Then  some  such 

Phi.  I'll  anv.ver  for  him.— Let's  go  float  the  tntle 

shsllon.  As  vomler  little  maid  of  yours  would  lauzh  at, 

[  They  go  off,  and  as  they  leave  the  Stoat,    Will  serre  me  for  a  theme  of  mernm^u'  — 
NbcLettan  13  seen  descending  from  /he    Kven  now.  I  scarce  can  ket-p  my  gravity  : 
Tower  with  Quemm.     The  former   We  were  so  mugly  aet'tad  in  uur  qonrten, 
bears  a  dark  lantern.    They  came  upon    With  fuil  intent  to  let  the  sun  1)6  (inch 
the  Staae.  ,  Ere  we  should  leave  our  beds  — and  first  the 

Mai",  (showing  the  light.)  So — bravely  done —  one 

that's  the  last  (edge  of  rocks.  I  And  then  the  other's  surnmon'd  briefly  forth. 

And  we  are  on  the  sands. — I  have  broke  your   To  the  old  tune.  "Black  bandsmen,  up  and 


i'umbers 
vhat  untimely. 


Do  not  think  so.  friend. 


These  six  years  past  I  have  been  used  to  stir 
When  the  reveille  rung;  and  that,  believe  me. 
uses  the  hours  for  rousing  me  at  random, 
And,  having  given  its  summons,  yields  no 

license 
To  indulge  a  second  slumber.    Nay.  more,  I'll 

tell  thee, 
Tlu.t,  like  a   pleased   child,  I  was  e'en  too 

happy 
For  sound  repose. 

Mac.  The  greater  fool  were  you. 

Men  should  enjoy  the  moments  given  to  slum- 
ber: 

For  who  can  tell  how  soon  may  be  the  waking, 

Or  where  we  shall  have  leave  to  sleep  again  7 

Que.  The   God  of  Slumber  comes   not  at 

command 
Last  night  the  blood  danced  merry  through 

my  veins : 

Instead  "f  finding  this  our  land  of  Carrick 
The  dreary  waste  my  fears  had  apprehended, 
I  saw  thy  wife.  MacLcllan,  and  thy  daughter, 
And  had' a  brother's  welcome;— saw  thee.  too, 
Kenew'd  my  early  friendship  with  you  both. 
And  felt  once  more  that  I  had  friends  and 

country 

So  keen  the  joy  that  tingled  through  my  sys- 
tem, 
Join'd  with  the  searching  powers  of  yonder 

wine. 

That  I  am  glad  to  leave  my  feverish  lair, 
Although  my  hostess  smooth'd  my  couch  her- 
self, 

To  cool  my  brow  upon  this  moonlight  beach. 
Gaze  on  tlie  moonlizht  dancing  on  the  waves. 
Sucti  scenes  are  wont  to  soothe  me  into  me- 
lancholy : 

But  such  the  hurry  of  my  spirits  now. 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  makes  me  laueh. 


marcli 
Mac.  Well!   you    shall    sleep    anon  — rely 

upon  it — 
And  make  up  time  misspent.     Meantime,  me- 


You  are  su  merry  on  your  broken  slumbers, 


You  ask'd  not  why  I  call'd  you. 

Que. 
You  lack  mv  aid  to  search  the 


I  cm  guess, 

r  seals, 


You  lack  my  company  to  stalk  a  deer. 
Think  you  I  have  forgot  your  silvan  tasks, 
I  Which  oft  you  have  permuted  me  to  share, 
Till  days  that  we  were  rivals  .' 

Mac  You  have  memory 

Of  that  too  I— 

Que.  Like  the  memory  of  a  dream. 

Delusion  far  too  exquisite  to  last. 

Mac.  You  guess  not  then  for  what  I  call  you 

forth. 
It  was  to  meet  a  friend — 

Que.  What  friend 7    Thyself  exceptfd. 
The  good  old  man  who's  gone  to  see  Montgo- 
mery. 
And  one  to  whom  I  once  gave  dearer  title. 


Mac.  I've  seen  but  few  ! 
ter  Qiientin, 


i  gamesome,  Mus- 


!  i,:, 


not  in  wide  Scotland  man  or  woman 


Whom  I  could  name  a  friend 


Mac. 


Thou  art  mistaken. 


Being  roused  from  sleep  so  suddenly  as  you 

were. 
Que.  Why.  there's  the  jest  on'L    Your  old 

castle's  haunted. 

In  vain  the  host— in  vain  the  lovely  hostess, 
In  kind  addition  to  all  means  of  rest. 
Add  their  best  wishes  for  our  sound  repose. 
When  some  hobgoblin  brings  a  pressing  mes- 
sage : 

Montgomery  presently  must  see  his  sergeant, 
And  up  gets  Hildehrand,  and  olf  he  trudges. 
I  can't  but  laugh  to  :hink  upon  the  grin 
With  which  he  doff'd  the  kerchief  he  had 

twisted 

Around  his  brows,  and  put  his  morion  on — 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mac       I'm  glad  to  see  you  merry.  Qiientin. 
Que.  W'ny,  faith,  myspirils  are  but  transitory. 


There  is  a  Baron,  and  a  powerful  one 

Que.  There  flies  my  fit  of  mirth.    You  have 


Mac.  Compose  yourself,  there  is  no  cause 

for  fear.- 

He  will  and  must  speak  with  you. 
Que.  Spare  me  the  meeting,  Niel,  I  cannot 

see  him. 

Say,  I'm  just  landed  on  my  native  earth ; 
Say.  that  1  will  not  cumber  it  a  day  ; 
Say,  that  my  wretched  thread  of  poor  exist- 
ence 

Shall  he  drawn  out  in  solitude  and  exile. 
Where  never  memory  of  so  mean  a  thin: 
Again  shall  cross  his  path— but  do  not  ask  me 
To  see  or  speak  again  with  that  dark  man  ! 


Mac    Your  fears  are  no 
mir'h — 


as  foolish  as  you 


What  should  the  powerful  Knight  of  Auchin- 

drane 

In  common  have  with  such  a  man  as  thou  7 
Que.  .No  matter  what  —  Knough,  I  will  no 

see  him. 
Mac.  He  is  thy  master,  and  he  claims  obe 

dience. 
Que.  My  master?    Ay,  my  task-master  — 

Ever  since 
I  could  write  man,  his  hand  hath  been  upo 

me; 
No  step  I've  made  but  cumber'J  with  n 

chain. 

And  I  am  weary  on't— I  will  not  see  him. 
Mac.   You  must  and  shall -^  there  is  no  re- 
medy. 


676 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Que  Take  heed  that  you  compel  me  nut  to 

find  one. 

I've  seen  the  wars  siuce  we  had  strife  toge- 
ther; 

To  put  my  late  experience  to  the  test 
\\ere   something  dangerous — Ha,  I  am  he- 
Irav'd ! 

[  While,  the  latter  part  of  this  dialogue 
is  passim.  Auchindrane  and  Philip 
enter  on  the  Staye  from  behind,  atui 
suddenly  jrrnent  themselves. 
Audi.  What  savs  the  runa»ate? 
Que    (laying  aside  all  appearance  of  resist- 
ance.) Nut  bins:,  yon  are  my  fate  ; 
And  in  a  shape  more  fearfully  resistless, 
My  evil  angel  could  not  stand  before  me. 
Auch    And  so  you  scruple,  slave,  at  my  com- 
ma nd. 

To  meet  me  when  I  deign  to  ask  thy  presence  ? 
Que.  No.  sir;  I  had  forgot— I  am  your  bond- 
slave; 

But  sure  a  passing  thought  of  independence. 
For  which  I've  seen  whole  nations  doing  bat- 
tle. 

Was  not,  in  one  who  has  so  long  enjoy'd  it, 
A  crime  beyond  forgiveness. 

AiuA.  We  shall  see  : 

Thou  wert  my  vassal,  born  upon  my  land. 
Bred  by  my  bounty — It  concern'd  me  highly, 
Thou   know'st  it  did  — and   yet  against  my 

charge 

Again  I  find  thy  worthlessness  in  Scotland. 
Que.  Alas!  the  wealthy  and  the  powerful 

know  not 
How  very  dear  to  those  who  have  least  share 

in't. 
Is  that  sweet  word  of  country !    The  poor 

exile 

Feels,  in  each  action  of  the  varied  dav, 
His  doom  of  banishment.     The  very  air 
Cools  not  his  brow  as  in  his  native  land  ; 
The  scene  is  strange,  the  fond  is  loathly  to 

him  ; 

The  language,  nny.  the  music  jars  his  ear. 
Why  should  I.  guiltless  of  the  slightest  crime. 
Suffer  a  punishment  which,  sparing  life. 
Deprives  that  lifeof  all  which  men  hold  dear? 
Auch.   Hear  ye   the  serf  1   bred,  begin   to 

reckon 

TTpon  bis  rights  and  pleasure!    Who  am  I — 
Thou   abject,   who  am   I,   whose   will    thou 

thwartest  ? 
Phi.  Well  spoke,  my  pious  sire.  There  goes 

remorse ! 

T-etonce  thy  precious  pride  take  fire,  and  then, 

Mac.Lellan.  you  and  I  may  have  small  trouble. 

Que.  Your  words    are"  deadly,    and    your 

power  resistless ; 

I'm  in  your  hands — but.  sorely,  less  than  life 
May  give  you  the  security  you  seek. 
Without  commission  of  a  mortal  crime. 
Audi    Who  is't  would  deign  to  think  upon 

thy  life? 

I  hut  require  of  thee  to  speed  to  Ireland, 
Where   thou  mayst  sojourn  for  some  little 

space. 

Having  due  means  of  living  dealt  t<i  thee. 
And.  when  it  suits  the  changes  of  the  times, 
Permission  to  return. 

Que.  Noble,  my  lord. 

I  am  too  weak  to  combat  with  your  pleasure  ; 
Yet  0,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  that  dear  land  which  is  our  common  mo- 
ther, 


Let  me  not  part  in  darkness  from  my  country  .' 
PHSS  hut  an  hour  or  two,  and  every  cape. 
Headland,  :md  bay,  shall  gieam  with  new- 
horn  light, 

And  I'll  take  boat  as  gaily  as  the  bird 
That  soars  to  meet  the  morning. 
Grant  me  hut  this— to  show  no  darker  thoughts 
Are  on  your  heart  than  those  your  speech  ex- 
presses ! 
Phi.  A  modest  favour,  friend,  is  this  you 

ask! 

Are  we  to  pace  the  beach  like  watermen. 
Waiting  your  worship's  pleasure  to  take  rioatT 
No,  by  my  faith !  you  20  upon  the  instant. 
The  boat  lies  ready,  and  the  ship  receives  yon 
Near  to  the  point' of  Turnberry.  —  Come,  we 

wait  you ; 
Bestir  you ! 

Qut.          t  obey  —Then  farewell.  Scotland, 
And  Heaven  forgive  my  sins,  and  grant  that 

mercy. 
Which  mortal  man  deserves  not ! 

Auch.  (speaks  aside  to  his  Son  )  What  signal 
Shall  let  me  know  'tis  done  ? 

Phi.  When  the  light  is  quench'd. 

Your  fears  forQuentm  Blane  are  at  an  end. — 
(To  Que  )  Come. comrade, come,  we  must  be- 
gin our  voyage. 
Que.  But  when.  O  when  to  end  it ! 

[He  (joes  nff  reluctantly  with  Philip  and 
MacLeiuit  Auc.hindrane  stands 
looking  after  them.  The  Moon  be- 
comes overclouded,  and  the  Stage, 
dark  Aurhindrane,  who  has  gazed 
fixrdly  and  etiaerly  after  those  who 
have  left  the  Stage,  becomes  animated, 
and  speaks 

Aiu-h.  It  is  no  fallacy!— The  night  is  dark. 
The   moon   has  sunk   before   Ihe  deepening 

clouds ; 

I  cannot  on  the  murky  beach  distinguish 
The  shallop  from  the  rocks  which  lie  beside 

it; 

I  cannot  see  tall  Philip's  floating  plume. 
Nor  trace  the  sullen  brow  of  Niel  MacLellan  ; 
Yet  still  that  caitiff's  visaze  is  bef.ire  me. 
With  chattering  teeth,  mazed  look,  and  brist- 
ling hair. 
As  he   st(MKl    here   this   moment !  —  Have   I 

changed 

My  human  eyes  for  those  of  some  night  prow- 
ler. 

The  wolf's,  the  tiger  cat's,  or  the  hoarse  bird's 
That  spies  its  prey  at  midnight?    I  can  see 

him — 

Yes,  I  can  see  him,  seeing  no  one  else, — 
And  well  it  is  I  do  so.     In  Ins  absence. 
Strange  thoughts  of  pity   mingled  with  my 

purpose, 
And   moved   remorse  within  me  —  But  they 

vamsh'd 

Whene'er  he  stood  a  living  man  before  me ; 
Then  my  antipathy  awaked  within  me, 
Seeing  its  object  close  within  my  reach, 
Till  I  could  scarce  forbear  him. — How  they 

linger! 

The  boat's  not  yet  to  sea!— I  ask  myself, 
What  has  the  poor  wretch  done  to  wake  my 

hatred- 
Docile,  obedient,  and  in  sufferance  patieut  (— 
As  well  demand  what  evil  has  the  hare 
Done    to   the    hound    that    courses    her    in 

sport. 
Instinct  infallible  supplies  the  reason— 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      677 

And  that  must  plead  my  cause.—  The  vision's       Mar                                      Good  my  lord. 

gone  ! 

nis  is  a  holyday.  —  By  an  ancient  custom 

Their  bout  now  walks  the  waves;  a  single 

ur  children  seek  the  shore  at  break  of  day. 

gieam, 

ud  gather  shells,  and  dance,  and  play,  ant] 

Now  seen,  now  lost,  is  all  that  marks  her 

sport  them 

course  ; 

n  honour  of  the  Ocean.    Old  men  say 

That  soon  shall  vanish  too—  then  all  is  over  !  — 

'he  custom  is  derived  from  heathen  times. 

Would  it  were  o'er,  for  in  this  moment  lies 

Our  Isabel 

The  agony  of  ages  !  i—  Now,  'tis  gone— 

s  mistress  of  the  feast,  and  you  may  think 

And  all  is  anted  !  —  no  —  she  breasts  again 

IB  is  awake  already,  and  impatient 

The  opposing  wave,  and  bears  the  tiny  sparkle 

o  be  the  first  shall  stand  upon  the  beach, 

Upon  her  cres!  — 

nd  hid  the  sun  good-morrow. 

(A  faint  cry  heard  as  from  seaward.) 
Ah  !  there  was  fatal  evidence, 

Auc'i.                                         Ay,  indeed? 
.inger  such  dregs  of  heathendom  among  you  T 

All's    over    now,    indeed  !  —  The     light    is 

nd  hath  Knox  preach'd,  and  Wishart  died, 

quench'd  — 

in  vain 

And   Quentm,  source  of  all  my  fear,  exists 

'ake  notice.  1  forbid  these  sinful  practices. 

not.— 

nd  will  not   have  my  followers  mingle  in 

The  morning  tide  shall  sweep  his  corpse  to 
sea. 

them. 
Mar.  If  such  your  honour's  pleasure,  I  must 

And  hide  all  memory  of  this  stern  night's 

work. 

go 

nd  lock  the  door  on  Isabel  ;  she  is  wilful. 

IHe  walks  in  a  slow  a>id  deeply  medita- 

nd voice  of  mine  will  have  small  force  to 

tive  manner  /awards  the  side  of  the 
Slaye,  and  suddenly  meets   Marion, 

keep  her 
"roui  the  amusement  she  so  long  has  dream'd 

the  wife  of  Mucteilan,  who  has  de- 
scended from  the  Castle 

!ut  I  must  tell  your  honour,  the  old  people, 

Kovi,  how  to  meet  Dunbar  —  Heaven  guard 

'hat  were  survivors  of  the  former  race. 

'rophesied  evil  if  this  day  should  puss 

Stand  !  who  goes  there  ?—  Do  spirits  walk  the 
earth 

Without  due  homage  to  the  mighty  Ocean. 
Auch     Folly    and    Papistry  —  Perhaps    the 

Ere  yet  they've  left  the  body  ! 

ocean 
-lath  had  his  morning  sacrifice  already; 

My  lord,  on  this  wild  beach  at  such  an  hour! 
Auch.  It  is  MacLellau's  wife,  in  search  of 

Or  can  you  think  the  dreadful  element. 
Whose  frown  is  death,  whose  roar  the  dirge 

of  navies. 

Or  of  lier  lover—  of  the  murderer. 

Will  miss  the  idle  pageant  you  prepare  for? 

Or  of  the  murder'd  man.  —  Go  to,  Dame  Ma- 

've  business  for  you,  too  —  the  dawn  ad- 

vances — 

rion, 
Men  have  their  hunting-gear  to  give  an  eye  to. 
Their  snares  and  trackings  for  their  game. 

'd  have  thee  lock  thy  little  child  in  safety. 
And  get  to  Auchmdrane  before  the  sun  rise  ; 
Tell  them  to  get  a  royal  banquet  ready. 

Should  shun  the  night  air.    A  young  wife  also 
Still  more  a  handsome  one,  should  keep  her 

As  if  a  king  were  coining  there  to  feast  him. 
Mar.  I  will  obey  your  pleasure.    But  my 
husband—— 

pillow 
Till  the  sun  gives  example  for  her  wakening. 
Come,  dame,  go  back—  back  to  your  bed  again. 
Mar.  Hear  me,  my  lord  !  there  have  been 

Auch.  I  wait  him  on  the  beach,  and  bring 
him  in 
To  share  the  banquet. 
.Mar.                             But  he  has  a  friend, 

sights  and  sounds 
That  terrified    my  child   and   me  —  Groans 

Whom  it  would  ill  become  him  to  intrude 

screams. 
As  if  of  dying  seamen,  came  from  ocean— 

jpon  your  hospitality. 
Auch.  Fear  not;  his  friend  shall  be  made 

A  corpse-light  danced  upon  the  crested  waves 
For  several  minutes'  space,  then  sunk  at  once 
When  we  retired  to  rest  we  had  two  guests. 
Besides  my  husband  Niel  —  I'll  tell  your  lord 

welcome  too. 
Should  he  return  with  Niel. 
Mar.  He  must  —  he  will  return  —  he  has  no 
option. 
Auch.  (Apart.)  Thus  rashly  do  we  deem  of 

Who  the  men  were  
Auc/i              Pshaw,  woman,  can  yon  think 
That  I  have  any  interest  in  your  gossips? 
Please  your  own  husband,  and  that  you  may 

others'  destiny  — 
He  has  indeed  no  option—  but  he  comes  not. 
Begone  on  thy  commission—  I  go  this  way 
To  meet  thv  husband. 
[Marion  goes  to  her  Tower,  and  afte 

please  him. 
Get  thee  to  bed,  and  shut  up  doors,  good 

enterino  it,  it  seen  to  come  out,  loci 
the  door,  and  leave  the  Stage,  as  if  to 

Were  1  MacLellan,  I  should  scarce  be  satisfied 
To  find  thee  wandering  here  in  mist  and  moon 

execute   Auchmdrane's   commission. 
He,  apparently  going  off  in  a  different 
direction,  has  watched  her  from  the 

When  silence  should  be  in  thy  habitation, 

side  of  the  Stage,  and  on  her  depar- 

And  sleep  upon  thy  pillow. 

Auch.  Fare  thee  well,  fond  woman. 

Most  dangerous  of  spies—  thou  prying,  prating. 

1  .           «  In  that  moment,  o'er  his  BOD! 

Spying,  and  telling  woman  !    I've  cut  short 
Thy  danaerous  testimony—  haieii  word  ! 

Winters  of  memory  seera'd  to  roll." 

What  other  evidence  have  we  cut  short, 

678 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  by  what  fated  means,  this  dreary  morn- 
ing!— 

Brieht  lances  here  and  helmets  ?— I  must  shift 
To  join  tlie  others.  [Exit. 

Enter  from  the  olhfr  side  the  Sergeant,  ar.com- 

jianied  with  an  Officer  and  two  Pihemen. 
Ser.  *'l'was  in  good  time  you  came:  a  mi- 

nule  later 

The  kiiHves  had  ta'en  my  dollars  and  my  life. 
Qf.  You  fought  most  stoutly.    Two  of  them 

were  down. 
Ere  we  came  to  your  aid. 

Ser  Gramercy.  halberd  ! 

And  well  it  happen!,  since  your  leader  seeks 
This  Qiientin  Biane,  that  you  have  fall'n  on 

me; 

None  else  can  surely  tell  you  where  he  hides. 
Being  in  some  fear,  and  bent  to  quit  this  pro- 
vince. 
Qf.  'Twill  do  our  Earl  good  service.     He 

h»s  sent 

Despatches  into  Holland  for  this  Quentin. 
Ser    I  left  him  two  hours  since  in  yonder 


BT, 


Under  the  euard  of  one  who  smoothly  spoke, 
Although  he  look'd  but  roughly— I  will  chide 

him 

For  bidding  me  go  forth  with  yonder  traitor 
Off.  Assure  yourself  'twas  a  concerted  stra- 

taaem. 

Montgomery's  been  at  Holyrood  for  months. 
And  can  have  sent  no  letter— 'twas  a  plan 
On  yon  and  on  your  dollars,  and  a  l>ase  one, 
To  which  this  Hanger  was  most  likely  privy; 
Such  men  as  he  hang  on  our  fiercer  barons, 
The  ready  agents  of  their  lawless  will ; 
Boys  of  the  belt,  who  aid  their  master's  plea- 
sures. 

And  in  his  moods  ne'er  scruple  his  injunctions. 
But  haste,  for  now  we  must  unkennel  Quen- 
tin; 
I've  strictest  charge  concerning  him. 

Ser.  Go  np,  then,  to  the  tnwer. 
You've  younger  limbs  than  iiime — there  shall 

you  find  him 

1-oungmg  and  snoring,  like  a  lazy  cur 
Before  a  stable  door;  it  is  his  practice 

[  The  Officer  goes  up  to  the  Tower,  and 
after  knocking  without  receiving  an 
answer,  turns  the  key  which  Marion 
had  If  ft  in  the  lock,  and  enters ;  Isabel. 
dressed  as  if  for  her  dance,  runs  out 
and  descends  to  the  Stage ;  the  Officer 
follows. 

Off.  There's  no  one  in  the  house,  this  little 
maid 

Excepted 

Isa,  And  for  me,  I'm  there  no  lonser, 

And  will  not  be  again  for  three  hours  good  : 
I'm  gone  to  join  my  playmates  on  the  sands., 
Off.  (detaining  her.)  You  Khali,   when  you 

have  told  to  me  distinctly 
Where  are  the  guests  who  slept  up  there  last 

night. 
Jm.  Why.  there  is  the  old  man,  he  stands 

beside  you. 

The  merry  old  man,  with  the  glistening  hair; 
He  left  the  tower  at  midnight,  for  my  father 
Brought  him  a  letter. 

Ser.  In  ill  hour  I  left  you, 

I  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  had  slay'd  with  you ; 
There  is  a  nameless  horror  that  comes  o'er 
me. — 


Speak,  pretty  maicen,  tell  us  what  cliarfeu 
next. 

And  thoii  shalt  have  thy  freedom. 
Isa.   After  you  went  last  maht,  my  father 

Grew  iiuiody.  and  refused  to  doff  his  clothes, 

Or  go  to  hr.l,  :is  M>n:rtiu.ps  lie  will  do 

When  tin-re  is  auglit  to  chafe  him.    Until  past 
midnight. 

He  wander'U  to  and  fro,  then  call'd  the  stran- 
ger. 

The  gay  young  man,  that  sung  such  merry 

SOIISS, 

Yet  ever  look'd   most  sadly  whilst  he  sung 

them. 
And  forth  they  went  together. 

Off.  And  you've  seen 

Or  heard  nought  of  them  since? 

Isa  Seen  surely  nothing,  and  I  cannot  Ihink 
That  they  have  lot  or  share  in  what  I  heard. 
I  heard  my  mother  praying,  for  the  corpse- 

hshts 
Were  dancing  on  the   waves ;    and  at  one 

o'clock. 

Just  as  the  Abbey  steeple  toll'd  the  knell. 
There  was  a  heavy  plunge  upon  the  waters, 
And    some    one   cried    aloud    for    mercy  !  — 

mercy ! — 

It  was  the  water-spirit,  sure,  which  promised 
Mercy  to  boat  and  fisherman,  if  we 
Perform'd  to-day's  rites  duly.     Let  me  go — 
I  am  to  lead  the  ring. 

Off.  (to  Ser.)  Detain  her  not.    She  cannot 

tell  us  more ; 

To  give  her  liberty  is  the  sure  way 
To  lure   her  parents  homeward.  —  Strahan, 

lake  two  men, 

And  should  the  father  or  the  mother  come, 
Arrest  them  both,  or  either.  Anchindrune 
May  mine  upon  the  beach;  arrest  him  also, 
But  do  not  state  a  cause.  I'll  back  again, 
And  lake  directions  from  my  Lord  Uunbar. 
Keep  you  upon  the.  beach,  and  have  an  eye 
To  all  that  passes  there.  [Exeunt  separately. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  a  remote  and  rocky  pan  of  the 

Stabtach. 

Enter  Auchiiidrane  meeting  Philip. 
Auch   The  devil's  brought  his  legions  to  this 

beach. 

That  wont  to  be  so  lonely ;  morions,  lances, 
Show  in  the  morning  beam  as  thick  as  glow- 
worms 
At  summer  midnight. 

Phi.  '  I'm  right  glad  to  see  them, 

Be  they  whoe'er  they  may,  so  they  are  mortal ; 
For  I've  contended  with  a  lifeless  foe. 
And  I  have  lost  the  battle.     I  would  give 
A  thousand  crowns  to  hear  a  mortal  steel 
Ring  on  a  mortal  harness. 
Auch.  How  now!  — Art  mad,  or  hast  thou 

done  the  torn — 
The  tuin  we  came  for,  and  must  live  or  die 

by? 
Phi.  Tis  done,  if  man  can  do  it;   but  I 

doubt 

If  this  unhappy  wretch  have  Heaven's  per- 
mission 

To  die  by  mortal  hands. 
Auch,  Where  is  he — where 's  MacLellan  ! 
phi.  In  the  deep— 


ATJCIIINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY.      679 


Both  in  the  deep,  and  what's  immortal  of 

them 
Gone  to  (lie  judgment-seat,  where  we  must 

meet  them. 
Auch.  MacLellan  deaJ,  and  Quentin  too  ? — 

So  he  it 

To  al)  that  menace  ill  to  Auchimlrane. 
Or  li:ive  tiie  power  to  injure  him  !— Thy  words 
Are  full  of  comfort,  hut  thine  eye  and. look 
Have  in  this  pallid  gloom  a  ghastliness. 
Winch  Contradicts  the  tidings  of  thy  tongue. 1 
Phi.  Hear  me,  old  mall — There  is  a  heaven 

above  us. 
As  you  hnv-e  heard  old  Knox  and  Wishait 

preach. 

Though  little  to  your  boot.    The  dreaded  wit- 
ness 

Is  slain,  and  silent.    Bui  his  misused  body 
Comes  right  ashore,  as  if  to  cry  for  vengeance ; 
It  rides  the  waters  like  a  living  thing." 
Erect,  as  if  he  trode  the  waves  which  bear 

him. 
Audi.  Thou  sppakest  frenzy,  when  sense  is 

most  required. 
Phi.  Hear  me  yet  more!  —  I  say  I  did  the 

deed 

With  all  the  coolness  of  a  practised  hunter 
When   dealing  with   a  stag.      I  struck  him 

overboard. 

And  with  Mac  Lallan's  aid  I  held  his  head 
Under  the  waters,  while  the  Ranger  tied 
The  weights  we  had  provided  to  his  feet. 
We  cast  him  loose  when  life  anil  body  parted, 
And   hid   him  speed  fur   Ireland.     But  even 

then, 

As  in  defiance  of  the  words  we  spoke. 
The  body  rose  upright  behind  our  stern, 
One,  half  in  ocean,  and  one  half  in  air, 
Am!  tided  after  as  in  ohase  of  us.  3 
Auch.  It  was  enchainment ! — Did  you  strike 

at  it? 
Phi.  Once  and  again.     But  blows  avail'd  no 

more 
Than  on  a  wreath  of  smoke,  where  they  may 

break 

The  column  fur  a  moment,  which  unites 
And  is  entire  again.    Thus  the  dead  body 
Sunk  down  before  my  oar.  but  rose  unharm'd, 
And  do^g'd  us  closer  still,  as  in  defiance. 

Audi.  'Twas  Hell's  own  work! 

Phi.  MacLellan  then  grew  restive 

And  desperate  in  his  fear,  blasphemed  aloud, 
Cursing  us  both  as  authors  of  his  ruin. 
Myself  was  wellnigh  frantic  while  pursued 
By  this  dead  shape,  upon  whose  ghastly  fea- 
tures 
The   changeful   moonbeam   spread  a  grisly 

light; 


And,  halted  thus,  I  took  the  nearest  way 
To  ensure  his  silence,  and  to  quell  his  noise  ; 
I  used  my  dagger,  and  I  flung  him  overboard. 
And  half  expected  his  dead  carcass  also 
Would  join  the  chase  — but  he  sank  down  at 

once. 
Auch.  He  had  enough  of  mortal  sin  about 

him, 

To  sink  an  argosy. 
Phi.  But  now  resolve  you  what  defence  to 

make. 

If  Quentin's  body  shall  be  recognised  ; 
for  'tis  ashore  already;  and  he  hears 
Marks  of  my  handiwork  ;  so  does  MacLellan. 
Auch.  The  concourse  thickens  still — Away, 

away  ! 
We  must  avoid  the  multitude.    [.They  rush  out. 


SCENE  III. 

Scene  changes  to  another  part  of  the  Btarh. 
Children  are  seen  dancing,  and  Villagers  look- 
imj  mi.    Isabel  scans  to  take  the  manayemeat 
of  the  Dance. 
Vil.  Worn.   How  well   she  queens   it,  the 

brave  little  maiden  ! 
Vil.  Ay,  they  all  queen  it  from  their  very 

cradle. 

These  willing  slaves  of  haughty  Auchindrane. 
But  now  I  hear  the  old  man's  reign  is  end- 
ed ;— 

'Tis  well— he  has  been  tyrant  long  enough. 
Second  Vil    Fmlay,  speak  low.  you  interrupt 

the  sports. 

Third  ViL  Look  out  to  sea  — There's  some- 
thing coming  yonder, 
Bound  for  the  beach,  will  scare  us  from  our 

mirth. 
Fourth  Vil.   Pshaw,  it  is  but  a  sea-gull  on 

the  wing, 
Between  the  wave  and  sky. 

Third  Vil.  Thou  art  a  fool, 

Standing  on  solid  land — 'tis  a  dead  body. 
Second  Vil    And  if  it  be,  he  bears  him  like 

a  live  one, 
Not    prone    and   weltering    like   a  drowned 

corpse. 

But  bolt  erect,  as  if  he  trode  the  waters, 
And  used  them  as  his  path. 

Fourth  Vil.  It  is  a  merman, 

And  nothing  of  this  earth,  alive  or  dead. 

[By  degrees  all  the  Dancers  break  off 
from  their  sport,  and  stand  gazing  to 
seaward,  while  an  olyect,  imperfectly 
seen,  drifts  towards  the  Beach,  and  at 
length  arrives  among  the  rocks  which 
bordtr  the  tides. 


•It 


w,  like  to  a  title  leaf, 


IB  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand." 

Id  Khig  Henri  IV. 

2  -  "  Walks  the  waiers  like  a  thine  of  life  " 

3  Thin  passage  was  probably  suggested  by  a  striking  one 
iu  Soulhey's  Life  of  Nelson,  touching  Ihe  corj  se  of  th« 
Neapolitan    Prince    Caraccioli.   executed    on   board   the 


flag-ship,  i 


aerve,  the  most  unpleasant  'chapter  iu   Lord  Nelson's  las- 
ton-:— 

I  sidcrable  distance  and  sunk  in  the  bay,  with  three  double- 

I 1  headed  shot,  weighing  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  tied 


to  its  lets.  Between  two  and  three  weeks  afterwards,  when 
the  King  (of  Naples)  was  on  board  the  Foiidroynnt.  a 

aea,  and  was  coming  as  fast  as  he  could  to  Naples,  swim* 
ming  half  out  of  the  water.  Such  an  account  was  listened 
to  like  a  tale  of  idle  credulity.  Theday  being  fair,  Nelson, 
to  please  ire  King,  stood  out  to  sea  ;  but  the  ship  had  not 
proceeded  far  before  a  body  wag  distinctly  seen,  upright  in 
the  water,  and  approaching  them.  It  was  recognised  in* 

flouted,  while  the  great  weights  attached  to  the  legs  kept 
the  body  in  a  position  like  that  of  a  living  man.  A  fact  so 
extraordinary  astonished  the  King,  and  perhaps  excited 

reive  Christian  burial."— Life  o/JVcbim,chap.  vi.' 


680 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Third  Vil.  Perhaps  it  is  some  wretch  who 

needs  assistance ; 
Jasper,  make  in  and  see. 

Second  Vil.  Not  1,  my  friend ; 

E'en  lake  the   risk  yourself,  you'd   put  on , 
others. 
[Hildebrand  has  entered,  and  heard  the 

turn  last  words. 
Ser.  What,  are  you  men  t 
Fear  ye  to  look  on  what  you  must  he  one  day  ? 
I.  who  have  seen  a  thousand  dead  and  dying 
Within  a  flight-shot  square,  will  teach  you 

how  in  war 
We  look  upon  the  corpse  when  life  lias  left  it. 

[He  goes  to  the  back  scene,  and  seems 
attempting  to  turn  the  body,  which  has 
come  ashore  tmtt  its  face  downwards. 

Will  none  of  you  come  aid  to  turn  the  body  ? 
Isa.   You're  cowards  all.  — I'll  help  thee. 
good  old  man. 

[She  goes  to  aid  tht  Sergeant  with  the 
body,  and  presently  gives  a  cry.  and 
faints.  Hildehrand  comes  forward. 
All  crowd  round  him  ;  he  speaks  with 
an  expression  of  horror. 

Ser.  Tis  Quentin  Blane !    Poor  youth,  his 
gloomy  bodings 

Have  been  the  prologue  to  an  act  of  dark- 
ness ; 

His  feet  are  manacled,  his  bosom  stabb'd. 

And  he  is  foully  murder'd.   The  proud  Knight 

And  his  dark  Ranger  must  have  done  this 
deed, 

For  which  no  common  ruffian  could  have  mo- 
tive. 

A  Pea,  Cantion  were  best,  old  man  — Thon 
art  a  stranser, 

The  Knight  is  great  and  powerful. 
Sfr.  Let  it  be  so. 

Call'd  on  by  Heaven  to  stand  forth  an  aven- 
ger, 

T  will  not  blench  for  fear  of  mortal  man. 

Have  I  not  seen  that  when  that  innocent 

Had  placed   her  hands   upon   the   murder'd 
body. 

His  gaping  wounds,  that  erst  were  soak'd  with 
brine, 

Burst  forth  with  blood  as  ruddy  as  the  cloud 

Which  now  the  sun  doth  rise  on  ? 
Pea.  What  of  that  ? 

&r.  Nothing  that  can  affect  the  innocent 
child, 


But  murder's  guilt  attaching  to  her  father. 
Since  the  blood  musters  in  the  victim's  veins 
At  the  approach  of  what  holds  lease  from 

him 

Of  all  that  parents  can  transmit  to  children. 
And  here  comes  one  to  whom  I'll  vouch  the 

circumstance. 

The  Earl  of  Dunbar  enters  with  Soldiers  and 
others,  having  Auchindrane  and  Philip 
prisoners. 

Dun.    Fetter    ttie    young   ruffian    and    his 

trak'rous  father ! 

[  They  are  made  secure. 
Auch.  Twas  a  lord  spoke  it— 1  have  known 

a  knight. 
Sir  George  of  Home,  who  had  not  dared  to 

say  so. 
Dun.  'Tis  Heaven,  not  I,  decides  upon  your 

guilt. 
A   harmless   youth    is    traced    within   your 

power, 
Sleeps  m  your  Ranger's  house  —  his  friend  at 

midnight 

Is  spirited  away.    Then  lights  are  seen. 
And  groans   are    heard,  and    corpses    come 

•    ashore 
Mangled  with  daegers,  while  (to  Philip)  your 

dasger  wears 

The  sanguine  livery  of  recent  slaughter: 
Here,  too.  the  body  of  a  murder'd  victim, 
( w  lioin  none  hut  you  had  interest  to  remove,) 
Bleeds  on  a  child's  approach,  because  the 

daughter 

Of  one  the  abettor  of  the  wicked  deed. 
All  this,  and  other  proofs  corroborative, 
Call  on  us  briefly  to  pronounce  the  doom 
We  have  in  charge  to  utter. 
Auch.  If  my  house  perish,  Heaven's  will  be 

done ! 

I  wish  not  to  survive  it ;  but,  O  Philip, 
Would   one   could   pay   the    ransom    for    us 

both! 
Phi.  Father,  'tis  fitter  that  we  both  should 

die. 

Leaving  no  heir  behind.— The  piety 
Of  a  bless'd  saint,  the  morals  of  an  ancho- 
rite, 

Could  not  atone  thy  dark  hypocrisy, 
Or  the  wild  profligacy  I  have  practised. 
Ruin'd    our   house,   and    shatter'd    be    our 

towers. 
And  with  them  end  the  curse  our  sins  have 

merited  I 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


681 


A   TRAGEDY. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

This  attempt  at  dramatic  composition  was 
executed  nearly  thirty  years  since,  when  the 
magnificent  works  of  Goethe  and  Schiller 
were  for  the  first  time  made  known  to  the 
British  puhlic,  and  received,  as  many  now 
alive  must  remember,  with  universal  enthu- 
siasm. What  we  admire  we  usually  attempt 
to  imitate ;  and  the  author,  not  trusting  to  his 
own  efforts,  borrowed  the  substance  of  the 
story  and  a  part  of  the  diction  from  a  drama- 
tic romance  called  "  Der  Heilige  Vehme"  (the 
Secret  Tribunal.)  which  fills  the  sixth  volume 
of  the  "  J-agen  der  Vorzeit"  (Tales  of  Anti- 
quity.) by  Beit  Weber.  The  drama  must  he 
termed  rather  a  rifanimento  of  the  original 
than  a  translation,  since  the  whole  is  com- 
pressed, and  the  incidents  and  dialogue  occa- 
sionally much  varied.  The  imi'ator  is  igno- 
rant of  the  real  name  of  his  ingenious  con- 
temporary, and  has  heen  informed  that  of 
Beit  Weber  is  fictitious.  1 

The  late  Mr.  John  Kemble  at  one  time  had 
some  desire  to  bring  out  the  ulay  at  Drury- 
Lane,  then  adorned  hy  himself  ami  his  match- 
less sister,  who  were  to  have  supported  the 
characters  of  the  unhappy  son  and  mother : 
but  great  objections  appeared  to  this  proposal 
There  was  danger  that  the  main  spring  of  the 
story,  — the  binding  engagements  formed  hy 
members  of  the  secret  tribunal,  —  might  not 
be  sufficiently  felt  by  an  English  audience,  to 
whom  the  nalure  of  that  singularly  mysterious 
institution  was  unknown  from  early  associa- 
tion. There  was  also,  according  to  Mr.  Kem- 
ble's  experienced  opinion,  too  much  blood,  too 
niiicii  of  the  dire  catastrophe  of  Tom  Thumb, 
when  all  die  on  the  stage.  It  was  besides 
esteemed  perilous  to  place  the  fifth  act  and 
the  parade  and  show  of  the  secret  conclave, 
at  the  mercy  of  underlings  and  scene-shifters, 
who,  by  a  ridiculous  motion,  gesture,  or  ac- 
cent, might  turn  what  should  be  grave  into 
farce. 

The  author,  or  rather  the  translator,  wil- 
lingly acquiesced  in  this  reasoning,  and  never 
afterwards  made  any  attempt  to  gain  the 
honour  of  the  buskin.  The  German  taste 
also,  caricatured  by  a  number  of  imitators 
who,  incapable  of  copying  the  sublimity  of  the 
great  masters  of  the  school,  supplied  its  place 
by  extravagance  and  bombast,  fell  into  disre- 
pute, and  received  a  coup  de  grace  from  the 
joint  efforts  of  the  late  lamented  Mr.  Canning 
and  Mr.  Frere.  The  effect  of  their  singularly 
happy  piece  of  ridicule  called  "  The  Hovers, 
a  mock  play  which  appeared  in  the  Anti-Jaco- 
bin, was,  that  the  German  school,  with  its 


>eauties  and  its  defects,  passed  completely 
out  of  fashion,  and  the  following  scenes  were 
umsigned  to  neglect  and  obscurity.  Very 
ately,  however,  the  writer  chanced  to  look 
.hem  over  with  feelings  very  different  from 
"tiose  of  the  adventurous  period  of  his  literary 
fe  during  which  they  had  been  written,  anil 
yet  witti  such  as  perhaps  a  reformed  libertine 
night  regard  the  illegitimate  production  of 
an  early  amour.  There  is  something  to  be 
ashamed  of,  certninly ;  but,  after  all,  paternal 
vanity  whispers  that  the  child  has  a  resem- 
blance to  the  father. 

To  this  it  need  only  be  added,  that  there  are 
n  existence  so  many  manuscript  copies  of  the 
following  play,  that  if  it  should  not  find  its 

ay  to  the  public  sooner,  it  is  certain  to  do  so 

hen  the  author  can  no  more  have  any  oppor- 
tunity of  correcting  the  press,  and  conse- 
quently at  greater  disadvantage  than  at  pre- 
sent. Being  of  too  small  a  size  or  consequence 
for  a  separate  publication,  the  piece  is  sent  as 
a  contribution  to  the  Keepsake,  where  its  de- 
merits may  lie  hidden  amid  the  beauties  of 
more  valuable  articles 

Abbotsjord.  1st  April,  1829. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Rudiger,  Baron  of  Aspen,  an  old  German  tear- 


1  George  Wachter,  who  published  Tarioo*  works  und— 
the  piw-uJnnym  of  Vat  Wrier.  vu>  bora  m  1763,  and  died 
in  1837.— Ed. 


Roderic,  Count  of  Maltingen,  chief  of  a  depart- 

ment of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  and  the  here- 

ditary enemy  of  the  family  of  Aspen. 
William,  Baron  of  Woifstem,  ally  of  Count 

Roderic. 
Bertram  of  Ebersdorf,  brother  to  the  former 

husband  of  the  Baroness  of  Aspen,  disguised 

as  a  minstrel. 
Duke  of  Bavaria. 

Reynold'  \  followers  of  the  House  of  Aspen. 
Conrad,  'Page  of  Honour  to  Henry  of  Aspen. 
Martin,  Squire  to  (ieorge  of  Aspen. 
Hugo,  Squire  to  Count  Roderic. 
Peter,  an  ancient  domestic  of  Rudiger. 
Father  Ludovic,  Chaplain  to  Rudiger. 

WOMEIC. 
Isabella,  formerly  married  to  ArnolJ  of  Ebert- 

dorf.  now  wife  of  Rudiger. 
Gertrude,  Isabella's  ni'ce.  betrothed  to  Henry. 
Soldiers,  Judges  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal, 

4c.jc. 
Scene.  —  The  Castle  of  Ebersdorf  in  Bavaria 

the  nans  of  Griefenhaus,  and  the  adjacent 

country. 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


castle  ?  Hast  thou  committed  a  crime  from 
which  Rudiger's  love  cannot  absolve  thee? 

Jsa.  O  ninny !  many  ! 

Rud.  Then"  be  this  kiss  thy  penance.  And 
tell  me.  Isabella,  hast  thou  not  founded  aeon- 
vent,  and  endowed  it  with  the  best  of  thy  late 
husband's  lands?  Av.  and 


Cje  jKJouse  of  Slspen. 

ACT  ].— SCENi;  T. 
A  n  ancient  Gothic  chamber  in  tht  castle  of  Ebfrs- 

dorf     Spears,  cross/sows,  anil  arms.  Kith  the  

horns  of  Intffalots  and  of  deer.  are.  hunu  round  I  which  1  could  liave  prized  a 
the  wall.     An  antique  buffet  with,  leakers  and 
stone  bottles. 

Rudiger.  Baron  ofAfpen,  and  his  lady,  Isabella, 

are  discovered  sitting  at  a  large  oaken  table. 

Rud.  A  plasue  upon  that  roan  horse!  Had 
he  not  stumbled  with  me  at  the  ford  after  our 
last  skirmish,  I  had  been  now  with  my  sons 


vith  a  vineyard 
,  veil  as  the  sleek 

monks.  Dost  thou  not  daily  distribute  alms 
to  twenty  pilgrims?  Dost  thou  not  cause  ten 
masses  to  be  sung  each  night  for  the  repose 
of  thy  late  husband's  soul  ? 

Isa.  It  will  not  know  repose. 

Rud.  Well,  well—  God's  peace  be  with  Ar- 
noif  of  Kbersdorf;  the  mention  of  him  makes 
thee  ever  sad,  though  so  many  years  have 


And  yonder  the  boys  are,  hardly  three  miies  passed  since  his  deal!., 
off,  battling  with  Count  Roderic,  and  their  |  Isa.  But  at  present,  dear  husband,  have  I 
father  must  lie  here  like  a  worm-eaten  manu-  i  not  the  most  just  cause  for  anxiety  ?  Are  riot 
script  in  a  convent  library'  Out  upon  it!  Out !  Henry  and  George,  our  beloved  sons,  at  this 
upon  it!  Is  it  not  hard  that  a  warrior,  who  i  very  moment  perhaps  engasred  in  doubtful 
has  travelled  so  many  leagues  to  display  Ihe  i  contest  with  our  hereditary  foe,  Count  Kodenc 


cross  on  the  walls  of  Zion.  should  be  now 
unable  to  lift  a  spear  before  his  own  castle 
gate! 

Isa  Dear  husband,  your  anxiety  retards  your 
recovery. 

Rud.  May  be  so;   but  not  less  than  yonr 


of  Maltmeen? 

Rud.  Now,  there  lies  the  difference:  you 
sorrow  that  they  are  in  daneer.  I  that  I  cannot 
share  it  with  them  —Hark!  1  hear  horses' 
feet  on  the  drawbridge.  Go  to  the  window, 
Isabell 


silence  and  melancholy !  Here  have  1  sate  j  Jsa.  (at  the  window.)  It  is  Wickerd,  your 
tins  month,  and  more,  since  that  cursed  fall! 
Neither  hunting,  nor  feasting,  nor  lance-break- 
ing for  me!  And  my  sons — George  enters  cold 
and  reserved,  as  if  he  bad  the  weight  of  the 
empire  on  his  shoulders,  utters  by  syllables  a 
cold  "  How  is  it  with  you  '!"  and  shuts  himself 
up  for  days  in  his  solitary  chamber  —  Henry, 
my  cheerful  Henry— 

Isa.  Surely,  he  at  least — 

Rud.  Even  he  forsakes  me. and  skips  up  the 
tower  staircase  like  lightning  to  join  your  fair 
vard,  Gertrude,  on  the  battlement*.  I  cannot 


in  his  place.  I  think  even  these  bruised  bones 
would  hardly  keep  me  from  her  side.  Still, 
however,  here  I  must  sit  alone. 


and  Henry.  (Enter  Wickerd.)  How  now, 
Wickerd  ?  Have  you  come  to  blows  yet? 

Wic.  Not  yet,  noble  sir. 

Rud.  Not  yet  ?  —  shame  on  the  boys'  daily- 
ins  —  what  wait  they  for  ? 

Wic.  The  foe  is  strongly  posted,  sir  knight. 
apon  the  Wolfshill.  near  the  ruins  of  Uriefen- 
haus;  therefore  your  noble  son,  George  of 
Aspen,  greets  you  well,  and  requests  twenty 
more  men  at-arms.  and.  after  they  have  joined 


blame  him:  tor,  by  my  knightly  faith,  were  I    him,  he  hopes,  with  the  aid  of  St.  Theodore, 


to  send  you  news  of  victory. 

Rud.  (attempts  to  rise  hastily.)  Saddle  my 
{black  barb;  I  will  head  them  myself.     (Sitl 


Isa.  Notalone.dear  husband.  Heaven  knows  i  down.)  A  murrain  on  that  stumbling  roan! 
what  I  would  do  to  soften  your  confinement.  >  I  had  forgot  my  dislocated  bones.  Call  Rey- 

Rud.  Tell  me  not  of  that,  lady.  When  I  nold.  Wickerd,  and  bid  him  take  all  whom  be 
first  knew  thee,  Isabella,  the  fair  maid  of  Arn-  can  spare  from  defence  of  the  castle — ( Wick- 

heim  was  the  joy  of  her  companions,  and  , erd  is  going) and  ho!  Wickerd.  cany  with 

breathed  life  wherever  she  came.  Thy  father  i  you  my  black  barb,  and  bid  George  charge 
married  thee  to  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf — not  j  upon  him.  (Exit  Wickerd.)  Now"  see,  Isa- 
much  with  thy  will,  'tis  true  —  (she  hides  her  j  bella,  if  I  disregard  the  boy's  safety;  1  send 
face)  Nay — forgive  me,  Isabella — but  that  is  him  the  best  horse  ever  knight  bestrode. 


over — he  died,  and  the  ties  between  us,  which 
thy  marriage  had  broken,  were  renewed — but 
the  sunshine  of  my  Isabella's  light  heart  re- 
turned no  more. 
Isa  (weeping.)  Beloved  Rudiger.  you  search 


When  we  lay  before  Ascalon.  indeed,  I  had  a 
bright  bay  Persian — Thou  dosl  not  heed  me. 

Jsa  Forgive  me,  dear  husband ;  are  not 
our  sons  in  clanger?  Will  not  our  sins  be 
visited  upon  them  ?  Is  not  their  present  situ- 


my  very  soul !   Why  will  you  recall  past  times   alum 

— days  of  spring  that  can  never  return?  Do  1 1  Rud.  Situation  ?  I  know  it  well :  as  fair  a 
not  love  thee  more  than  ever  wife  loved  bus-  ,  field  for  open  fight  as  i  ever  hunted  over :  see 
band  ?  here  —  (makes  lines  on  Ihe  table)  —  here  is  the 

Rud,  (stretches  out  his  arms — she  embraces  ancient  castle  of  Griefenhaus  in  rums,  here 
Aim.)  And  therefore  art  thou  ever  my  be-  j  the  Wolfshill;  and  here  the  marsh  on  the 
loved  Isabella.  But  stiil.  is  it  not  true  ?  Has  i  right. 

Isa.  The  marsh  of  Griefenhaus ! 

Rud.  Yes;  by  that  the  boys  must  pass 

Jsa.  Pass  there  !  (Apart.)  Avensing  Heaven ! 
thv  hand  is  upon  us !  (Exit  hastily. 

Rud.  Whither  now?  Whither  now  ?   She  is 


not  thy  cheerfulness  vanished  since  thou  hast 
become  Lady  of  Aspen  ?  Dost  thou  repent  of 
thy  love  to  Kudiger? 

Jsa.  Alas!  no!  never!  never! 

Rud.  Then  whv  dost  thou  herd  with  monks 


and  priesis,  and  leave  thy  old  knight  alone,  gone.  Thus  it  goes  Peter!  Peter!  (Enter 
when,  for  the  first  lime  m  bis  stormy  life,  he  Peter.)  Help  me  to  the  gallery,  that  I  may  see 
has  rested  for  weeks  within  the  walls  of  his  them  on  horseback.  [Exit,  leaning  on  Peter. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


683 


SCENE  II. 

The  inner  court  of  the  castle  of  Ebersdorf;  a 
guoilramjle,  surrounded  with  Gothic  buildings ; 
troopers,  followers  of  Rudder,  pass  and  re- 
pass  in  haste,  as  if  preiiatiny  fur  an  excur- 
sion. 

Wickerd  comes  forward. 
Wic.  What,  lio !    Reynold  !    Reynold !— By 
our  l.ady,  the  spirit  of  Hie  Seven'Sleepers  is 
upon  inm  — So  ho!  uot  mounted  yet?    Rey- 
nold ! 

Enter  Reynold. 

Kfy.  Here !  here  !  A  devil  choke  thy  bawl- 
ins!  thinkst  them  old  Reynold  is  not  as  ready 
fora  skirmish  a<  thuu? 

Wic.  N»y.  nay:  I  did  hut  jest;  but,  by  my 
sooth,  it  were  a  shame  should  our  youngsters 
have  yoked  with  Count  Roderick  before  we 
grevbeard 


I  priests  will  not  absolve  her  for  the  breach  of 
that  vow.  and  therefore  she  is  troubled  in 
mind.  For,  d'ye  mark  me,  Reynold 

_  [  Bugle  sounds. 

Key  A  truce  to  your  preaching !  To  horse! 
and  a  blessing  on  our  arms ! 

Wic.  St.  George  grant  it  I  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  HI. 

The  gallery  of  the  castle,  terminating  in  a  large 
oa/cony  commanding  a  distant  prospect  — 
\mcis,  ovule-horns,  kettle-drums,  tramnlina 
of  horses,  tj-c.  are  heard  without. 

Rudiger,  leaning  on  Peter,  looks  from  the  bal- 
cony.   Gertrude  and  Isabella  are  near  him. 
Rud.  There  they  no  at  length —  look,  Isa- 


grevbeards come.  Kud.    I  here  they  go  at  length  — look,  Isa- 

Rey.  Heaven  forefend!  Our  troopers  are  nellil !  1<K)k-  mV  pretty  Gertrude  — these  are 
but  saddling  their  horses;  five  minutes  more,  i the  iron-handed  warriors  who  shall  tell  Knde- 
and  we  are  in  our  stirrups,  and  then  let  Count  I  rlclt  wnat  "  wl"  °"st  him  to  force  thee  from 
Rodcric  sit  fast.  "'V  protection  —  (flourish  without.  Rudiaer 


trude. 

Wic.  Ay.  marry !  would  nothing  less  serve 
ttie  fox  of  Maltingen  than  thn  lovely  larnb  of 
mr  young  Baron  Hcmy  !  By  my  sooth,  Rey- 


o        o  oo,     e- 

nold, when  1  look  upon  these  two  lovers,  they 
make  me  full  twenty  years  younger;  and 
when  I  meet  the  man  that 


uld  divide  them 


OH*J  pinca  uccy    outline  on  it  mat  1  cannot 

mm  him  !  Seest  thou  how  fierce  old  Rey- 
nold looks? 

Ger.  I  can  hardly  know  my  friends  in  their 
armour. 

[The  buoles  and  kettle-drums  are  heard 
as  at  a  greater  distance. 

Rud.  Now  I  conld  tell  every  one  of  their 
names,  even  at  this  distance ;  ay,  and  were 
they  covered,  as  I  have  seen  them,  with  dust 
and  blood.  He  on  the  dapple  grey  is  Wjckerd 
—  a  hardy  fellow,  but  somewhat  given  to 
prating.  That  is  young  Conrad  who  gallops 
so  fast,  page  to  thy  Henry,  my  girl. 

[Buules,  4-c.,  at  a  greater  distance  still. 

Ger.  Heaven  guard  them  Alas!  the  voice 
of  war  that  calls  the  blood  into  your  cheeks 
chills  and  freezes  mine. 

Rud  Say  not  so.  It  is  glorious,  my  girl, 
glorious!  See  how  their  armour  glistens  as 
they  wind  round  yon  hill !  how  their  spears 
glimmer  amid  the  long  train  of  dust.  Hark  1 
yon  can  still  hear  the  faint  notes  of  their 
trumpets— (Buolts  very  faint.)— And  Rudiger, 
old  Rudiger  with  the  iron  arm,  as  the  crusa- 
ders used  to  call  me,  must  remain  behind 
with  the  priests  and  the  women.  Well !  well ! 
D^vVrha7eUsholyTater."™BMCMa7tin7s0a'Kood  -(S"*W-) 
soldier  and  hasstood  toughly  by  George  in  « It  was  ,  knj  ht  to  hat,,e  ^ 

n"$ca  The"  Se  is  sturdy  enough,  but  so  And  »  h's  "«-"•>«•  »'  ^strode." 
sulky  withal  -  1  have  seen,  brother  Reynold.  Fi,|  me  a  „<„„,  of  wjne    Gertrude ;  and  do 
that  when  Martin  showed  his  moody  visage  at  ith()1I.    peteri    ^n    the    mlnstrel   who    caiue 
the  banquet,  our  nob*  mistress  has  dropped  hither  last  night  -(Kings  ) 
the  wine  she  was  raising  to  her  lips,  and  ex- 
changed her  smiles  for  a  ghastly  frown,  as  if  «  off  rode  the  horseman,  dash,  sa,  sa ! 
sorrow  went  by  sympathy,  as  kissing  goes  by  Am]  stroked  his  whiskers,  tra.  la.  la."— 
lavour. 


—I  say  nothing— but  let  him  look  to  it. 

Key.  And  how  fare  our  young  lords  ? 

Wic.  Each  well  in  his  humour  — Baron 
George  stern  and  cold,  according  to  his  wont, 
and  his  brother  as  cheerful  as  ever. 

Rey.  Well !— Baron  Henry  for  me. 

Wic.  Vet  George  saved  tiiy  life 

Rey.  True— with  as  much  indifference  as  if 
he  had  been  snatching  a  chestnut  out  of  the 
fire.  Now  Baron  Henry  wept  for  my  danger 
and  my  wounds.  Therefore  George  shall  ever 
command,  my  life,  but  Henry  my  love. 

Wic.  Nay,  Baron  George  shows  his  gloomy 
spirit  even  by  the  choice  of  a  favourite 

Rey.  Ay  —  Martin,  formerly  the  squire  of 
Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  his  mother's  first  hus- 
band.—I  marvel  he  could  not  have  fitted  him- 
self with  an  attendant  from  among  the  faith- 
ful followers  of  his  worthy  father,  whom 
Arnolf  and  his  adherents  used  to  hate  as  the 


684 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Enter  Bertram  as  a  mins/rel,  with  a  boy  bearing 
his  harp.— Also  Peter. 

Rud.  Thy  nnme.  minstrel ! 

Ber.  Mint'oid.  so  please  you. 

Rud.  Art  thou  a  German  ! 

Ber.  \Tes,  noble  sir;  aud  of  this  province. 

Rud.  Sing  me  a  sons  of  battle. 

I  Bertram  sings  to  the  harp. 

Rud.  Thanks,  minstrel :  well  sung,  and  lus- 
tily. What  sayst  thou,  Isabella? 

Isn.  I  marked  him  not. 

Rud.  Nay,  in  sooth  yon  are  too  anxious. 
Cheer  up.  And  thou.  too.  my  lovely  Ger- 
trude :  in  a  few  hours  thy  Henry  shall  return, 
and  twine  his  laurels  into  a  garland  for  thy 
hair.  He  fights  for  thee.  and  he  most  conquer. 

Ger.  Alas !  must  blood  be  spilled  for  a  silly 
maiden  ? 

Rud.  Surely:  for  what  should  knighls  break 
lances  but  for  honour  and  ladies'  love  — ha, 
minstrel ? 

Ber.  So  please  you — also  to  punish  crimes. 

Rud.  Out  upon  it!  wouldst  have  us  execu- 
tioners, minstrel  ?  Such  work  would  disgrace 
our  blades.  We  leave  malefactors  to  the  Se- 
cret Tribunal. 

Isa.  Merciful  God!  Thou  bast  spoken  a 
word,  Rucliger.  of  dreadful  import. 

Ger.  They  say  that,  unknown  and  invisible 
themselves,  these  awful  judges  are  ever  pre- 
sent with  the  guilty;  that  the  past  and  the 
present  misdeeds,  the  secrets  of  the  confes- 
sional, nay,  the  very  thoughts  of  the  heart. 
are  before  them ;  that  their  doom  is  as  sure 
as  that  of  fate,  the  means  and  executioners 
unknown 

Rud.  They  say  true  — the  secrets  of  that 
association,  and  the  names  of  those  who  com- 
pose it.  are  as  inscrutable  as  the  grave :  we 
only  know  that  it  has  taken  deep  root,  and 
spread  its  branches  wide.  I  sit  down  each 
day  in  my  hall,  nor  know  I  how  many  of  these 
secret  judges  may  surround  me,  all  bound  by 
the  most  solemn  vow  to  avenge  guilt.  Once, 
and  but  once,  a  knight,  at  the  earnest  request 
and  inquiries  of  the  emperor,  hinted  I  hat  he 
belonged  to  the  society  :  the  next  morning  he 
was  found  slain  in  a  forest:  the  poniard  was 
left  in  the  wound,  and  bore  this  label—'-  Thus 
do  the  invisible  judges  punish  treachery." 

Ger.  Gracious !  aunt,  you  grow  pale. 

Isa.  A  slight  indisposition  ouly. 

Rod.  And  what  of  it  all  ?  We  know  our 
hearts  are  open  to  our  Creator :  shall  we  fear 
any  earthly  inspection  7  Come  to  the  battle- 
ments ;  there  we  shall  soonest  descry  the  re- 
turn of  our  warriors. 

[Exit  fiudiger,  utith  Gertrude  and  Peter. 

ha.  Minstrel,  send  the  chaplain  hither. 
(Exit  Bertram  )  Gracious  Heaven !  the  guile- 
less innocence  of  my  niece,  the  manly  honesty 
of  my  upright-hearted  Rudiger,  become  daily 
tortures  to  me.  While  he  was  engaged  in 
active  and  stormy  exploits,  fear  for  his  safety, 
joy  when  he  returned  to  his  castle,  enabled 
me  to  disguise  my  inward  anguish  from  others. 
But  from  myself— Judges  of  blood,  that  lie 
concealed  in  noontide  as  in  midnight,  who 
boast  to  avenge  the  hidden  guilt,  and  to  pene- 
trate the  recesses  of  the  human  breast,  how 
blind  is  your  penetration,  how  vain  your  dag- 
ger, and  your  cord,  compared  to  the  conscience 
of  the  sinner ! 


Enter  Father  Ludovic. 

Lvd.  Peace  be  with  you,  laJy  ! 

Isa.  Tt  is  not  with  me :  it  is  thy  office  to 
bring  it. 

Lud.  And  the  cause  is  the  absence  of  the 
young  knights  ? 

Isa.  Their  absence  and  their  dancer. 

Lud.  Daughter,  thy  hand  has  been  stretch- 
ed out  in  bounty  to  the  sick  and  to  the  needy. 
Thou  hast  not  denied  a  shelter  to  the  weary, 
nor  a  tear  to  the  afflicted.  Trust  in  their 
prayers,  and  in  those  of  the  holy  convent 
thou  hast  founded :  peradventure  they  will 
bring  back  thy  children  to  thy  bosom. 

Isa.  Thy  brethren  cannot  pray  for  me  or 
mine.  Their  vow  binds  them  to  pray  night 
and  day  for  another— to  supplicate,  without 
ceasing,  the  Eternal  Mercy  for  the  soul  of  one 
who  —  Oh,  only  Heaven  knows  how  much  he 
needs  their  prayer! 

Lud.  Unl>ounded  is  the  mercy  of  Heaven, 
The  soul  of  thy  former  husband 

Isa.  1  charge  thee.  priest,  mention  not  the 
word.  (Apart.)  Wretch  that  J  am,  the  mean- 
est menial  in  my  train  has  power  to  goad  me 
to  madness ! 

Lud.  Hearken  to  me.  daughter ;  thy  crime 
against  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf  cannot  bear  in 
the  eye  of  Heaven  so  deep  a  dye  of  gui:t. 

Isa.  Repeat  that  once  more  ;  say  once  again 
that  it  cannot  —  cannot  bear  so  deep  a  dye. 
Prove  to  me  that  ages  of  the  bitterest  pen- 
ance, that  tears  of  the  dearest  blood,  can 
erase  such  guilt.  Prove  but  that  to  me,  and 
I  will  build  thee  an  abbey  which  shall  put  to 
shame  the  fairest  fane  in  Christendom. 

Lud.  Nay.  nay.  daughter,  your  conscience 
is  over  tender.  Supposing  that,  under  Uread 
of  the  stern  Arnolf.  you  swore  never  to  marry 
your  present  husband,  still  the  exacting  such 
an  oath  was  unlawful,  aud  the  breach  of  it 
venial. 

Isa.  (resuming  her  composure.)  Be  it  so,  good 
father;  I  yield  to  thy  better  reasons.  And 
now  tell  me,  has  thy  pious  care  achieved  the 
task  I  intrusted  to  thee? 

Lud.  Of  superintending  the  erection  of  thy 
new  hospital  for  pilgrims  ?  I  have,  nohie  lady : 
and  last  night  the  minstrel  now  in  the  castle 
lodged  there. 

Isa.  Wherefore  came  he  then  to  the  cnstle  ? 

Lud.  Reynold  brought  the  commands  of  the 
Baron. 

Jsa.  Whence  comes  he,  and  what  is  his 
tale?  When  he  sung  before  Rudiser,  1  thought 
that  long  before  1  had  heard  such  tones— seen 
such  a  face. 

Lud.  It  is  possible  you  may  have  seen  him, 
lady,  for  he  boasts  to  have  been  known  to 
Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  and  to  have  lived  for- 
merly in  this  castle.  He  inquires  much  after 
Martin.  Arnolf 's  squire. 

Isa.  Go,  Ludovic — go  quick,  good  father, 
seek  him  out,  give  him  this  purse,  and  bid 
him  leave  the  castle,  aud  speed  him  on  his 
way. 

Lud   May  I  ask  why.  noble  lady  ? 

Isn.  Thou  art  inquisitive,  priest :  I  honour 
the  servants  of  God,  but  I  foster  not  the  pry- 
ing spirit  of  a  monk.  Begone ! 

Lud.  But  the  Baron,  lady,  will  expect  a 
reason  why  1  dismiss  las  guest  ? 

Isa.  True,  true  (recoiitctiny  herself;)  pardon 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


685 


my  warmth,  good  fallier.  I  was  thinking  of  the 
cuckoo  that  prows  too  bis  for  the  nest  of  the 
sparrow,  and  strangles  its  foster-mother  Do 
no  such  birds  roost  in  ronvent-walis  ? 

Lud.   Lady,  I  understand  you  not. 

Isa.  Well,  then,  say  to  the  Baron,  that  I 
have  dismissed  ling  ago  all  the  attendants  of 
the  man  of  whom  thou  hast  spoken,  and  that 
I  wish  to  have  none  of  them  beneath  my 
roof. 

Lud.  (inquisitively  )  Except  Martin  ? 

Isa.  (sharply  )    Except  Martin  !  who  saved 

the  life  of  my  son  George !    Do  as  I  command 

thee.  lEx,t. 

Manet  Ludnvio. 

Lud.  Ever  the  same— stern  and  peremptory 
to  others  as  rigorous  to  herself;  haughty  even 
to  me.  to  whom,  in  another  mood,  she  has 
knelt  for  absolution,  mid  whose  knees  she  has 
bathed  in  tears.  I  cannot  fathom  her.  The 
Quanta  ml  zeal  with  which  she  performs  her 
dreadful  penances  cannot  be  religion,  for 
shrewdly  I  suess  she  believes  not  in  their 
blessed  efficacy.  Well  for  her  that  she  is  the 
foundress  of  our  convent,  otherwise  we  might 
not  have  erred  in  denouncing  her  as  a  here- 
tic! t 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  woodbind  prospect.  —  Through  a  long  avenue 
lia/f  urnum  up  by  brambles,  are  discerned  in 
the  bnck-ijrnund  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Castle 
of  Griefenhaus  —  The  distant  noise  of  battle 
is  heard  during  this  scene. 

Enter  George  of  Aspen,  armed  with  a  battle- 

axf.  in  his  hand,  as  .from  horseback,  he  sup- 
ports Martin,  and  brings  him  forward. 

Geo.  Lay  thee  down  here,  old  friend.  y, 
enemy's  horsemen  will  hardly  take  their  way 
among  these  brambles,  through  which  1  have 
dragged  thee. 

Mar.  Oh.  do  not  leave  me!  leave  me  not  an 
instant !  My  moments  are  now  but  few,  and 
I  would  profit  by  them. 

Gr.o.  Martin,  you  forget  yourself  and  me— 1 
must  back  to  the  field. 

Mar.  (attempts  to  nse.)  Then  drag-  me  back 
thither  also ;  I  cannot  die  but  in  your  presence 
— I  darn  not  be  alone.  Stay,  to  give  peace  to 
my  parting  soul. 

Geo.  1  am  no  priest,  Martin.     (Going.) 

Mar.  (raising  himself  unth  great  pain.)  Baron 
George  of  Aspen,  I  saved  lliy  life  in  battle: 
for  that  good  deed,  hear  me  but  one  moment. 

Geo.  I  hear  thee.  my  poor  friend.  (Return- 
ing ) 

Mar.  But  come  close  —  very  close.  See'st 
thou.  sir  knight  —  this  wound  I  bore  for  thee 
—  and  this — and  this  —  dost  thou  not  remem- 
ber? 

Geo.  I  do. 

Mar  I  have  served  thee  since  thou  wast  a 
child  :  served  thee  faithfully— was  never  from 
thy  side. 

Geo.  Thou  hast 

Mar.  And  now  I  die  in  thy  service. 

Geo.  Thou  may'st  recover. 

Mar.  1  cannot  By  my  long  service — by  my 
oars —  by  this  mortal  gash,  and  by  the  death 
that  I  am  to  die — oh.  do  not  hate  me  for  what 
1  am  now  to  unfold ! 


Geo.  Be  assured  I  can  never  hate  thee. 

Mar.  Ah.  thou  little  knowest Swear  to 

me  thou  wilt  speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  my 
parting  soul. 

Geo  (takes  his  hand)  I  swear  I  will.  (Alarm 
anil  .i/ioating.)  But  be  brief— thou  knowest 
my  haste. 

Mar.  Hear  me,  then.  I  was  the  squire,  the 
beioved  and  favourite  attendant,  of  Arnolf  of 
hber^dorf.  Arnolf  was  savage  as  the  moun- 
tain bear.  He  loved  the  Lady  Isabel,  but  she 
requited  not  his  passion.  She  loved  thy  fa- 
ther; but  her  sire,  old  Arnheim.  was  the 
friend  of  Arnolf.  and  she  was  forced  to  marry 
him  By  midnight,  in  the  chapel  of  Kbers- 
dorf,  the  ill-omened  rites  were  performed; 
her  resistance,  her  screams  were  in  vain. 
1  hese  arms  detained  her  at  the  altar  till  the 
nuptial  benediction  was  pronounced.  Canst 
thou  forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  I  do  forgive  thee.  Thy  obedience  to 
thy  savase  muster  has  been  obliterated  by  a 
long  train  of  services  to  his  widow. 

Mar.  Services!  ay,  bloody  services!  for  they 
commenced— do  not  quit  niy  hand— they  com- 
menced with  the  murder  of  my  master. 
(George  amis  hts  hand,  and  stands  ayhast  in 
speechless  horror)  Trample  on  me!  pursue 
me  with  your  dageer!  I  aided  your  mother 
to  poison  her  first  husband !  I  thank  Heaven, 
it  is  said. 

Geo.  My  mother?  Sacred  Heaven!  Mar- 
tin, thou  ravest  — the  fever  of  thy  wound  has 
distracted  thee. 

Mar.  .No!  I  am  not  mad!  Would  to  God  I 
were!  Try  me!  Yonder  is  the  Wolfshiil  — 
yonder  the  old  castle  of  Griefenhaus  — and 
yonder  is  the  hemlock  marsh  (in  a  whisper) 
where  1  gathered  the  deadly  plant  that  drug- 
ged Arnolf 's  cnp  of  death.  (George  traverse! 
the  stage  in  the  utmost  agitation,  and  sometime* 
stands  over  Martin  with  his  hands  clasped  toge- 
ther.) Oh.  had  you  seen  him  when  the  potion 
took  effect!  Had  you  heard  his  ravings,  and 
seen  the  contortions  of  his  ghastly  visage !  — 
He  died  furious  and  impenitent,  as  he  lived; 
and  went— where  I  am  shortly  to  go.  You  do 
not  speak  ? 

Geo  (unth  exertion)  Miserable  wretch !  how 
can  I? 

Mar.  Can  you  not  forgive  me? 
Geo.  May  God  pardon  thee— 1  cannot  I 

Mar.  I  saved  thy  life 

Geo.  For  that,  take  my  curse !  (He  snatches 
up  his  battle-axe,  and  rushes  out  to  the  side  from 
which  the  noise  is  heard.  J 

Mar.  Hear  me!  yet  more  —  more  horror! 
(Attempts  to  rise,  and  Jolts  heavily.  A  loud 
ilarm.) 

Enter  Wickerd,  hastily. 

Wic.  In  the  name  of  God,  Martin,  lend  me 
thy  brand! 

Mar.  Take  it. 

Wic.  Where  is  it  ? 

Mar.  (looks  wildly  at  Mm.)  In  the  chapel  at 
Ebersdorf,  or  buried  in  the  hemlock  marsh. 

Wic.  The  old  grumbler  is  crazy  with  his 
•ounds.  Martin,  if  thou  hast  a  spark  of  rea- 
son in  thee,  give  me  thy  sword.  The  day 
goes  sore  against  us. 

Mar.  There  it  lies.  Bury  it  in  the  heart  of 
thv  master  George;  thoo  wilt  do  him  a  good 
office — the  office  of  a  faithful  servant. 


686 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Enter  Conrad. 

Con.  Away.  Wjckerd  !  to  horse,  and  pur- 
sue! Baron  George  has  turned  the  day;  he 
fights  n, ure  like  a  fiend  than  a  man  :  he  has 
unhorsed  Koderic.  and  slain  sir  of  his  troopers 
—  they  are  in  headlong  flight —  the  hemlock 
marsh  is  red  with  their  gore  !  (Martin  gives  a 
deep  groan,  and  faints  )  A  way  !  away  !  ( They 
hurry  off,  as  to  the  pursuit  ) 

Enter  Roderic  of  Maltingen.  without  his  helmet, 

his  arms  disordered  and  brokrn,  holdina  tlie 

truncheon  of  a  spear  in  his  hand ;  with,  him, 

Baron  Wolfstein. 

Rod.  A  corse  on  fortune,  and  a  double  curse 
upon  George  of  Aspen  !  Never,  never  will  I 
forgive  him  my  disgrace  —  overthrown  like  a 
rotten  trunk  before  a  whirlwind  ! 

Wolf  Be  comforted.  Count  Roderic;  it  is 
well  we  have  escaped  being  prisoners.  See 
how  the  troopers  of  Aspen  pour  along  'he 
plain,  like  the  billows  of  the  Rhine!  It  is 
good  we  are  shrouded  by  the  thicket. 

Rod.  Why  took  he  not  my  life,  when  he 
ml. bed  me  of  my  honour  and  of  my  love? 
Why  did  his  spear  not  pierce  my  heart,  when 
mine  shivered  on  his  arms  like  a  frail  bulrush  ? 
( Throws  down  the  broken  spear. )  Bear  witness, 
heaven  and  earth,  I  outlive  this  disgrace  only 
lo  avenge! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted  ;  the  knights  of  Aspen 
have  not  earned  a  bhxxlless  victory.  And  see, 
there  lies  one  uf  George's  followers  —  (seeing 
Martin.) 

Rod.  His  squire  Martin  ;  if  he  be  not  dead, 
we  will  secure  him  :  lie  is  the  depository  of 
the  secrets  of  his  master.  Arouse  thee,  trusty 
follower  of  the  house  of  Aspen  ! 

Mar  (reviving.)  Leave  me  not!  leave  me 
not.  Baron  George !  my  eyes  are  darkened 
with  agony  !  I  have  not  yet  told  all. 

Wolf.  The  old  man  takes  you  for  his  mas- 
ter. 

Rod    What  wouldst  thou  tell  ? 

Mar.  Oh,  I  would  tell  all  the  temptations 
by  which  I  was  urged  to  the  murder  of  Ebers- 
dbrf! 

Rod.  Murder ! — this  is  worth  marking.  Pro- 
ceed. 

Mar.  I  loved  a  maiden,  daughter  of  Arnolf's 
steward :  my  master  seduced  her— she  became 
an  outcast,  and  died  in  misery — 1  vowed  ven- 
geance— and  I  did  avenge  her. 

Rod.  Hadst  thou  accomplices? 

Mar.  None,  but  thy  mother. 

Rod.  The  Lady  Isabella! 

Mar.  Ay  :  she  hated  her  husband  :  he  knew 
her  love  to  Rudiger.  and  when  she  heard  that 
thy  father  was  returned  from  Palestine,  her 
life  was  endangered  by  the  transports  of  his 
jealousy  —  thus  prepared  for  evil,  the  fiend 
tempted  us.  and  we  fell. 

Rod.  (breaks  into  a  transport )  Fortune  !  thou 
hast  repaid  me  all !  Love  and  vengeance  are 
my  own!  —  Wolfstein,  recall  our  followers! 
quick,  sound  thy  bugle — (Wolfstein  sounds.) 

Mar.  (stares  wildly  round  )  '1  hat  was  no 
note  of  Aspen — Count  Roderic  of  Malliiigen— 
Heaven !  what  have  I  said  ! 

Rod.  What  thou  canst  not  recall. 

Mar.  Then  is  niy  fate  decreed !  'Tis  as  it 
should  be!  in  this  very  place  was  the  poison 
gather'd— 'tis  retribution! 


Enter  three  or  four  soldiers  of  Roderic. 

Rod.  Secure  this  wounded  trooper  ;  bind  his 
wounds,  and  guard  him  well  :  carry  him  to 
the  ruins  of  Gnefenhaus,  and  conceal  him  till 
the  troopers  of  Aspen  have  retired  from  the 
pursuit ; — look  to  him.  us  you  love  your  lives. 

Mar.  (led  off  by  toUiert.)  Ministers  of  ven- 
geance '  my  hour  is  come  !  [Exttmt. 

Rod.  Hope,  joy.  and  triumph,  once  again 
are  ye  mine!  Welcome  to  my  heart,  long- 
absent  visitants  !  One  lucky  chance  has  thrown 
dominion  into  the  scale  of  the  house  of  Mal- 
tingen, and  Aspen  kicks  the  beam. 

Wolf.  I  foresee,  indeed,  dishonour  to  the 
family  of  Aspen,  should  this  wounded  squire 
make  good  his  tale. 

Rod.  And  how  thinkest  thou  this  disgrace 
will  fall  on  them  ? 

Wolf.  Surely,  by  the  public  punishment  of 
Lady  Isabella. 

Rod    And  is  that  all  ? 

Wolf.  What  more T 

Rod.  Shortsighted  that  thou  art.  is  not 
George  of  Aspen,  as  well  as  thou.  a  member 
of  the  holy  and  invisible  circle,  over  wnich  I 
preside  ? 

Wolf.  Speak  lower,  for  God's  sake !  these 
are  things  not  to  be  mentioned  before  the  sun. 

Rod.  True :  hut  stands  he  not  hound  by  the 
must  solemn  oath  religion  can  devise,  to  dis- 
cover to  the  tribunal  whatever  concealed 
iniquity  shall  come  to  his  knowledge,  be  the 
perpetrator  whom  he  may  — ay,  were  that 
perpetrator  his  own  father  — or  mother;  and 
can  you  doubt  that  he  has  heard  Martin's 
confession  ? 

Wolf.  True:  but,  blessed  Virgin!  do  you 
think  he  will  accuse  his  own  mother  before 
the  invisible  judges? 

Rod.  If  not,  he  becomes  forsworn,  and,  by 
our  law.  must  die.  Kither  way  my  vengeance 
is  complete — perjured  or  parricidei  I  care  not ; 
hut,  as  the  one  or  the  other  shall  I  crush  the 
haughty  George  of  Aspen. 

Wall    Thy  vengeance  strikes  deep. 

Rod.  Deep  as  the  wounds  I  have  borne  from 
this  proud  family.  Rudiger  slew  my  father  in 
battle  — George' has  twice  baffled  and  disho- 
noured my  arms,  and  Henry  has  stolen  the 
heart  of  my  beloved  :  but  no  longer  can  Ger- 
trude now  remain  under  the  c;ire  of  the  mur- 
derous dam  of  this  brood  of  wolves  ;  far  less 
can  she  wed  the  smooth-cheeked  boy,  when 
this  scene  or  viJlany  shall  be  disclosed. 

[Bugle. 

Wolf.  Hark  !  they  sound  a  retreat :  let  us 
go  deeper  into  the  wood. 

Rod.  The  victors  approach !  I  shall  dash 
their  triumph!  —  Issue  the  private  summons 
for  convoking  the  members  this  very  evening ; 
I  will  direct  the  other  measures. 

Wolf.  What  place? 

Rod.  The  old  chapel  in  the  ruins  of  Grief- 
enhaus,  as  usual.  \_Extutit. 

SCENE  II. 
Enter  George  of  Aspen,  as  from  the  pursuit. 

GfO.  (comes  slowly  forward)  How  many 
wretches  have  sunk  under  my  arm  this  day, 
to  whom  life  was  sweet,  though  the  wretched 
bondsmen  of  Count  Roderic  f  And  I  — I  who 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


687 


ought  death  beneath  every  lifted  battle-axe, 
uid  offered  my  breast  to  every  arrow  — I  am 
:ursed  with  victory  and  safety.  Here  1  left 

he  wretch Martin!— Martin  !— what,  ho! 

il  art  in  ! Mother  of   God  !    he   is   gone  ! — 


remain,  with  twenty  troopers  and  a  score  of 
nros«hownieii.  and  scour  the  woods  towards 
Griefenhaus,  to  prevent  the  fugitives  from 
unking  head.  We  will,  with  the  rest,  to 
Ehersdnrf.  What  say  you.  brother? 


\ianm  . .Mouier    o(     wju  :     UK    is    snut:  : —     ijuersuori.      v>  n;ii  sav  you.  onunei  ! 

Snould   he   repeat  the  dreadful  tale  to  any       Geo    Well  ordered.     Wickerd.   look   thou 

other Martin! — He  answers  not.     Perhaps  i  search  everywhere  for  Martin:  bring  him  to 

le  has  crept  into  the  thicket,  and  died  there —   me  dead  or  alive;  leave  not  a  nook  of  the 
were  it  so.  the  horrible  secret  is  only  mine.        wood  unsought. 

War    I  warrant  vou.  noble  sir.  I  shall   find 


Enter  Henry  of  Aspen,  with  Wickerd,  Rey- 
nold, and  followers. 

Hen.  Joy  to  thee,  brother!  though,  by  St. 
Francis,  I  would  not  gain  another  field  at  the 
;>nee  of  seeing  thee  fight  with  such  reckless 
desperation.  Thy  safety  is  little  less  than 

iraculous. 

Rfy.  By'r  Lady,  when  Baron  George  struck, 
I  think  he  must'have  forgot  that  his  foes  were 
God's  creatures.  Such  furious  doings  1  never 
;aw,  and  1  have  b*-en  a  trooper  these  forty- 
wo  years  come  St.  Barnaby 

Geo   Peace!    Saw  any  of  you  Martin J 

Wic.  Noble  sir,  I  left  him  here  not  long 
iince. 

Geo.  Alive  or  dead? 

Wic.  Alive,  noble  sir,  but  sorely  wounded. 
I  think  he  must  be  prisoner,  for  he  could  not 
have  budged  else  from  hence. 

Geo.  Heedless  slave  !  Wliydidst  thou  leave 
him  ? 

Hen  Dear  brother,  Wirkerd  acted  for  the 
best:  he  came  to  our  assistance  and  the  aid 
>f  his  companions. 

Geo.  I  tell  thee,  Henry,  Martin's  safety  was 
of  more  importance  than  the  lives  of  any  ten 
that  stand  here. 

Wic.  (muttering.)  Here's  much  to  do  about 
an  old  crazy  trencher-shifter. 

Geo.  Wiiat  mutterest  thou? 

Wic  Only,  sir  knight,  that  Martin  seemed 
out  of  his  senses  when  1  left  him.  and  has 
perhaps  wandered  into  the  marsh,  and  perish 

Geo.  How — out  of  his  senses  ?  Did  he  speak 
to  thee  i—(apprelietisivcli/. ) 

Wic.  Yes.  noble  sir. 

Geo  Dear  Henry,  step  for  an  instant  to  yon 
tree  — thou  wilt  see  from  thence  if  the  foe 
rally  upon  the  Wolfshill.  (Henry  retires) 
And  do  you  stand  hack  (to  the  soldiers  ) 

[He  brinas  Wickerd  forward. 

Geo.  (with  marlitd  apprehension  )  What  did 
Martin  say  to  thee,  WiokerdJ  — tell  me,  on 
thv  allegiance. 

'Wic.  Mere  ravings,  sir  knight— offered  me 
his  sword  to  kill  you. 

Geo.  Said  he  aught  of  killing  any  one  elset 
Wic.  No:  the  pain  of  his  wound  seemed  lo 
have  brought  on  a  fever. 

Geo  (clasps  /us  hands  together.)  I  breathe 
a»ain— I  spv  comfort.  Why  could  I  not  see  as 
w'ell  as  this  fellow,  that  the  wounded  wretch 
may  have  been  distracted  ?  Let  me  at  least 
think  so  till  proof  shall  show  the  truth  (aside.) 
V\  ickerd.  think  not  on  what  I  said  —  the  ht-at 
of  the  battle  had  chafed  rny  blood.  Thou 
hast  wished  for  the  Nether  farm  at  Ebers- 
dorf— it  shall  be  thine. 

Wic.  Thanks,  my  noble  lord. 

Re-enter  Henry. 
Hen.  No-they  do  not  rally-they  have  lud 


en.       - 
enough  of  it  — but  Wickerd  and  Connid 


...ail 


Wic.  I  warrant  you,  noble  sir,  I  shall  find 
him.  could  he  clew  himself  up  like  a  dor- 
louse. 

Hen.  1  think  he  must  be  prisoner. 

Geo.  Heaven  forfend !  Take  a  trumpet. 
Eustace  (to  an  attendant;)  ride  to  the  castle 
of  Maltmgen.  and  demand  a  parley.  If  Mar- 
gin is  prisoner,  offer  any  ransom  :  offer  ten — 
twenty — all  our  prisoners  in  exchange. 

Eus.  It  shall  be  done,  sir  knight. 

Hen.  Ere  we  go,  sound  trumpets— strike  up 
the  song  of  victory. 

SOU  o. 

Joy  to  the  victors !  the  sons  of  old  Aspen ! 

Joy  to  the  rare  of  the  battle  and  scar ! 
Glory's  proud  garland  triumphantly  grasping; 
Generous  in  peace,  and  victorious  in  war. 
Honour  acquiring. 
Valour  inspiring. 

Bursting,  resistless,  through  foementheygo: 
War-axes  wielding. 
Broken  ranks  yielding, 
Till  from  the  imttie  proud  Koderic  retiring, 
Yields  in  wild  rout  the  fair  palm  to  his  foe. 
Joy  to  each  warrior,  true  follower  of  Aspen  ! 
Joy  to  the  heroes  that  gam'd  the  bold  day  ! 
Health  to  our  wounded,  in  a:ony  gasping; 
Peace  to  our  brethren  that  fell  in  the  fray ! 
Boldly  this  morning. 
Roderic's  power  scorning. 
Well  for  their  chieftain  their  blades  did  they 
wield  : 

Joy  hlest  them  dying, 
As  Maltingeii  flying. 

Low  laid  his  banners,  our  conquest  adorning. 
Their  death-clouded  eyeballs  descried  on  the 

field! 
Now  to  our  home,  the   proud   mansion  of 

Aspen. 

Bend  we,  gay  victors,  triumphant  away ; 
There  each  fond  damsel,  her  gallant  youth 

ShaU  wipe  from  his  forehead  the  stains  of 
the  fray. 

Listening  the  prancm? 
Of  horses  advancing; 

E'en  now  on  the  turrets  our  maidens  ap- 
pear; 

Love  our  hearts  warming, 
bongs  the  night  charming. 
Round  goes  the  grape   m  the  goblet  gay 

Love  wine,  a"n'd  song,  our  blithe  evening  shall 
cheer  I 

Hen  Now  spread  our  banners,  and  to  Ebers- 
dorf  in  triumph.  We  carry  relief  to  the  anxi- 
ous, joy  to  the  heart  of  the  aged,  brother 
George.  (Going  off.) 

Geo    Or  treble  misery  and  death. 

(Apart,  and  following  slowly. 
The  music  sounds,  and  the  fnllovxrs  of  Aspen 

beain  to  file  across  the  stage.  Iht  curtain  falls. 


688 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


ACT  III— SCENK  I. 

Castle  of  Ebersdorf. 

Rudiger,  Isabella,  and  Gertrude 

Rud.  I  prithee,  dear  wife,  he  merry.  It 
must  lie  over  hy  this  time,  and  happily,  other- 
wise the  had  news  had  readied  us. 

1st.  Should  we  not,  then,  have  heard  the 
tidings  of  the  good  ? 

Rial.  Oh  !  these  fly  slower  by  half.  Besides, 
I  warrant  all  of  them  engaged  in  the  pursuit. 
Oh  !  not  a  page  would  leave  the  skirts  of  the 
fugitives  till  they  were  fairly  heaten  into  their 
holds;  hut  hail  the  boys  lost  the  (lay,  the 
stragglers  had  made  for  the  castle.  Go  to  the 
window,  Gertrude:  seest  thou  any  thing? 

Ger.  I  think  I  see  a  horseman. 

Isa.  A  single  rider?  then  I  fear  me  much. 

Ger.  It  is  only  Father  Lndoyic. 

Rud.  A  plague  on  thee !  didst  thou  take  a 
fat  friar  on  a  mule  for  a  trooper  of  the  house 
of  Aspen  ? 

Ger.  But  yonder  is  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Rud.  (eayerly.)  Indeed! 

Ger.  It  is  only  the  wine  sledges  going  to  my 
aunt's  convent. 

Rud.  The  devil  confound  the  wine  sledges, 
and  the  mules,  and  the  monks!  Come  from 
the  window,  and  torment  me  no  longer,  thou 
seer  of  strange  sights. 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  what  can  I  do  to  amuse 
you  ?  Shall  1  tell  you  what  I  dreamed  this 
morning  ? 

Rud.  Nonsense:  but  say  on ;  any  thing  is 
better  than  silence. 

Ger.  I  thought  I  was  in  the  chapel,  and  they 
were  burying  my  aunt.  Isabella  alive.  And 
who, do  you  think,  aunt,  were  thegravedijrsers 
who  shovelled  in  the  earth  upon  you  ?  Even 


Baron  George  and  old  Martin. 

Isa.   (appears  shocked )    Heaven 
idea ! 


vhat  an 


"  Saints,  from  the  mansion  of  bliss  lowly  band- 
ing. 
Virgin,  that   hear'st  the  poor  suppliant's 

cry. 

Grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 
My  Frederick  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die." 

Distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  bat- 
tle ; 
With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes 

they  fail. 

Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  con- 
flict's dread  rattle, 
And  the  chase's  wild  clamour  came  loading 

the  gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  through  the  woodland 

so  dreary. 

Slowly  approaching,  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's   el'hing   tide    mark'd   his  footsteps  so 

weary. 

Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  his 
mien. 

"Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  nur  armies  are  fly- 
ing; 
Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is 

low; 
Cold    on   yon   heath  thy  bold  Frederick  is 

lying, 

Fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the 
foe." 

[  The.  voice  of  Gertrude  sinks  by  degrees, 
till  she  bursts  into  tears. 

Rud.  How  now,  Gertrude  ? 

Ger.  Alas  !  may  not  the  fate  of  poor  Eleanor 
at  this  moment  be  mine  ? 

Rud.  Never,  my  girl,  never!  (Military  music 
is  heard.)  Hark  !  hark  !  to  the  sounds  that  tell 


thee  so 


[All  rise  and  rim  to  the  window. 


Rud.  Jny !  joy  !  they  come,  and  come  victo- 
rious.   (Thf  chorus  of  the  war-song  is  heard 


saraband,  with  the  steeple  of  the  new  convent 
upon  his  thick  skull  hy  way  of  mitre.  A  truce 
to  this  nonsense.  Give  us  a  song,  my  love, 
and  leave  thy  dreams  and  visions. 

Ger.  What  shall  I  sing  to  you? 

Rud.  Sing  to  me  of  war. 

Ger.  I  cannot  sing  of  battle:  but  I  will 
sing  you  the  Lament  of  Eleanor  of  Toro, 
when'her  lover  was  slam  in  the  wars. 

Isa.  Oh.  no  laments.  Gertrude. 

Rud    Then  sing  a  song  of  mirth. 

Isa.  Dear  husband,  is  this  a  time  for  mirth  ? 

Rttd.  Is  it  neither  a  time  to  sing  of  mirth 
nor  of  sorrow?  Isabella  would  ralher  hear 
Father  l.udovic  chant  the  "  De  profundis." 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  be  not  angry.  At  pre- 
sent, I  can  only  sing  the  lay  of  poor  Eleanor. 
It  comes  to  my  heart  at  this  moment  as  if 
the  sorrowful  mourner  had  been  my  own 
sister. 

SON  Q.1 
Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 

Weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the 

dark  wood. 
As  a  fair  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow. 

Sigh'd  to  the  breezes  and  wept  to  the  flood.— 


Enter  Henry,  follomd  by  Reynold  and 
troopers. 

Rud.  Joy  to  thee,  my  boy :  let  me  press 
thee  to  this  old  heart 

Isa,  Bless  thee,  my  son  —  (embraces  him.) — 
Oh,  how  many  hours  of  bitterness  are  com- 
pensated hy  this  embrace  !  Bless  thee.  my 
Henry  !  where  hast  thou  left  thy  brother  ? 

Hen  Hard  at  hand:  by  this  he  is  crossing 
the  drawbridge.  Hast  thou  no  greetings  for 
me.  Gertrude  ?  ( Goes  to  her.) 

Gtr.  I  joy  not  in  battles. 

Rud.  But  she  had  tears  for  thy  danger. 

Hen.  Thanks,  my  gentle  Gertrude.  See.  I 
have  brought  back  thy  scarf  from  no  inglo- 
rious field. 

Ger    It  is  bloody  !— (shocked.) 

Rud.  Dost  start  at  that,  my  girl?  Were  it 
his  own  blood,  as  it  is  that  of  his  foes,  thou 
shoultlst  glory  in  it  —Go,  Reynold,  make  good 
cheer  with  thy  fellows. 

{Exit  Reynold  and  Soldier*. 


itith  "  The  M»id  of  To 


•  mitt,  p.  333. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


689 


Enter  George,  pensively. 
Geo.  (goes  straight  to  Rudiger.)   Father,  thy 
lessing. 

Rud.  Thou  hast  it,  boy. 
Jsa.  (rushes  to  embrace  him  —  he  avoids  her.) 
low?  art  thou  wounded? 
Geo.  No. 

Rud.  Thou  lookest  deadly  pale. 
Geo.  It  is  nothing. 

Isa.  Heaven's  blessing  on  my  gallant  George. 
Geo.  (aside. )  Dares  she  bestow  a  ble*smg? 
Oh.  Martin's  tale  was  frenzy ! 

Jsa.  Smile  upon  us  for  once,  my  son  ;  darken 
not  thy  brow  on  this  day  of  gladness — few  are 
»ur  moments  of  joy — should  not  my  sons  share 
u  them  ? 

Geo.  (aside.)  She  has  moments  of  joy  —  it 
was  frenzy  then ! 

Isa.  Gertrude,  my  love,  assist  me  to  disarm 
the  knight.  (Site  loosetts  and  takes  off  his 
casque  ) 

Ger.  There  is  one,  two,  three  hacks,  and 
none  has  pierced  the  steel. 
Rail.  Let  me  see.    Let  me  see.    A  trusty 
asque  ! 

Ger.  Else  hadst  thou  gone. 
Jsa.  I  will  reward  the  armourer  with  its 
veight  in  gold. 

Geo.  (aside.)  She  must  be  innocent. 
Ger.  And   Henry's  shield   is   hacked,  too! 
Let  me  show  it  to  you,  uncle.    (Site  carries 
Henry's  to  Rudiger.) 

Rud.  Do,  my  love ;  and  come  hither,  Henry, 
thou  shall  tell  me  how  the  day  went. 

[Henry  and  Gertrude  converse  apart 
Kilh  Rudiger;    George  comes  for- 
ward ;  Isabella  comes  to  him. 
Isa.  Surely,  George,  some  evil  has  befallen 
thee.    Grave  thou  art  ever,  but  so  dreadfully 
gloomy — 

Geo.  Evil,  indeed.  —  (Aside.)  Now  for  the 
trial. 

Isa.  Has  your  loss  been  great  ? 
Gf0,  No  f— Yes!— (Apart )    I  cannot  do  it 
Isa   Perhaps  some  friend  lost? 
Geo.  It  must  be.  —  Martin  is  dead.  —  (He  re- 
cards  her  with  apprehension,  but  steadily,  as  he 
pronounces  these  words  ) 

Isa.  (starts,  then  shows  a  ghastly  expression 
of  joy.)  Dead! 

Geo.  (almost  overcome  by  his  feeKnys)  Guilty 
Guilty !— ( apart.) 

Isa.  (without  observing  ftis  emotion.)  Dids 
thou  say  dead  ? 

Geo.  Did  I  — no— 1  only  said  mortally 
wounded* 

Jsa.  Wounded  ?  only  wounded  ?  Where  is 
he  ?  Let  me  fly  to  him.— (Going.) 

Geo.  (sternly.)  Hold,  lady!— Speak  not  si 
loud  !— Thou  canst  not  see  him  !— He  is  a  pri 
soner. 

Jsa.  A  prisoner,  and  wounded  ?  Fly  to  hn 
deliverance  !  —Offer  wealth,  lands,  castles,— 
all  our  possessions,  for  his  ransom.  Neve 
shall  1  know  peace  till  these  walls,  or  till  the 
grave  secures  him. 
Geo.  (apart.)  Guilty!  Guilty  1 

Enter  Peter. 
Pet.  Hugo,  squire  to  the  Count  of  Maltin 
gen,  has  arrived  with  a  message. 
Rud.  I  will  receive  him  in  the  hall. 

[Ecit,  leaning  on  Gertrude  and  Henry 


Jsa.  Go.  George— see  after  Martin. 
Geo.  (firmly  )  No  — I  have  a  task  to  per- 
•>rrn ;  and  though  the  earth  should  open  and 
-!vour  me  alive  —  1  will  accomplish  it.  But 
.,-st  — but  tir>t  —  Nature,  take  thy  tribute. — 
He  falls  on  his  mother's  neck,  and  weeps  bit- 
erly.) 

Jsa.  George !  my  son !  for  Heaven's  sake, 
what  dreadful  frenzy ! 

Geo.  (walks  two  turns  across  the  stage  and 
omposes  himself.)  Listen,  mother  —  1  knew  a 
<night  in  Hungary,  gallant  in  battle,  hospita- 
Dle  and  generous  in  peace.  The  king  gave 
lim  his  friendship,  and  the  administration  of 
i  province ;  that  province  was  infested  by 
hinves  and  murderers.  You  mark  me  ? — 
Jsa.  Most  needfully. 

Geo.  The  knight  was  sworn  —  bound  by  an 
oath  the  most  dreadful  that  can  be  taken  by 
man  —  to  deal  among  offenders.  evenhunded, 
stern  and  impartial  justice.  Was  it  not  a 
dreadful  vow  ? 

Isa.  (with  an  affectation  of  composure.)  So- 
emn.  doubtless,  as  the  oath  of  every  magis- 
trate. 

Geo.  And  inviolable? 

Isa.  Surely — inviolable. 

Geo.  Well!  it  happened,  that  when  he  rode 
,.i;;  against  the  banditti,  he  made  a  prisoner. 
And  who,  think  you.  that  prisoner  was? 

Isa.  1  know  not  (with  increasing  terror.) 

Geo.  (trembling,  but  proceeding  rapidly  )  His 
own  twin-brother,  who  sucked  the  same 
breasts  with  him,  and  lay  in  the  bosom  of  the 
same  mother:  his  brother  whom  he  loved  as 
his  own  soul  — what  should  that  knight  have 
done  unto  his  brother! 

Isa.  (almost  speechless.)  Alas!  what  did  he 
do? 

Geo.  He  did  (turning  his  head  from  her,  and 
with  clasped  hands,)  what  t  can  never  do : — he 
did  his  duty. 

Isa.  My  son  !  my  son !  —  Mercy !  Mercy ! 
( Clings  to  him  ) 

Geo.  Is  it  then  true? 

Jsa.  What? 

Geo.  What  Martin  said  ?  (Isabella  hides  her 
face.)  It  is  true  I 

Isa.  (looks  up  urith  an  air  of  dignity.)  Hear, 
Framer  of  the  laws  of  nature!  the  mother  is 
judged  by  the  child  —  (Turns  towards  him] 
Yes,  it  is  true — true  that,  fearful  of  my  own 
life,  I  secured  it  by  the  murder  of  ray  tyrant. 
Mistaken  coward!  I  little  knew  on  what 
terrors  I  ran,  to  avoid  one  moment's  agony.— 
Thou  hast  the  secret ! 

Gfo.  Knowest  thou  to  whom  thou  bast 
told  it? 

Isa.  To  my  son. 

Geo.  No !  No !  to  an  executioner ! 

Isa.  Be  it  so  — go,  proclaim  my  crime,  am 
forget  not  my  punishment.  Forget  not  thai 
the  murderess  of  her  husband  has  draggei 
out  years  of  hidden  remorse,  to  be  brought  a 
last  to  the  scaffold  by  her  own  cherished  son 
—thou  art  silent. 

Geo  The  language  of  Nature  is  no  more 
How  shall  I  learn  another? 

Isa.  Look   upon  me,  George.    Should   the 
executioner  be  abashed  before  the  criminal— 
lnok  upon  me,  my  son.    From  my  soul  do 
foreive  thee. 

Geo.  Forgive  me  what? 

Jsa.  What  thou  dost  meditate— be  vengeance 


690 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


heavy,  but  let  it  be  secret— add  not  the  death 
of  a  father  to  that  of  the  sinner !  Oil !  Ru'li- 
ger!  Rudiger!  innocent  cause  of  all  my  guilt 
and  all  my  woe,  how  will  thou  tear  thy  silver 


Geo.  Leave  that  to  the  judges.  Resolve  hut 
to  obey,  and  a  conductor  will  be  found.  Go 
to  the  chapel ;  there  pray  for  your  sins  and 
for  mine.  (He  leads  lier  out,  and  returns.)  — 


locks  when  thou  shall  hear  her  guilt  whom    Sins,  indeed  !    I  break  a  dreadful  vow,  hut  1 
thou  hast  so  often  clasped  to  thy  bosom—   save  the  life  of  a  parent;  and  the  penance  I 


hear  her  infamy  proclaimed  by  the  son  of  thy 
fondest  hopes — (weeps.) 

Geo  (struggling  for  breath.)  Nature  will 
have  utterance :  mother,  dearest  mother,  I 
will  save  you  or  perish  !  (throws  himself  into 
her  arms.)  Thus  fall  my  vows. 

ha.  Man  thyself!  I  "ask  not  safety  from 
thee.  Never  shall  it  be  said,  that  Isabella  of 
Aspen  turned  her  son  from  the  path  of  duty, 
though  his  footsteps  must  pass  over  her  man- 
gled corpse.  Man  thyself. 

Geo.  No!  No!  The  ties  of  Nature  were 
knit  by  God  himself.  Cursed  be  the  stoic 
pride  that  would  rend  them  asunder,  and  call 
it  virtue ! 

Isa.  My  son  !  My  son !— How  shall  I  behold 
thee  hereafter  ? 

[Three  knocks  an  heard  upon  the  door 
of  the  apartment. 

Geo.  Hark  !  One  —  two  —  three.  .Roderic, 
thou  art  speedy  !  (Apart.) 

Isa.  (opens  the  door. )  A  parchment  stuck  to 
the  door  with  a  poniard !  (Opens  it)  Heaven 
and  earth! — a  summons  from  the  invisible 
judses ! — (Drops  the  parchment.) 

Geo.  (reads  with  emotion.)  "Isabella  of  As- 
pen, accused  of  murder  by  poison,  we  conjure 
thee,  by  the  cord  and  by  the  steel,  to  appear 
this  night  before  the  avengers  of  blood,  who 
judse  in  secret  and  avenge  in  secret,  liKe  ihe 
Deity.  As  thoa  art  innocent  or  guilty,  so  be 
thy  deliverance."  —  Martin,  Martin,  thou  liast 
played  false ! 

jsa.  Alas!  whither  shall  I  fly? 

Geo.  Thou  canst  not  fly;  instant  death 
would  follow  the  attempt;  a  hundred  thou- 
sand arms  would  be  raised  against  thy  life ; 
every  morsel  thou  didst  taste,  every  drop 
which  thou  didst  drink,  the  very  breeze  of 
heaven  that  fanned  thee.  would  come  loaded 
with  destruction.  One  chance  of  safety  is 
open  :— obey  the  summons. 

Isa.  And  perish.  — Yet  why  should  I  still 
fear  death  ?  Be  it  so. 

Geo.  No — I  have  sworn  to  save  you.  I  will 
not  do  the  work  by  halves.  Does  any  one  save 
Martin  know  of  the  dreadful  deed  ? 

Isa.  None. 

Geo.  Then  go  —  assert  your  innocence,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  me. 

Isa.  Wretch  that  I  am !  How  can  I  support 
the  task  you  would  impose  1 

Geo.  Think  on  my  father.  Live  for  him : 
he  will  need  all  the  comfort  thou  canst  be- 


will  do  for  my  perjury  shall  appal  even  the 
judges  of  blood. 

Enter  Reynold. 

Rey.  Sir  knight,  the  messenger  of  Count 
Roderic  desires  to  speak  with  you. 
Geo.  Admit  him. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen  greets 
you.  He  says  he  will  this  night  hear  the  bat 
flutter  and  the  owlet  scream  ;  and  he  bids  me 
ask  if  Ihou  also  wilt  listen  to  the  music. 

Geo.  1  understand  him.     1  will  be  there. 

Hug.  And  the  count  says  to  you,  that  he  will 
not  ransom  your  wounued  squire,  though  you 
would  downweigh  Ins  best  horse  with  gold 
But  you  may  send  him  a  confessor,  for  the 
count  says  he  will  need  one. 

Geo.  Is  he  so  near  death  ? 

Hug  Not  as  it  seems  to  me.  He  is  weak 
through  loss  of  blood;  but  since  his  wound 
was  dressed  he  can  both  stand  and  walk. 
Our  count  has  a  notable  balsam,  which  has 
recruited  him  much. 

Geo.  Enough  —  1  will  send  a  priest.  —  (Exit 
Hugo.)  I  fathom  his  plot.  He  would  add 
another  witness  to  the  tale  of  Martin  s  guili. 
But  no  priest  shall  approach  him.  Reyumd, 
thmkest  thou  not  we  could  send  one  of  the 
troopers,  disguised  .as  a  monk,  to  aid  Marttr 
in  making  his  escape. 

Rey.  Noble  sir,  the  followers  nf  your  house 
are  so  well  known  to  those  of  Maltingeu,  that 
I  fear  it  is  impossible. 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  of  no  stranger  who 
might  be  employed  1  His  reward  shall  exceed 
even  his  hopes. 

Rey.  So  please  you  —  I  think  the  minstrel 
could  well  execute  such  a  commission :  he  is 
shrewd  and  cunning,  and  can  write  and  read 
like  a  priest. 

Geo.  Call  him.  —  (Exit  Reynold)  Tf  this 
fails,  1  must  employ  open  force.  Were  Mar- 
tin removed,  no  tongue  can  assert  the  bloody 


truth. 


Enter  Minstrel. 


Geo.  Come  hither,  Minhold.  Hast  thou  cou- 
rage to  undertake  a  dangerous  enterprise  7 

Ber.  My  life,  sir  Knight,  has  been  one  scene 
of  danger  and  of  dread.  1  have  forgotten  how 
to  fear. 

Geo.   Thy  speech   is  above   thy  seeming. 


Let  the  thought  that  his  destruction  is  ,  Who  art  thou  ? 
involved   in  thine,  carry   thee    through    the  |     Ber.    An    unfortunate    knight,    obliged    to 


dreadful  trial. 

Isa.  Be  it  so.  —  For  Rudiger  I  have  lived: 
for  him  I  will  continue  to  bear  the  burden  of 


shroud  myself  under  this  disguise. 

Geo.  What  is  the  cause  of  thy  misfortunes  1 
Ber.  I  slew,  at  a  tournament,  a  prince,  and 


existence:  but  the  instant  that  myguilt  comes  !  was  laid  under  the  ban  of  the  empire. 

to  his  knowledge  shall  be  the  last  of  my  life,  i      Geo.  I    have    interest  with    the    emperor. 

Ere  I  would  bear  from  him  one  glance  of  ha-   Swear  to  perform  what  task  I  shall  impose  on 


tred  or  of  scorn,  tins  dagger  should  drink  my 


blood.    (Puts  the  'poniard  into  htr  bosom.  ) 
Geo.  Fear  not.     He  can  never  know.     No 


tliee.  and  I  will  procure  the  recall  of  the  ban. 


Her.  1 

Geo.  Then  take  the  disguise  of  a  monk,  and 

„__  go  with  the  follower  of  Count  Roderic,  as  if 

Isa.    How  shall  I  obey  the  summons,  and    to  confess  my  wounded  squire  Martin.     (ii\e 
where  Cud  the  terrible  judgment -seal?  '  him  thy  dress,  and   remain   in  prison  in  his 


evidence  shall  appear  against  you. 
ll 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


691 


stead.  Thy  captivity  shall  be  short,  and  I 
pledge  my  knightly  word  I  will  labour  to  exe- 
cute my  promise,  when  thou  shall  have  lei- 
sure to  unfold  thy  history. 

Ber.  I  will  do  as  you  direct.  Is  the  life  of 
your  squire  in  danger? 

Geo.  It  is,  unless  thou  canst  accomplish  his 
release. 

Ber.  I  will  essay  it.  [Exit. 

Geo  Such  are  the  mean  expedients  to  which 
Georse  of  Aspen  must  now  resort.  No  longer 
can  I  debate  with  Roderic  in  the  field.  The 
depraved  —  the  perjured  knight  must  contend 
with  him  only  in  the  arts  of  dissimulation  and 
treachery.  Oh,  mother !  mother !  the  most 
bitter  consequence  of  thy  crime  lias  been  the 
birth  of  thy  first-born!  But  I  must  warn  my 
brother  of  the  impending  storm.  Poor  Henry, 
how  little  can  thy  gay  temper  anticipate,  evil ! 
What,  ho  there !  (Enter  an  Attendant.)  Where 
is  Baron  Henry  ? 

Alt.  Noble  sir,  he  rode  forth,  after  a  slight 
refreshment,  to  visit  the  party  in  the  Held. 

Geo.  Saddle  my  steed  ;  1  will  follow  him. 

Alt.  So  please  you,  your  noble  father  has 
twice  demanded  your  presence  at  the  ban- 
quet. 

Geo.  It  matters  not — say  that  I  have  ridden 
forth  to  the  Wolfchill.  Where  is  thy  lady  ? 

Ait.  In  the  chapel,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  Tis  well  — saddle  my  bay-horse  — 
(apart)  for  the  last  time.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I. 

The  wood  of  Griefenhaus,  with  the  ruins  of  the 
Castle.  A  nearer  view  of  the  Castle  than  in 
Act  Second,  but  still  at  some  distance. 

Enter  Roderic.  Wolfstein,  anil  Soldiers,  as  from 
a  reconnoitring  party. 

Wolf.  They  mean  to  improve  their  success, 
and  will  push  their  advantage  far.  We  must 
retreat  betimes.  Count  Roderic. 

Rod.  We  are  safe  here  for  the  present. 
They  make  no  immediate  motion  of  advance. 
I  fancy  neither  George  nor  Henry  are  with 
their  party  iu  the  wood. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Noble  sir,  how  shall  I  tell  what  has 
happened  ? 

Rod.  What? 

HUII.  Martin  has  escaped. 

Rod.  Villain,  thy  life  shaU  pay  it!  (Strikes 
at  Hugo — is  held  by  Wolfslein.) 

Wolf.  Hold,  hold.  Count  Koderic!  Hugo 
may  be  blameless. 

Rod.  Reckless  slave!  how  came  he  to 
escape  * 

Hug.  Under  the  disguise  of  a  monk's  habit, 
whom  by  your  orders  we  brought  to  confess 
him. 

Rod.  Has  he  been  long  gone  ? 

Hwi.  An  hour  and  more  since  he  passed  our 
sentinels,  disguised  as  the  chaplain  of  Aspen  : 
but  he  walked  so  slowly  and  feebly,  I  think 
he  cannot  yet  have  reached  the  posts  of  the 
enemy. 

Rod.  Where  is  the  treacherous  priest  ? 

Hug.  He  waits  his  doom  not  far  from  hence. 
[Exit  Hugo. 


Rod.  Drag  him  hither.  The  miscreant  that 
snatched  the  morsel  of  vengeance  from  the 
lion  of  Maltingeu,  shall  expire  under  torture. 

Re-enter  Hugo,  with  Bertram  and  Attendants. 

Rod.  Villain !  what  tempted  thee.  under 
the  garb  of  a  minister  of  religion,  to  steal  a 
criminal  from  the  hand  of  justice? 

Ber.  I  am  no  villain.  Count  Rodenc ;  and  I 
only  aided  the  escape  of  one  wounded  wretch 
whom  thou  didst  mean  to  kill  basely. 

Rod.  Liar  und  slave!  thou  hast  assisted  a 
murderer,  upon  whom  justice  had  sacred 
claims. 

Ber.  I  warn  thee  again.  Count,  that  I  am 
neither  liar  nor  slave.  Shortly  1  hope  to  tell 
thee  1  am  once  more  thv  equal. 

Rod.  Thou!  Thou!  — 

Ber.  Yes !  the  name  of  Bertram  of  Ebers- 
dorf  was  once  not  unknown  to  tiiee. 

Rod  (astonished.)  Thou  Bertram!  the  bro- 
ther of  Arnolf  of  tbersdorf,  first  husband  of 
the  Baroness  Isabella  of  Aspen  I 

Ber.  The  same. 

Rod.  Who,  in  a  quarrel  at  a  tournament, 
many  years  since,  slew  a  blood-relation  of 
the  emperor,  and  was  laid  under  the  ban? 

Ber.  The  same. 

Rod.  And  who  has  now,  in  the  disguise  of 
a  priest,  aided  the  escape  of  Martin,  squire  to 
George  of  Aspen? 

Ber.  The  same — the  same. 

Rod.  Then,  by  the  holy  cross  of  Cologne, 
thou  hast  set  at  liberty  the  murderer  of  thy 
brother  Arnolf! 

Ber.  How!  What!    I  understand  thee  not ! 

Rod.  Miserable  plotter !  — Martin,  by  his 
own  confession,  as  Wolfstein  heard,  avowed 
having  aided  Isabella  in  the  murder  of  her 
husband.  I  hnd  laid  such  a  plan  of  vengeance 
as  should  have  made  all  Germany  shudder. 
And  thou  hast  counteracted  it— thou,  the  bro- 
ther of  the  murdered  Arnolf! 

Ber.  Can  this  be  so,  Wolfstein  ? 

Wolf.  I  heard  Martin  confess  the  murder. 

Ber.  Then  am  I  indeed  unfortunate  ! 

Rod.  What,  in  the  name  of  evil,  brought 
thee  here  ? 

Ber.  I  am  the  last  of  my  race.  When  I  was 
outlawed,  as  thou  knowest,  the  lands  of 
Ebersdorf,  my  rightful  inheritance,  were  Je- 
clared  forfeited,  and  the  Emperor  bestowed 
them  upon  Rudiger  when  he  married  Isabella. 
I  attempted  to  defend  my  domain,  but  Rudiger 
—  Hell  thank  him  for  it  —  enforced  the  ban 
against  me  at  the  head  of  his  vassals,  and  I 
was  constrained  to  fly.  Since  then  I  have 
warred  against  the  Saracens  in  Spain  and 
Palestine. 

Rod.  But  why  didst  thou  return  to  a  laud 
where  death  attends  thy  being  discovered " 

Ber.  Impatience  urged  me  to  see  once  more 
the  land  of  my  nativity,  and  the  towers  of 
Ebersdorf.  I  came  there  yesterday,  under 
the  name  of  the  minstrel  llinhuld. 

Rod,  And  what  prevailed  on  thee  to  under- 
take to  deliver  Martin  1 

Ber.  George,  though  I  told  not  my  name, 
engaged  to  procure  the  recall  of  the  ban ;  be- 
sides, he  told  me  Martin's  life  was  in  danger, 
and  I  accounted  the  old  villain  to  be  the  last 
remaining  follower  of  our  house.  But,  as  God 
shall  judge  me,  the  tale  of  horror  thou  hast 
mentioned  I  could  not  have  even  suspected. 


692 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Report   ran,  that    my   brother    died    of   the 
plague. 

Wolf.  Raised  for  the  purpose,  doubtless,  of 
preventing  attendance  upou  his  sick-bed,  and 
an  inspection  of  his  body. 

Ber.  My  vengeance  shall  be  dreadful  as  its 
cause  !  The  usurpers  of  my  inheritance,  the 
robbers  of  my  honour,  the  murderers  of  my 
brother,  shall  be  cut  off,  root  and  branch  ! 

Rod.  Thou  art,  then,  welcome  here:  espe- 
cially if  thou  art  still  a  true  brother  to  our 
invisible  order. 

Ber.  \  am. 

Rod.  There  is  a  meeting  this  night  on  the 
business  of  thy  brother's  death.  Some  are 
now  come.  I  must  despatch  them  in  pursuit 
of  Martin. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  The  foes  advance,  sir  knight. 

Rod.  Back !  back  to  the  ruins !  Come  with 
us,  Bertram ;  on  the  road  thou  shall  hear  the 
dreadful  history.  [Exeunt. 

From  the  opposite  side  enter  George,  Heiiry, 
Wickerd,  Conrad,  and  Soldiers. 

Geo.  No  news  of  Martin  yeU 

Wic,  None,  sir  knight. 

(}fo.  Nor  the  rninsirel  ? 

Wic.  None. 

Geo.  Then  he  has  betrayed  me.  or  is  pri- 
soner—misery  either  way.  Begone  and  search 
the  wood,  Wickerd. 

[Exeunt  Wickerd  and  followers. 

Hen.  Still  this  dreadful  gloom  oil  thy  brow, 
brother? 

Geo.  Ay !  what  else  ? 

Hen.  Once  thou  thoughtest  me  worthy  of 
thy  friendship. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  art  young — 

Hen.  Shall  £  therefore  betray  thy  confi- 
dence ? 

Geo.  No!  but  thou  art  gentle  and  well-na- 
tured. Thy  mind  cannot  even  support  the 
burden  which  mine  must  bear,  far  less  wilt 
thou  approve  the  means  I  shall  use  to  throw 
it  off 

Hen.  Try  me. 

Geo.  I  may  not. 

Hen.  Then  thou  dost  no  longer  love  me. 

G*n.  I  love  thee,  and  because  I  love  thee,  I 
will  not  involve  thee  in  my  distress. 

Hen.  I  will  bear  it  with  thee. 

Geo.  Shouldst  thou  share  it,  it  would  be 
doubled  to  me ! 

Hen.  Fear  not,  I  will  find  a  remedy. 

Geo.  It  would  cost  thee  peace  of  mind, 
here,  and  hereafter. 

Hen.  I  take  the  risk. 

Geo.  It  may  not  be,  Henry.  Thou  wouldst 
become  the  confidant  of  crimes  past — the  ac- 
complice of  others  to  come. 

Hen.  Shall  I  guess  ? 

Geo.  I  charge  thee,  no! 

Hen.  I  must.  Thou  art  one  of  the  secret 
judges. 

Geo.  Unhappy  boy !  what  hast  thou  said  1 

Hen.  Is  il  not  so  ? 

Geo.  Dost  thou  know  what  the  discovery 
has  cost  thee  1 

Hen.  I  care  not. 

Geo.  He  who  discovers  any  part  of  our  mys- 
tery must  himself  become  one  of  our  num- 
ber. 


Hen.  How  so  ? 

Geo  It  lie  does  not  consent,  his  secrecy 
will  be  speedily  ensured  by  his  death.  To 
that  we  are  sworn— take  thy  choice ! 

Hen.  Well,  are  you  not  banded  in  secret  to 
punish  those  offenders  whom  the  sword  of 
justice  cannot  reach,  or  who  are  shielded 
from  its  stroke  by  the  buckler  of  power? 

Geo.  Such  is  indeed  the  purpose  of  our  fra- 
ternity; but  the  end  is  pursued  through  paths 
dark,  intricate,  and  slippery  with  blood  Who 
is  he  that  shall  tread  them  witii  safety?  Ac- 
cursed be  the  hour  in  which  I  entered  the 
labyrinth,  and  doubly  accursed  that,  in  which 
thou  too  must  lose  the  cheerful  sunshine  of  a 
soul  without  a  mystery! 

Hen.  Yet  for  thy  sake  will  I  be  a  member. 

GfO.  Henry,  thou  didst  rise  this  morning  a 
free  man.  No  one  could  say  to  thee,  "  Why 
dost  thou  so?"  Thou  layest  Ihee  down  to- 
night the  veriest  slave  that  ever  tugged  at  an 
oar — the  slave  of  men  whose  actions  will  ap- 
pear to  thee  savage  and  incomprehensible, 
and  whom  thou  must  aid  against  the  world, 
upon  peril  of  thy  throat. 

Hen.  Be  it  so.     1  will  share  your  lot. 

Geo.  Alas,  Henry !  Heaven  forbid !  But 
since  thou  hast  by  a  hasty  word  fettered  thy- 
self, I  will  avail  myself  of  thy  bondage. 
Mount  thy  fleetest  steed,  and  hie  thee  this 
very  night  to  the  Duke  of  Bavaria.  He  is 
chief  and  paramount  of  our  chapter.  Show 
him  this  signet  and  this  letter;  tell  him  that 
matters  will  be  this  night  discussed  concern- 
ing the  house  of  Aspen.  Bid  him  speed  him 
to  the  assembly,  for  he  well  knows  the  presi- 
dent is  our  deadly  foe.  He  will  admit  thee 
a  member  of  our  holy  body. 

Hen.  Who  is  the  foe  whom  you  dread  ? 

Geo.  Young  man.  the  first  duty  thou  must 
learn  is  implicit  and  blind  obedience. 

Hen.  Well !  1  shall  soon  return  and  see  thee 
again. 

Geo.  Ketum,  indeed,  thou  wilt;  but  for  the 
rest — well !  that  matters  not. 

Hen.  I  go :  thou  wilt  set  a  watch  here  ? 

Geo.  I  will.  (Henry  going)  Ketum,  my 
dear  Henry;  let  me  embrace  thee,  shouldst 
thou  not  see  me  again. 

Hen.  Heaven!  what  mean  you? 

Geo.  Nothing.  The  life  of  mortals  is  pre- 
carious ;  and,  should  we  not  meet  again,  take 
my  blessing  and  this  embrace  —  and  this  — 
(embraces  han  warmly)  And  now  haste  to  the 
dnke.  (Exit  Henry.)  Poor  youth,  thou  little 
knowest  what  thou  hast  undertaken.  But  if 
Martin  has  escaped,  and  if  the  duke  arrives, 
they  will  not  dare  to  proceed  without  proof. 

Re-enter  Wickerd  and  followers. 

Wic.  We  have  made  a  follower  of  Maltiu- 
eea  prisoner,  Baron  George,  who  reports  that 
Martin  has  escaped. 

Geo.  Joy !  joy  !  such  joy  as  I  can  now  feel ! 
Set  him  free  for  the  good  news — and.  Wickerd. 
keep  a  good  watch  in  this  spot  all  night.  Send 
out  scouts  to  find  Martin,  iest  he  should  not 
be  able  to  reach  Ebersdorf. 

Wic.  I  shall,  noble  sir. 

[The  kettle-drums  and  trumpets  flourish 
as  for  setting  the  watch:  the  scene 
closes. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


693 


SCENK  II. 

The  chapel  at  Ebrrsdorf,  an  ancient  Gothic 
building. 

Isabella  is  discovered  risinafrom  be  fore  the  altar, 
on  which  burn  two  tapers. 

7«z.  I  cannot  pray.  Terror  and  guilt  have 
stifled  ilevotion.  The  heart  must  he  at  ease — 
tl>«  hands  must  be  pure  when  they  are  lifted 
to  Heaven.  Midnight  is  the  hour  of  summons; 
it  is  now  near.  How  can  I  pray,  when  I  go 
resolved  to  deny  a  crime  which  every  drop  of 
my  blood  could  nnt  wasli  away !  And  my  son ! 
Oil !  lie  will  tall  the  victim  ol  my  crime  !  Ar- 
nolf!  Arnolf!  Ihou  ait  dreadfully  avenged  ! 
( Tup  at  the  door.)  The  footstep  of  mv  dread- 
ful guide.  (Tap  again.)  My  courage  is  no 
more.  (Enter  Gertrude  bv  the  door.)  Ger- 
trude !  is  it  only  ihou  ?  (embraces  her.) 

Ger.  Dear  aunt,  leave  this  awful  place;  it 
chills  my  very  blood.  .My  uncle  sent  me  to 
call  you  to  the  hall 

Isa.  Who  is  in  the  hall? 

Ger.  Only  Reynold  and  the  family,  with 
whom  my  uncle  is  making  merry. 

Isa.  S.-iwest  tln>u  no  strange  faces? 

Ger.  No;  none  hut  friends. 

Isa.  Art  tliou  sure  of  that?  Is  George 
there  ? 

Ger.  No.  nor  Henry ;  both  have  ridden  out. 
I  think  they  might  have  staid  one  day  at  least. 
But  come,  aunt.  I  hate  this  place ;  it  reminds 
me  of  my  dream,  see.  yonder  was  the  spot 
where  metnought  they  were  burying  you 
alive,  below  yon  monument  (pointing.) 

Isa.  (startma.)  The  monument  of  my  first 
huslmnd.  Leave  me,  leave  me,  Gertrude.  I 
follow  in  a  moment.  (Exit  Gertrude.)  Ay, 
there  he  lies!  forgetful  alike  of  his  crimes 
and  injuries!  Insensible,  as  if  this  chapel  had 
never  rung  with  my  shrieks,  or  the  castle  re- 
sounded to  his  parting  groans  !  When  shall  I 
sleep  so  soundly  ?  (As  she  gazes  on  the  monu- 
ment, a  figure  muffled  in  black  appears  from  be- 
hind it  )  Merciful  God  !  is  it  a  vision,  such  as 
has  haunted  my  couch?  (It  approaches:  she 
goes  on  with  mimlcd  terror  and  resolution.) 
Ghastly  phantom,  art  thou  the  restless  spirit 
of  one  who  died  in  agony,  or  art  thou  the 
mysterious  being  that  must  guide  me  to  the 
presence  of  the  avengers  of  blood  '  (Figure 
bends  its  head  and  lieckons. ) — To-morrow !  To- 
morrow !  1  cannot  follow  thee  now  !  (Figure 
shotcs  a  dayger  Jrom  beneath  Us  cloak. )  Com- 
pulsion !  I  understand  thee :  I  will  follow. 
(She  follows  the  figure  a  little  way ;  he  turns  and 
wraps  a  black  veil  round  hrr  head,  and  takrs  her 
haiut :  then  both  exeunt  behiiut  the  monument. ) 


Tlie  Wood  of  Griefenhaus. — A  watch-fire,  round 
which  sit  Wickerd,  Conrad,  and  others,  in 
their  ualch-ctoaia. 

Wic.  The  night  is  bitter  cold. 

Con.  Ay,  but  thou  hast  lined  thy  doublet 
well  with  old  Khenish. 

Wic.  True ;  and  I'll  give  you  warrant  for 
it.  (Sings.) 


(RHKIS.WEIN  LIED.) 

What  makes   the  troopers'  frozen  courage 

muster? 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine. 
Upon  the  Khme,  upon  the  Khine  they  clus- 
ter: 
Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine! 

Let  fringe  and  furs,  and  many  a  rabbit  skin, 

sirs. 

Bedeck  your  Saracen ; 
He'll  freeze  without  what  warms  our  hearts 

within,  sirs, 
When  the  night-frost  crusts  the  fen. 

But  on  the  Rhine,  bat  on  the  Rhine  they 

cluster. 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine. 
That  make  our  troopers' frozen  courage  mus- 
ter: 
Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine ! 

Con.  Well  sung,  Wickerd ;  thou  wert  ever 
a  jovial  soul. 

Enter  a  trooper  or  too  more. 

Wic.  Hnst  thon  made  the  rounds,  Frank  ? 

Frank.  Yes,  op  to  the  hemlock  marsh.  It 
is  a  stormy  night;  the  moon  shone  on  the 
Wolfshill.  and  on  the  dead  bodies  with  which 
to-day's  work  has  covered  it.  We  heard  the 
spirit  of  the  house  of  Maltingen  wailing  over 
the  slaughter  of  its  adherents :  I  durst  go  no 
farther. 

Wic.  Hen-hearted  rascal !  The  spirit  of 
some  old  raven,  who  was  picking  their  bones. 

Con  Nay.  Wickerd;  the  churchmen  say 
there  are  such  things 

Frank  Ay;  and  Father  Lndovic  told  us 
last  sermon,  how  the  devil  twisted  the  neck 
of  ten  farmers  at  Kletterhach,  who  refused 
to  pay  Peter's  pence. 

Wic.  Yes,  some  church  devil,  no  doubt. 

Frank  Nay,  old  Reynold  says,  that  in  pass- 
ing, by  midnight,  near  the  old  chapel  at  our 
caslle,  he  saw  it  all  lighted  up,  aud  heard  a 
chorus  of  voices  sing  the  funeral  service. 

Another  Soldier.  Father  Ludovic  heard  the 
same 

Wic.  Hear  me,  ye  hare-livered  boys  !  Can 
you  look  death  in  the  face  in  battle,  and  dread 
such  nursery  bugbears  ?  Old  Reynold  saw  his 
vision  in  the  strength  of  the  grape.  As  for 
the  chaplain,  far  be  it  from  me  to  name  the 
spirit  which  visits  him;  but  I  know  what  1 
know,  when  I  found  him  confessing  Ber- 
trand's  pretty  Agnes  in  the  chestnut  grove. 

Con.  But,  Wickerd,  though  I  have  often 
heard  of  strange  tales  which  I  could  not 
credit,  yet  there  is  one  in  our  family  so  well 
attested,  that  1  almost  believe  it.  Shall  I  tell 
it  you? 

AH  Soldiers.  Do !  do  tell  it,  gentle  Conrad. 

Wic.  And  I  will  take  t'other  sup  of  Khenish 
to  fence  against  the  horrors  of  the  tale. 

Con.  It  is  about  my  own  uncle  and  god- 
father, Albert  of  Horsheim. 

Wif.  1  have  seen  him  — he  wa»  a  gallant 
warrior. 

Con.  Well !  He  was  long  absent  in  the  Bo- 
hemian wars  In  an  expedition  he  was  be- 
nighted, and  came  to  a  lone  house  on  the  edge 
of  a  forest :  he  and  his  followers  knocked  re- 


694 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


peatedly  for  entrance  in  vain.  They  forced 
the  door,  but  found  no  inhabitant*. 

Frank.  And  they  made  good  their  quarters  7 

Con  They  did :  and  Albert  retired  to  rest 
in  an  upper  chamber.  Opposite  to  the  bed  on 
which  he  threw  himself  was  a  large  mirror. 
At  midnight  he  was  awaked  by  deep  groans  : 
he  oast  his  eyes  upon  the  mirror,  ami  saw 

Frank.  Sacred  Heaven!  Heard  you  no- 
thing? 

Wic.  Ay.  the  wind  among  the  withered 
leaves.  Go  on,  Conrad.  Your  uncle  was  a 
wise  man. 

Con.  That's  more  than  grey  hairs  can  make 
other  folks. 

Wic.  Ha !  stripling,  art  thou  so  malapert  ? 
Though  thou  art  Lord  Henry's  page,  I  shall 
teach  thee  who  commands  this  party. 

All  Soldiers  Peace,  peace,  good  Wickerd : 
let  Conrad  proceed. 

Con    Where  was  I? 

Frank.  About  the  mirror. 

Con.  True.  My  uncle  beheld  in  the  mirror 
the  reflection  of  a  human  face,  distorted  and 
covered  with  blood.  A  voice  pronounced  ar- 
ticulately, "It  is  yet  time."  As  the  words 
were  spoken,  my  uncle  discerned  in  the 
ghastly  visage  the  features  of  his  own  father. 

Soldier.  Hush!  By  St  Francis  1  heard  a 
groan.  ( They  start  up  all  but  Wickerd  ) 

Wic.  The  croaking  of  a  frog,  who  has 
caught  cold  in  this  bitter  night,  and  sings 
rather  more  hoarsely  than  usual. 

Frank.  Wickerd,  thou  art  surely  no  Chris- 
tian. ( They  sit  down,  and  close  round  the  fire.) 

Con.  Well — my  uncle  called  up  his  attend- 
ants, and  they  searched  every  nook  of  the 
chamber,  but  found  nothing.  So  they  covered 
the  mirror  with  a  cloth,  and  Albert  was  left 
alone  :  but  hardly  had  he  closed  his  eyes 
when  the  same  voice  proclaimed.  "  It  is  now 
too  late :"  the  covering  was  drawn  aside,  and 
he  saw  the  figure 

Frank.  Merciful  Virgin!  It  comes.  (All 
rise.) 

Wic.  WhereT  what? 

Con.  See  yon  figure  coming  from  the 
thicket! 

Enter  Martin,  in  the  monk's  dress,  much  disor- 
dered: hif  face  is  very  pale  and  his  steps 

slew. 

Wic.  (levelling  his  pike.)  Man  or  devil,  which 
thc'i  wilt,  thou  shait  feel  cold  iron,  if  thou 
budgest  a  foot  nearer.  (Martin  stops.)  Who 
art  thou  ?  What  dost  thou  seek  ? 

Mar.  To  warm  myseif  at  your  fire.  It  is 
deadly  cold. 

Wic.  See  there,  ye  cravens,  your  apparition 
is  a  poor  benighted  monk :  sit  down,  father. 
(They  place  Martin  by  the  fire.)  By  heaven,  it 
is  Martin — our  Martin!  Martin,  how  fares  it 
with  thee  ?  We  have  sought  thee  this  whole 
night. 

Mar.  So  have  many  others  (vacantly.) 

Con.  Yes,  thy  master. 

Mar.  Did  you  see  him  too  ? 

Con.  Whom  ?  Baron  George  ? 

Mar.  No!  my  first  master,  A rnolf  of  Ebers- 
dorf. 

Wic.  He  raves. 

Mar.  He  passed  me  bat  now  in  the  wood, 
mounted  upon  his  old  black  steed  ;  its  nostrils 
breathed  smoke  and  flame ;  neither  tree  nor 


rock  stopped  him.  He  said.  "  Martin,  thon 
wilt  return  this  n'ght  to  mv  service !" 

Wic.  Wrap  thy  cl<>ak  around  him.  Francis; 
he  is  distracted  with  cold  and  pain.  Dost 
thou  not  recollect  me.  old  friend  1 

Mar.  Yes.  you  are  the  butler  at  Ebersdorf: 
you  have  the  charge  of  the  laree  gilded  cup, 
emho!.s>-il  with  the  figures  of  the  twelve  apos- 
tles It  was  the  favourite  goblet  of  my  old 
master. 

Con.  By  our  Lady,  Martin,  thou  must  be 
distracted  indeed,  to  think  our  master  would 
intrust  Wickerd  with  the  care  of  the  cellar. 

Mar.  I  know  a  fnce  so  like  the  apostate  Judas 
on  that  cup.  I  have  seen  the  likeness  when 
I  gazed  on  a  mirror. 

Wic.  Try  10  go  to  sleep,  dear  Martin  ;  it  will 
relieve  thy  brain  (Footsteps  are  heard  in  the 
wood.)  To  your  arms.  ( They  take  their  arms.) 

Enter  two  Members  of  the.  Invisible  Tribunal, 
muffled  in  their  cloaks. 

Con.  Stand!     Who  are  you? 

1  Mem.  Travellers  benighted  in  the  wood. 

Wic.  Are  ye  friends  to  Aspen  or  Mallin- 
gen? 

1  Mem.  We  enter  not  into  their  quarrel : 
we  are  friends  to  the  right. 

Wic.  Then  are  ye  friends  to  ns,  and  wel- 
come to  pass  the  night  by  our  fire. 

2  Mem.   Thanks.     ( They  approach  the  fire, 
and  regard  Martin  very  earnestly.) 

Con.  Hear  ye  any  news  abroad  ? 
2  Mem.  None  ;  but  that  oppression  and  vil- 
lany  are  rife  and  rank  as  ever. 
Wic.  The  old  complaint. 

1  Mem.  No !   never  did  former  age  equal 
this  in  wickedness;  and  yet,  as  if  ihe  daily 
commission  of  enormities  were  not  enough  to 
hiot   the  sun,  every   hour  discovers   crimes 
which  have  lain  concealed  for  years. 

Con.  Pity  the  Holy  Tribunal  should  slum- 
ber in  its  office. 

2  Mem.  Young  man,  it  slumbers  not.    When 
criminals  are  ripe  for  its  vengeance,  it  falls 
like  the  bolt  of  Heaven. 

Mar.  (attempting  to  rise.)  Let  me  be  gone. 
Con.   (detaining  him.)  Whither  now,   Mar- 
tin? 
Mar.  To  mass. 

1  Mem.  Even  now,  we  heard  a  tale  of  a 
villain,  who,  ungrateful  as  the  frozen  adder, 
stung  the  bosom  that  had  wanned  him  into 
life. 

Mar.  Conrad,  bear  me  off;  I  would  be  away 
from  these  men. 

Con.  Be  at  ease,  and  strive  to  sleep. 

Mar.  Too  well  I  know— I  shall  never  sleep 
again. 

2  Mem.  The  wretch  of  whom  we  speak  be- 
came,  from   revenge  ami   lust   of  gam,  the 
murderer  of  the  master  whose  bread  he  did 
eat. 

Wic.  Out  upon  the  monster ! 

1  Mem.  For  nearly  thirty  years  was  he  per- 
mitted to  cumber  the  ground.  The  miscreant 
thought  his  crime  was  concealed ;  but  the 
earth  which  groaned  under  his  footsteps — the 
winds  which  passed  over  his  unhallowed 
head  —  the  stream  which  be  polluted  by  his 
lips  —  the  fire  at  which  he  warmed  his  blood- 
stained bauds — every  element  bore  witness  to 
his  guilt. 

Mar.  Conrad,  good  youth  —  lead  roe  from 


THE   HOUSE   OP   ASPEN. 


695 


hence,  and   I  will  show  thee  where,  thirty 
years  since,  I  deposited  a  mighty  bribe.    [Rises. 
Con.  Be  patient,  good  Martin. 
Wic.  And  where  was  the  miscreant  seized  ? 
[The  two  Members  suddenly  lay  hands 
on  Martin,  and  draw  thfir  dayyers  ; 
the  Soldiers  spring  to  their  arms. 
1  Man.  On  this  very  spot. 
Wit-..  Traitors,  unloose  your  hold  ! 
1  Mem.  In  the  name  of  the  Invisihle  Judges, 
I  charge  ye.  impede  us  not  in  our  duty. 

[All  sink  their  weapons,  caul  stand  motionless. 
Mar.   Help!  help! 
1  Mem.  Help  him  with  your  prayers ! 

IHe  is  drayyed  off.    The  scene  shuts. 


ACT  V.— SCENE  I. 

Tilt  subterranean  chapfl  of  the  Castle  of  Griffen- 
hnus.  It  seems  deserted,  and  in  decay.  There 
are  four  entrances,  each  defended  by  an  iron 
portal.  At  each  door  slants  a  warder  clothed 
in  black,  ant  masked,  armed  toith  a  naked 
sivord.  Durini  the  whole  scene  they  remain 
motionless  on  their  posts.  In  the  centre  of  the 
chapel  is  the  ruinous  altar,  half  sunk  in  the 
ground,  on  which  he  a  large  book,  a  dagger, 
and  a  coil  of  rapes,  beside  two  lighted  tapers. 
Antv/ue  stone  benches  of  different  heights 
around  the  chapel.  In  the  back  scene  is  seen  a 
dilapidated  entrance  into  the  sacristy,  which  is 
guile  dark. 

Various  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal  enter 
by  tlie  four  different  doors  of  the  chapel.  Each 
whispers  something  as  he  passes  the  Warder, 
which  is  answered  by  an  inclination  of  the 
head.  The  costume  of  the  Members  is  a  long 
black  robe,  capable  of  muffling  the  fact :  some 
wear  it  in  this  manner ;  others  have  their  faces 
uncovered,  unlrss  on  the  entrance  of  a  stran- 
ger :  they  place  themselves  in  profound  silence 
upon  the  stone  benches. 

Enter  Count  Roderic,  dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak 
of  the  same  form  with  those  of  the  other  Mem- 
bers, lie  takes  his  place  on  the  most  elevated 
bench. 

Rod.  Warders,  secure  the  doors !  (The doors 
are  barred  with  yreat  care.)  Herald,  do  thy 
duty  ! 

[Members  all  rise  —  Herald  stands  by  the 
altar. 

Her.  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal, 
who  judge  in  secret,  and  avensre  in  secret, 
like  the  Deity,  are  your  hearts  free  from  ma- 
lice, and  your  hands  from  blood-guiltiness  < 

[All  the  Members  incline  their  heads. 

Rod.  God  pardon  our  sins  of  ignorance,  and 
preserve  us  from  those  of  presumption. 

[Again  the  Members  solemnly  incline  their 
heads. 

Her.  To  the  east,  and  to  the  west,  and  to 
the  north,  and  to  the  south,  I  raise  my  voice ; 
wherever  there  is  treason,  wherever  there  is 
blood-guiltiness,  wherever  there  is  sacrilege, 
sorcery,  robbery,  or  perjury,  there  let  this 
curse  alight,  and  pierce  the  marrow  and  the 
bone.  Raise,  then,  your  voices,  and  say  with  j 
me,  woe  !  woe,  unto  offenders ! 

All.  Woe  !  woe  !  [Members  sit  down. 

Her.  He  who  knoweth  of  an  unpunished 
crime,  iet  him  stand  forth  as  bound  by  his 


oath  when  his  hand  was  laid  upon  the  dagger 
and  upon  the  cord,  and  call  to  the  assembly 
for  vengeance ! 

Mem.  (rises,  his  face  covered.)  Vengeance! 
vengeance  1  vengeance ! 

Rod.  Upon  whom  dost  thou  invoke  ven- 
geance ! 

Accuser.  Upon  a  brother  of  this  order,  who 
is  forsworn  and  perjured  to  its  laws. 

Rod.  Relate  his  crime. 

Accu.  This  perjured  brother  was  sworn, 
upon  the  steel  and  upon  the  cord,  to  denounce 
malefactors  to  the  judgment-seat,  from  the 
four  quarters  of  heaven,  though  it  were  the 
spouse  of  his  heart,  or  the  son  whom  he  loved 
as  the  apple  of  his  eye ;  yet  did  he  conceal  the 
guilt  of  one  who  was  dear  unto  him  ;  he  folded 
up  the  crime  from  the  knowledge  of  the  tri- 
bunal: he  removed  the  evidence  of  gmli,  and 
withdrew  the  criminal  from  justice.  What 
does  his  perjury  deserve  ? 

Rod.  Accuser,  come  before  the  altar;  lay 
thy  hand  upon  the  dagger  and  the  cord,  and 
swear  to  the  truth  of  thy  accusation. 

Accu.  (his  hand  on  the  altar.)  I  swear! 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  lake  upon  thyself  the  pen- 
alty of  perjury,  should  it  be  found  false  t 

Accu.  I  will. 

Rod.  Brethren,  what  is  your  sentence  ? 

[  The  Members  confer  a  moment  in  whis- 
pers— a  silence. 

Eldest  Mem.  Our  voice  is,  that  the  perjured 
brother  merits  death. 

Ro't  Accuser,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of 
the  assembly;  name  the  criminal. 

Accu.  George,  Baron  of  Aspen. 

[-•1  murmur  in  the  assembly. 

A  Mem.  (suddenly  rising  )  I  am  ready,  ac- 
cording to  our  holy  laws,  to  swear,  by  the 
stee!  and  the  cord,  that  George  of  Aspen  me- 
rits not  this  accusation,  and  that  it  is  a  foul 
calumny. 

Acm.  Rash  man!  gugest  thou  an  oath  so 
lightly? 

Meat.  I  gage  it  not  lightly,  r  proffer  it  in 
the  cause  of  innocence  and  virtue. 

Accu.  What  if  George  of  Aspen  should  not 
himself  deny  the  charge  ? 

Mem.  Then  would  1  never  trust  man  again. 

Arm.  Hear  him,  then,  bear  witness  against 
himsnlf  (throws  back  his  mantle.) 

Rod.  Baron  George  of  Aspen ! 

Geo.  The  same  —  prepared  to  do  penance 
for  the  crime  of  which  he  stands  self-ac- 
cused. 

Rod.  Still,  canst  thou  disclose  the  name  of 
the  criminal  whom  thou  hast  rescued  from 
justice  ;  on  that  condition  alone,  thy  brethren 
may  save  thy  life. 

Geo  Thinkest  thou  I  would  betray  for  the 
safety  of  my  life,  a  secret  1  have  preserved  at 
the  breach  of  my  word  T — No !  I  have  weighed 
the  value  of  my  obligation  —  I  will  not  dis- 
charge it  —  but  most  willingly  wi!l  I  pay  the 
penalty ! 

Rod.  Retire,  George  of  Aspen,  till  the  as- 
sembly pronounce  judgment. 

Geo.  Welcome  be  your  sentence  — I  am 
weary  of  your  yoke  of  iron.  A  lieht  beams 
on  my  soul.  Woe  to  those  who  seek  justice 
in  the  dark  haunts  of  mystery  and  of  cruelty ! 
She  dwells  in  the  broud  blaze  of  the  sun,  and 
Mercy  is  ever  by  her  side.  Woe  to  those  who 
would  advance  the  general  weal  by  trampling 


696 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


upon  the  social  affections!  they  aspire  to  be 
more  than  men  —  they  shall  become  worse 
than  tigers.  I  go :  better  for  me  your  altars 
should  be  stained  with  my  blood,  than  my 
soul  blackened  with  your  crimes. 

[Exit  George,  by  the  ruinous  door  in 
the  back  scene,  into  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  Brethren,  sworn  upon  the  steel  and 
upon  the  cord,  to  judge  and  to  avenge  in  se- 
cret, without  favour  and  without  pity,  what  is 
your  judgment  upon  George  of  Aspen,  self- 
accused  of  perjury,  and  resistance  to  the  laws 
of  our  fraternity. 

[Long  and  tamest  murmurs  in  the  assembly. 

Rod.  Speak  your  doom. 

Eldest  Mem.  George  of  Aspen  has  declared 
himself  perjured  ;  —  the  penalty  of  perjury  is 


muffle  their  faces. 

Rod.  Uncover  her  eves 

[The  veil  is  removed.    Isabella  looks 
wildly  round. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou,  lady,  where  thou  art? 

Isa.  I  guess. 

Rod.  Say  thy  guess. 

Isa.  Before  the  Avengers  of  blood. 

Rod.  Kuowest  thou  whv  thou  art  called  to 
their  presence  ? 

Isa.  No. 

Rod.  Speak,  accuser. 

Ber.  I  impeach  thee.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  be- 
fore this  awful  assembly,  of  having  murdered. 


death !  privily  and  by  poison.  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  thy 

Rod.  Father  of  the  secret  judges  —  Eldest   first  husband. 


among  those  who  avenge  in  secret  —  take  to 
thee  the  steel  and  the  cord;  —  let  the  guilty 
no  longer  cumber  the  land. 

Eldest  Mem.  I  am  fourscore  and  eight,  years 
old.  My  eyes  are  dim.  and  my  hand  is  feeble; 
soon  shall  1  be  called  before  the  throue  of  my 
Creator; — How  shull  I  stand  there,  stained 
with  the  blood  of  such  a  man  ? 

Rod.  How  wilt  thou  stand  before  that 
throne,  loaded  with  the  guilt  of  a  broken 
oath?  The  blood  of  the  criminal  be  upon  us 
and  ours ! 

Eldest  Mem.  So  be  it,  in  the  name  of  God  ! 
[He  takes  the  dagger  from  the  altar, 
goes  slmcfy  towards  the  back  scene, 
and  reluctantly  enters  the  sacristy. 
Eldest  Judge  ( from  behind  the  scene. )    Dost 
thou  forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  (behind.)  I  do!  (He  is  heard  to  fall 
heavily.) 

[Re-enter  the  old  judge  from  thesacristy. 
He  lays  on  the  altar  the  bloody  dag- 
ger. 

Rod.  Hast  thou  done  thy  duty  ? 
Eldest  Mem.  I  have.    (He  faints) 
Rod.  He  swoons.     Remove  him. 

[He  is  assisted  off  the  stage..  During 
this  four  members  enter  the  sacristy, 
and  bring  out  a  bier  covered  with  a 
pall,  which  they  place  on  the  sleps  of 
the  altar.  A  deep  silence. 

Rod.  Judges  of  evil,  dooming  in  secret,  and  __        ¥ 

avenging  m  secret,  like  the  Deity  :  God  keep  :  can  these  proofs  of  innocence  be  downweigh- 
your  thoughts  from  evil,  and  your  hands  from  :  ed  by  the  assertion  of  an  unknown  and  dis- 
guilt.  |  gnised,  perchance  a  malignant  accuser? 

Ber.  I  raise  my  voice  in  this  assembly,  and       Ber.  No  longer  will  I  wear  that  disguise 


Rnd.  Canst  thou  swear  to  the  accusation  ? 

Ber.  (his  hand  on  the  altar.)  I  lay  my  hand 
on  the  steel  and  the  cord,  and  swear. 

Rnd.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  thou  hast  heard  thy 
accusation.  What  canst  thou  answer? 

Isa.  That  the  oath  of  an  accuser  is  no  proof 
of  euilt? 

Rod.  Hast  thou  more  to  say  ? 

Isa    T  have. 

Rod.  Speak  on. 

Isa.  Judges  invisible  to  the  s'in.  and  seen 
only  by  the  stars  of  midnight !  1  stnnd  before 
you.  accused  of  an  enormous,  daring,  and 
premeditated  crime.  I  was  married  to  Ar- 
nolf when  I  was  only  eighteen  years  old. 
Arnolf  was  wary  and  jealous;  ever  suspecting 
me  without  a  cause,  unless  it  was  because  he 
had  injured  me.  How  then  should  1  plan  and 
perpetrate  such  a  deed  ?  The  lamb  turns  not 
against  the  wolf,  though  a  prisoner  in  his  den. 

Rod.  Have  you  finished  ? 

Isa.  A  moment.  Years  after  years  have 
elapsed  without  a  whisper  of  this  foul  suspi- 
cion. Arnolf  left  a  brother!  though  common 
fame  had  been  silent,  natural  affection  would 
have  been  heard  against  me  —  why  spoke  he 
not  my  accusation  ?  Or  has  my  conduct  justi- 
fied this  horrible  charge  ?  No !  awful  judges, 


I 

endov 


ver,  1  have  founded  cloisters.  I  have 
id  hospitals.    The  goods  that  Heaven 


bestowed  on  me  I  have  not  held  back  from 
the  needy.    I  appeal  to  you,  judges  of  evil, 


crv.  Vengeance  !  vengeance !  vengeance  ! 


(throws  back  his  mantle.)    Dost  thou  know  me 


Rod.  .Enough  has  this  night  been  done  —  (he  •  no 
rises  and  brings  Bertram  forward.)  Think  |  Isa.  Yes;  I  know  ihee  for  a  wandering 
what  thou  doest  —  George  has  fallen—  it  were  minstrel,  relieved  by  (he  charity  of  my  hus- 
niarder  to  slay  both  mother  and  son.  !  band. 

Ber.  George  of  Aspen  was  thy  victim  —  a!      Ber.  No.  traitress!  know  me  for  Bertram 
sacrifice  to  thy   hatred   and   envy.     I  claim  '  of  Ebersdorf,  brother  to  him  thou  didst  mur- 
mine,  sacred  to  justice  and  to  my  murdered   der.   Call  her  accomplice,  Martin.  Halturnest 
brother.     Resume  thy  place  !  —  thon  canst  not   thou  pale  ? 
stop  the  rock  thou  hast  put  in  motion.  !     Isa.    May  I   have  some   wafer?  —  (Apart.) 

Rod.  (resumes  his  seat.)  Upon  whom  callest    Sacred   Heaven!    his  vindictive    look    is   so 
thou  for  vengeance  ?  like—  [  Water  is  brought. 


Ber.  Upon  Isabella  of  Aspen. 
Rod.  She  has  been  summoned. 
Herald.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  accused  of  mur- 
der  by  poison,  I  charge  thee  to  appear,  and 


. 

A  Mem.  Martin  died  in  the  hands  of  our 
brethren. 
Rod   Dost  thou  know  the  accuser,  lady  ? 


stand  upon  thy  defence.  ing  of  nature  under  this  dreadful  trial  be  im- 

[Three  knocks  are  heard  at  one  of  the  puted   to   the   consciousness  of  guilt.     I  do 
doors—  it  is  opened  by  the  warder.        I  know  the  accuser—  know  him  to  be  outlawed 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


for  homicide,  r.nd  under  tlie  ban  of  the  em- 
pire :  his  testimony  cannot  by  received. 

Eldf.st  Juiijf    She  says  truly. 

Ber.  (to  KoderK)  Then  I'  call  upon  thee 
and  \\iliiam  of  Wolfsteiu  to  bear  witness  to 

hut  yo'i  know. 

Rod.  Wolfstein  is  not  in  the  assembly,  and 
my  place  prevents  me  irom  buiiu  a  witness. 

Ber.  Then  I  will  nail  uiuiilier:  meanwhile 
let  t-ie  accused  he  re.noved. 

Rod.  Retire,  lady.  [Isabella  is  led  to  the  sa- 
cristy. 

Isa.  (in  going  off)  The  ground  is  slippery. — 
Heavens  !  it  is  floated  with  blood ! 

[Exit  into  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  (apart  to  Bertram.)  Whom  dost  tliuu 
mean  to  call?  [Bertram  whispers. 

Rod.  This  sites  beyond  me.  (After  a  mo- 
ment's thought.)  But  be  it  so.  Maltmgen  shall 
behold  Aspen  humbled  in  the  dust.  (Aloud.) 
Brethren,  the  accuser  calls  for  a  witness  who 
rum-mis  without:  admit  him. 

[All  muffle  their  faces. 

Enter  Rudiger,  his  eyes  bound  or  covered,  lean- 
ing upon  two  mrmbers ;  they  place  a  stoot  for 

him,  and  unbind  his  eyes. 

Rod  Knowest  thou  where  thou  art,  and 
before  whom? 

Rod  I  know  not,  and  I  care  not.  Two 
strangers  summoned  me  from  my  castle  to 
assist,  they  said,  at  a  great  act  of  justice.  I 
ascended  the  litter  they  brought,  and  i  urn 
here. 

Rod.  It  regards  the  punishment  of  perjury 
and  the  discovery  of  murder.  Art  thou  wil- 
ling to  assist  us  ? 

Rod.  Most  willing,  as  is  my  duty. 

Sod.  What  if  the  crime  regard  thy  friend  ? 

Rod.  I  will  hold  him  no  longer  so. 

Rod.  What  if  thine  own  blood  T 

Rud.  I  would  let  it  out  with  my  poniard. 

Rod.  Then  canst  thou  not  blame  us  for  this 
deed  of  justice.  Remove  the  pall.  ( The  pall, 
is  lifted,  beneath  which  is  discovered  the  boily  of 
George,  pale  and  bloody.  Kudiger  staggers  to- 
wards it. ) 

Rud.  My  George !  my  George !  Not  slain 
manly  in  battle,  but  murdered  by  legal  assas- 
sins. Much,  much  may  I  mourn  thee,  my  be- 
loveJ  boy ;  but  not  now — not  now  :  never  will 
I  shed  a  (ear  for  thy  death  till  I  have  cleared 
thy  fame.— Hear  me.  ye  midnight  murderers, 
he  was  innocent  (raising  his  voice) — upright  as 
the  truth  itself.  Let  the  man  who  dares  gain- 
say me  lift  that  gage  If  the  Almighty  does 
not  strengthen  these  frail  limbs,  to  make  good 
a  father's  quarrel.  I  have  a  son  left,  who  will 
vindicate  the  honour  of  Aspen,  or  lay  his 
bloody  body  beside  his  brother's. 

KM.  Hash  and  insensate !  Hear  first  the 
cause.  Hear  the  dishonour  of  thy  house. 

Jsa.  (from  the  sacristy.)  Never  shall  he  hear 
it  till  the  author  is  no  more!  (Kudiger  at- 
tempts to  rush  towards  the  sacristy,  but  is  pre- 
vented. Isabella  enters  wounded,  and  throws 
herself  on  George's  body. ) 

Isa.  Murdered  for  me  —  for  me!  my  dear, 
dear  son ! 

Rud.  (still  held)  Cowardly  villains,  let  me 
loose!  Maliingen,  this  is  thy  doing!  Thy 
face  thou  wouldst  disguise,  thy  deeds  thou 
canst  not  I  /  defy  thee  to  instant  and  mortal 
combat ! 

59 


Isa  (looking  up)  No!  no!  endanger  not 
thy  life!  Myself!  myself!  I  could  not  bear 

thou  shouldst  know Oh!  (Dies.) 

Rud.  Oh!  let  me  go— let  me  but  try  to  stop 
her  blood,  and  I  will  forgive  all. 

Rod.  Drag  him  off  and  detain  him.    The 
voice  of  lamentation  must  not  disturb  the 
stern  deliberation  of  justice. 
Rud.  Bloodhound  of  Maltingen  !    Well  be- 
:ems  thee  thy  base  revenge !    The  marks  of 
y  son's  lance  are  still  on  thy  craven  crest  1 
Vengeance  on  the  hand  of  ye  ! 

[llu.Iiaer  is  dragged  off  to  the  sacristy. 
Rod.  Brethren,  we  stand  discovered  !  'A  I  Kit 
is  to   be  done  to  him  who  shall  descry  our 
mystery  I 

EUUst  Judge.  He  must  become  a  brother  of 
ur  order,  or  die ! 

Rod.  This  man  will  never  join  us!  He 
cannot  put  his  hand  into  ours,  which  are 
stained  with  the  blood  of  his  wife  and  son : 
he  must  therefore  die!  (Murmurs  in  the  as- 
sembly.) Brethren  1  I  wonder  not  at  your  re- 
luptauce;  but  the  man  is  powerful,  has 
friends  and  allies  to  buckler  his  cause.  It  is 
over  with  us,  and  with  our  order,  unless  the 
laws  are  obeyed.  (Fainter  murmurs.)  Besides, 
have  we  not  sworn  a  deadly  oath  to  execute 
these  statutes?  (A  dead  silence.)  Take  to  thee 
tliH  steel  and  the  cord  (to  the  eldest  judge.) 

Eldest  Juilye..  He  hits  done  no  evil—he  was 
the  companion  of  my  battle— 1  will  not ! 

Roil,  (to  another.)  Do  thou— and  succeed  to 
the  rank  of  him  who  has  disobeyed.  Re- 
member vour  oath  !  (Member  takes  the  dagger, 
and  uof.s  irresolute.ly  forward;  looks  into  the 
sacristy,  and  comes  back.) 

Mem  He  has  fainted  —  fainted  in  anguish 
for  his  wife  and  his  son ;  the  bloody  ground  is 
strewed  with  his  white  hairs,  torn  by  those 
hands  thai  have  fought  for  Christendom.  I 
will  not  be  your  butcher.  —  (Throws  down  the 
dagger.) 

Her.  Irresolute  and  perjured  !  the  robber  of 
my  inheritance,  the  author  of  my  exile,  shall 
die! 

Rod.  Thanks.  Bertram.  Execute  the  doom 
— secure  the  safety  of  the  holy  tribunal ! 

[Bertram  seizes  the  dagger,  and  is  about 
to  rush  into  the  sacristy,  when  three 
loud  knocks  are  heard  at  the  door. 
All.  Hold  !  Hold  ! 

.  [The  Duke  of  Bavaria,  attended  by 
many  members  of  the  Invisible  Tri- 
bunal, enters,  dressed  in  a  scarlet 
mantle  trimmed  with  ermine,  and 
tocaring  a  ducal  crown.  —  He  carries 
a  rod  in  his  hand.— All  rise.— A  mur- 
mur among  the  members,  who  whisper 
to  each  other,  "  The  Duke,"  '•  The 
Chief,"  i,c. 

Rod   The  Duke  of  Bavaria !    I  am  lost. 
Duke,  (sees  the  bodies.)  1  am  too  late  —  the 
victims  have  fallen. 

Hen.  (who  enters  with  the  Duke.)  Gracious 
Heaven !  O  George ! 

Rud.  (from  the  sacristy.)  Henry  —  it  is  thy 
voice — save  me  ! 

[Henry  rushes  into  the  sacristy. 
Duke.  Roderic  of  Maltingen,  descend  from 
the  seat  which  thou  hast  dishonoured  —  (Ro- 
deric leaves  his  place,  which  the  Duke  occupies.) 
—Thou  staudest  accused  of  having  perverted 
the  laws  of  our  order;  for  that,  being  a  mor- 


698 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tal  enemy  to  the  House  of  Aspen,  thoti  hast 
abused  thy  sacred  authority  ti>  pander  to  thy 
private  re.vense ;  and  to  this  Wolfstein  has 
been  witness. 

Roil.  Cuief  among  oar  circles,  I  have  hut 
acted  according  to  our  laws. 

Duke  Thou  hast  indeed  observed  the  le'.ter 
of  our  statutes,  and  woe  am  I  that  they  do 
warrant  this  night's  bloody  work  !  I  cannot 
do  unto  thee  as  I  would,  but  what  I  can  I  will. 
Thtiu  hast  not  indeed  transgressed  our  law. 
but  thou  hast  wrested  and  abused  it :  kneel 
down,  therefore,  and  place  thy  hands  betwixt 
mine  (Rodnnc  knrels  as  directed.)  I  degrade 
thee  from  thy  sacred  office  (spreads  his  hands, 
as  rvshimj  Roderic  from  him.)  if  after  two 
days  thou  darest  to  pollute  Bavarian  ground 
by  thy  footsteps,  be  it  at  the  peril  of  the  steel 
and  the  cord  (Rodertfi  rises  j  1  dissolve  this 
meeting  (all  rise.)  Judges  and  coiidenmers 
of  others.  God  teach  you  knowledge  of  your- 
selves !  (All  bend  their  heads — Duke  breaks  his 
rod.  and  comes  forward.) 

Rod.  Lord  Duke,  thou  hast  charged  me  with 
treachery  —  thou  art  my  liege  lord  —  but  who 
else  dares  maintain  the  accusation,  lies  in  his 
throat. 

Hen.  (rushing  from  the  sacrist]/  }  Villain !  I 
accept  thy  challenge ! 


Rod.  Vain  boy!  my  lance  shall  chastise 
thee  in  the  lists — there  lies  my  gage. 

Uuke.  Henry,  on  thy  allegiance,  touch  it 
not.  (To  Koderic.)  Lists  shall  thou  never 
more  enter;  lance  shall  thou  never  more 
wield  (draws  his  suiord.)  With  this  sword 
wast  thou  dubbed  a  knight:  with  this  sword 
1  dishonour  thee  —  1  thy  prince  —  (strikes  him 
slightly  with  the  flat  of  the  sword)— \  take  from 
thee  the  degree  of  knight,  the  dignity  of  chi- 
valry. Thou  art  no  longer  a  free  Herman 
noble :  thou  art  honourless  and  rishtiess  ;  the 
funeral  obsequies  shall  be  performed  for  thee 
as  for  one  dead  to  knislitly  honour  and  to  fair 
fame;  thy  spurs  shall  be  hacked  from  thy 
heels;  thy  arms  baffled  and  reversed  by  the 
common  executioner.  Go,  fraudful  and  dis- 
honoured, hide  thy  sliame  in  a  foreien  land! 
(Roderic  shows  a  dumb  expression  of  rage.) 
Lay  hands  on  Bertram  of  Ebersdorf ;  as  I  live, 
he  shall  pay  the  forfeiture  of  his  outlawry. 
Henry,  aid  us  to  remove  thy  father  from  ihis 
chariiKl-house.  .Never  shall  he  know  the 
dreadful  secret.  Be  it  mine  to  soothe  his 
sorrows,  and  to  restore  the  honour  of  the 
House  of  Aspen. 

( Cur  lam  stately  falls. ) 


